Even When the Kettle’s Bare

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Some paths are quieter than others—but walking them together makes all the difference. Today reminded me of the quiet weight that comes with being the one others turn to. I spoke with both of my daughters—separately, at different points in the day. One needed advice, the kind only a mother can give when life feels uncertain. The other’s voice held something heavier, and when I asked, she let it spill: relationship strain, financial stress, the kind of ache that’s hard to name out loud. I listened. I offered what I could—words, perspective, a little steadiness. And later, I followed up. Not because I had to, but because I know how it feels to be left holding something alone. They each thanked me. They each made a move forward. And I felt that familiar flicker of peace—the kind that comes from knowing you were able to help. But beneath that peace, there’s a quieter ache. The kind that surfaces when you’re still navigating your own storm, and yet you find yourself pouring from a cup that’...
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The Truth About Birth Order: Breaking the Myths in My Own Family

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Everyone assumes the youngest child is reckless, spoiled, and irresponsible. It’s basically a universal truth—eldest kids are the responsible ones, middle kids are the forgotten ones, and youngest kids? We’re the chaos. Except… that’s not always *true*. 

If the stereotypes were right, I’d be a nightmare—irresponsible, entitled, constantly seeking attention. Instead, I’m *exactly* the opposite. I’m level-headed, easygoing, sharp as hell (even if some people underestimate me), and fiercely independent. So, where did the myth break down? And more importantly, how did I make sure my own kids weren’t boxed into these tired family roles?

Birth order might shape experiences, but it doesn’t *define* who we become. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that breaking the cycle starts with *seeing it for what it is*. 


 Breaking the Cycle: Raising My Kids Differently

If my childhood taught me anything, it’s that labels don’t just shape how people see you—they shape how they *fail* to see you. I was never reckless, never the disaster they assumed I’d be, but because I had ADD, I got slapped with every insulting label imaginable. *Stupid. Idiot. Remedial.* As if struggling to focus meant struggling to *think*.  

But here’s the thing—none of those labels were *true*, and none of them defined me. And I refused to carry that weight into my own parenting. Instead of assuming my kids were *preprogrammed* to fit some outdated birth order myth, I raised them based on how *I* wish I had been treated: with patience, with understanding, and with the freedom to be exactly who they are.  

In my house, there’s no “eldest must be responsible,” no “middle child is forgotten,” and definitely no “youngest is a chaos gremlin” (even though, let’s be real, *sometimes* they earn that title). My kids get to be *who they are*—not who the universe randomly decided they should be based on when they showed up.  

I see them. I *know* them. And more importantly, I *love* them for who they are—not for how they fit into some outdated idea of family roles.  

Funny how when you actually *pay attention* to who your kids *are* instead of relying on myths, they turn out pretty damn great. Who knew?  

And let me tell you—watching them grow into their own identities without carrying generational baggage? *That’s* a win that beats any match in Apex, no matter how satisfying that Kraber headshot was.  


Conclusion: The Truth About Birth Order


Here’s the thing—family roles aren’t destiny. Birth order isn’t a personality blueprint. And the labels slapped onto us as kids? They don’t define who we are.  

I wasn’t reckless. I wasn’t rebellious. And I sure as hell wasn’t stupid. But that didn’t stop people from treating me like I *was*.  

The truth is, myths are comfortable. They make people feel like they *understand* something—like they can predict behavior just because of when a kid was born. But comfort doesn’t make something *true*. And I refuse to let my children grow up under the weight of assumptions that have nothing to do with *who they actually are*.  

So if you’re still clinging to the idea that birth order determines character, think about this—did you *choose* who you became, or did someone else decide it for you?  

Because my kids? They get to decide. And let me tell you—watching them grow into the incredible, self-assured, *authentic* people they are today fills me with more pride than I can put into words. They aren’t weighed down by myths or expectations. They know who they are, and they own it fully.  

And that’s a truth no myth can argue with.  


But here’s the real question—what labels were put on *you* growing up, and how did they shape the person you are today?  

Grab a cup 🫖 and let's talk. 

~Honey


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