Celebrating Diversity: Siblings as Superheroes

What About Me?

The question that inspired a book, a website, and a new understanding of sibling love.

By Pamela DiCristo

"What about me?"Four little words.

Four words that, as a mother, can stop you in your tracks.

They weren't spoken out of anger. They weren't especially dramatic. They were simply the words of a little boy trying to understand why so much attention was suddenly being given to his younger sister.

And they were the words that would eventually change the way I looked at both of my children.

When Everything Began to Change

When we began the process of understanding our daughter Stori's developmental differences, our lives became filled with appointments, observations, evaluations, conversations, and questions.

An autism diagnosis isn't something our family arrived at overnight.

There were countless hours spent observing her development, speaking with professionals, meeting with therapists, and trying to understand what she needed. Then came more conversations about the autism spectrum, levels of support, and what those distinctions might mean for Stori.

As parents, we were learning a new language while trying to understand a world we hadn't previously known.

And like so many parents in similar circumstances, we were focused on making sure our daughter received the support she needed.

But there was another little person experiencing all of this alongside us.

Our son, Noah.

"What About Me?"

Because Noah is homeschooled, he was present for many of the visits and therapy sessions taking place in our home.

Imagine being a little boy and watching people arrive at your house carrying toys, games, and interesting sensory activities, all for your younger sister.

From his perspective, Stori was having a wonderful time.

New people came to play with her. They brought exciting things. They gave her their undivided attention. And Noah watched.

Until eventually, he began asking a question that was perfectly reasonable.

"What about me?"

At first, those words seemed like an ordinary expression of childhood fairness.

But the more I heard them, the more I began to understand what he was really asking.

Where do I fit into all of this?

Do you see me, too? Is there something special for me?

It is difficult to describe what that realization feels like as a parent.

You are doing everything you can to support one child while quietly discovering that another child may be wondering where he belongs.

There is no instruction manual for that balance.

You want to provide every possible opportunity for the child who needs additional support. But you also want to protect the childhood, emotional well-being, and individuality of the sibling watching it all unfold.

And sometimes, despite your very best intentions, you don't immediately recognize what that other child is trying to tell you.

From Observer to Participant

Something beautiful began to happen when Stori's therapists started including Noah in their sessions.

Suddenly, he wasn't simply watching from the sidelines.

He was being invited into the experience.

He began to understand that the activities weren't simply about toys or games. We were working to help Stori strengthen her communication, develop new skills, and connect with the people around her.

He understood that we wanted to help his sister talk and express herself.

And he wanted to help. But here's the part that matters most to me.

Noah's participation was a choice.

He wasn't required to become his sister's helper. He wasn't assigned responsibility for her progress. He was invited to participate when he wanted to.

That distinction is important.

Children should never feel that loving a sibling means becoming responsible for that sibling's development or happiness.

They deserve their own experiences, their own attention, and the freedom to simply be children.

Noah was still Noah.

He could join in, walk away, play independently, or decide that he wanted to do something entirely different.

And somehow, giving him that freedom created room for something extraordinary.

The Little Teacher I Never Expected

Over time, we began witnessing a relationship between Noah and Stori that was even more remarkable than we had imagined. Noah started recognizing things that helped his sister.

He learned how to encourage her, how to invite her into play, and how to celebrate the moments when she found new ways to communicate. He began teaching her things without even realizing he was teaching. Sometimes, simply by allowing her to watch him.

Other times, by including her in something he was already doing.

I watched Stori begin participating in play in ways that were new for her. I watched Noah recognize her achievements and celebrate them with genuine excitement.

Their connection was becoming an important part of how they learned from one another.

And then there were the moments that touched me most.

Noah would look at me and ask:

"Am I helping?"

"Am I doing a good job?"

Those questions were different from the ones he had asked before.

He was no longer wondering whether he had a place in what was happening.

He was discovering that his presence mattered. And I wanted him to understand just how much.

A Superhero Is Born

I remember telling him that he was like his sister's very own superhero.

Not because he had some extraordinary ability. Not because he could fix everything.

And certainly not because his sister needed to be rescued.

But because he had discovered something that even adults sometimes struggle to understand.

You can make a meaningful difference in someone's life simply by loving them, accepting them, and learning how to connect with them.

Long before I imagined writing a children's book, I had already given Noah that title.

He was Stori's superhero.

And I was watching their story unfold right in front of me.

Of course, they are still brother and sister.

They disagree. They frustrate each other. They have moments when their interests are entirely different.

Their relationship isn't a perfect picture of patience and understanding every minute of every day. Nor should it have to be. They are children.

And part of what makes their bond so beautiful is that it exists within the ordinary, imperfect, sometimes chaotic experience of growing up together.

Stori has taught Noah lessons in patience, flexibility, and understanding.

Noah has helped Stori discover new ways to play, communicate, and connect.

Neither child exists simply to help the other become someone different.

They are two individuals, each with their own personality, needs, abilities, and identity.

And they are learning to love one another within those differences.

Why "What About Me?" Matters

When I began thinking about creating a place to share their story, I kept coming back to those four little words.

"What about me?"

Because I began to realize that Noah's question represented something much bigger than our family.

How many siblings of children with disabilities or developmental differences have quietly wondered the same thing?

How many parents have struggled to divide their attention, time, and emotional energy between children with very different needs?

And how often do we overlook the extraordinary ways siblings influence one another simply because we are so focused on the challenges in front of us?

I wanted to create a space where those questions could be acknowledged.

A place where we celebrate neurodiversity while remembering that every child in the family deserves to feel seen.

A place where siblings can recognize their importance without feeling obligated to take on responsibilities that aren't theirs.

And a place where parents might be reminded to look a little closer at the relationships developing right before their eyes.

That is how What About Me? found its name.

And it is part of why Siblings Are Superheroes came to life.

The Greatest Lesson of All

I began this journey wanting to understand how best to support my autistic daughter.

Along the way, I learned something equally important about my son.

And perhaps the greatest lesson has been learning to see them both more fully.

Stori does not need to become someone else to be worthy of love, understanding, or belonging.

Noah does not need to earn attention or affection through what he does for his sister.

They deserve those things simply because they are who they are.

I hope that as they grow older, they carry that understanding with them.

That they know they can love deeply without losing themselves.

That they recognize the beauty in people who experience the world differently.

And that they never confuse someone's differences with their worth.

Because unconditional love isn't about asking people to become who we think they should be.

It's about making room for who they already are.

And perhaps that's where the most extraordinary kind of love begins.

Welcome to What About Me?

A place for honest conversations about siblinghood, neurodiversity, family, and the extraordinary lessons our children teach us every day