I’m terrified for my sister’s unborn child—and I feel guilty for feeling this way.
I can’t stop feeling sick.
Ever since my sister announced she’s pregnant, my stomach has been in knots. It’s not joy I feel. It’s panic. Pure, twisting, unavoidable panic.
And I’m not the only one. Everyone who knows them is devastated. Everyone is whispering the same thing I can’t say out loud.
This is not good news.
I know it sounds cruel. I know it sounds heartless. But I can’t lie about how I feel.
My sister… she has borderline personality disorder. Her husband… narcissistic personality disorder. Both formally diagnosed. Both untreated. Both unwilling to acknowledge it.
And now they’re bringing a child into the world.
I can barely even think about it without my chest tightening.
They are 28 and 33. Chronologically adults. But emotionally… I don’t even know. They don’t behave like adults. Their fights are catastrophic. Their decisions are impulsive, reckless. Their empathy stops at the threshold of their own needs.
I live in a different province and still, just the thought of dealing with them drains me. They’ve almost broken me before, with their chaos, their manipulation, their lies. And now… a baby.
How can a child survive this?
I know people will tell me I’m being dramatic. That maybe I should hope for the best. That maybe they’ll grow up. But the truth is—they won’t. Not without help. And they refuse help.
I feel like screaming every time I think about it. I want to warn the world. I want to grab that baby before it’s born and protect it. But I can’t.
And yet… a darker thought keeps creeping in.
Maybe this baby deserves a chance. Maybe love can fix things.
But every instinct screams at me that love alone isn’t enough. That untreated personality disorders, denial, and selfishness are a dangerous cocktail for a child.
I can’t stop imagining the worst-case scenarios. The screaming matches, the neglect, the manipulation, the fights spilling into a nursery. I can’t stop imagining the child being caught in the middle. The helplessness. The heartbreak.
And I feel so guilty for feeling all of this. For not celebrating. For not being happy.
Because I should be happy for my sister. I should be excited. I should feel love.
But I can’t.
I just… feel sick.
And here’s the part that breaks me the most: even as I type this, I know that when the baby comes, everyone will act normal. Everyone will pretend nothing is wrong. And the child will be born into a world where the adults can’t be trusted.
And the truth… the unbearable truth… is that I can’t protect them.
I can’t stop the chaos. I can’t shield this innocent life from two people who are, in so many ways, unfit.
And I have to live with the guilt of feeling this way while everyone else cheers.
I feel trapped in a storm that hasn’t even started yet.
And the worst part? I love my sister. I love her deeply. But loving her doesn’t change what I know to be true.
Two broken people should not be parents.
And yet, the baby is coming anyway.
