During our family vacation, my parents told me to give up my room so my brother and his new girlfriend could have it — and to sleep on the couch instead. I didn’t argue. I simply got up, booked myself a suite next door, and told the hotel to block their access to my card. Later, as they tried to charge room service to my account, I relaxed by the pool — drink in hand — and watched the chaos unfold. Their meltdown? Absolutely glorious.

I have always known my place in the constellation of my family. Not the sun, not a planet, not even a moon. My younger brother, Shawn, was the sun—the golden child around whom my parents orbited. I was the afterthought, the dark matter, the one expected to compromise for the sake of keeping the peace.

I learned early that protesting was pointless. If Shawn needed something, he got it. If I needed something, I was being difficult. If I expressed disappointment, I was being dramatic.