My Sister Is My Soulmate

"There are so many strange aspects to your relationship with Tina."

Last summer, I received this text from someone I respect and adore. The remark about my connection with my twin sister still hurt, even though we were arguing about something else at the time. In addition to the fact that it wasn't the first time that person had made such an implication, I had been wondering the same thing for a significant portion of my adult life.

I'm 46 years old and I have a fraternal twin sister, Tina. We're close because, well, forever. We grew up side by side in utero and have been wedged in the proverbial hip ever since. My parents love to tell people about it: When we needed to be C-sectioned out of our mom (we were premature, and that's not typical for twins), Tina was on top of me and was pulled out first. Sounds corny, I know, but I'd like to think that she was giving me one last hug before we left our first home together.

Through a lifetime of firsts, Tina and I have seen eye to eye: We went through all the early school years together, then relocated from our parents' residence and became roommates. We've spent decades racing together in triathlons, half-marathons and adventure racing. Though Tina is currently in Burlington, Ont.—about an hour west of where I live, in Toronto—never more than five days pass without a visit. She's the only one in my life I speak to dozens of times a day; she's that essential.

So many times, our connection feels magical: I will be thinking to myself about something I need to tell her, and she will contact me shortly thereafter. Tina is my go-to confidante for every crummy date, office rumor and life joy. She was the first I reached out to when I broke off my engagement in 2017 and the first to reply in the following months when I was in a terrible state.

In 2007, Tina fell ill with a rare neurological condition called stiff-person syndrome. (SPS has recently been in the news due to Céline Dion, who announced she was diagnosed with it in 2022.) We spent a decade trudging through a bog of doctor's visits, conflicting prognoses and way too many emergency rooms. When Tina traveled from Vancouver to Ottawa for three months to undergo a life-saving stem-cell transplant, I accompanied her each weekend. It was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to me, but then and now, I knew I wanted to be anywhere but next to her if only it would have kept us apart.

Not only have Tina and I survived some incredibly tough shared trauma but we have literally grown up life together. I can be honest with her, just as I am. Tina is my rock—my best friend and my favorite person. So why have I been made to feel guilty about it?

Every now and again, at different points in our adulthood, Tina and I have been labeled "codependent." It's been told to us outright or hinted at, in the middle of a hot argument or behind closed doors in hushed whispers. It has been implied by friends, relatives and boyfriends. My ex-fiancé never approved of my relationship with my sister. He saw Tina as competition and didn't work very hard at getting to know her for the three years that we were together. (Although that's not why our relationship ended, it didn't hurt.) It seemed like I couldn't have him and her—it was one or the other.

People in my group probably still believe that Tina is the reason I'm not married or in a committed relationship, as though having a close relationship with my sister has somehow made it harder for me to succeed in a romantic one.

I downplayed the significance of my relationship with Tina for decades because of this, always making sure to prioritize the conversation around my ambition to find a man. The funny thing was, I was doing it for the sake of everyone else, not myself. These days things are different. I am highly outspoken about how Tina is my most critical person, and I don't care about how other individuals want to interpret that. On my online dating profile, there is one question that says: "The one thing you need to know about me is…" My answer: "That I have a twin sister who is everything to me and if you want to be with me, you will have to accept her." I will not be in a romantic relationship with anyone who does not accept my sister.

I do not completely fault the doomsayers. What I share with Tina is a truer thing: that we don't very often give any weight to intense platonic love. We've had long-ingrained scripts when it comes to romantic relationships ("It was love at first sight!"). But it doesn't often happen that people take note, let alone get excited about, the moment they "fell" in platonic love with someone. We view romantic love as the ideal end point—its only fix for a well-lived life. Friendship will never do.

Early on, I knew my fiancé was not my person, but, geez, I weathered the storm. I had been programmed to believe by the time I was 34 that it was time for me to don my Big Girl panties: have the wedding, the white picket fence, the kids. With bursts of panic, I bullied myself into thinking that this was it. I don't regret that relationship—it wasn't entirely horrible—but I do regret having fooled myself for so long. And I still don't think a relationship should ever be this hard.

For years, I thought all of life's lessons had to take place in the trenches of a love relationship; that only through this type of relationship would I become a better me. I didn't realize that I'd already had my feet in the deep end with someone else. Tina's taught me more about who I am and who I want to be. In a way, I am way ahead of my married friends. You have 20 years together? That's great, but I have 46.

Shifting away from my broken engagement did not occur easily. I've had other intense romantic relationships since, but that desire for The One has disappeared. I am single now, and I care less and less about it. I can now finally tell in public that I already have my person, and I've had her the entire time—Tina.

Ironically, I do not expect Tina to look at me in the same way. I do not know if I am The One for her because her priorities have shifted in the most beautiful way. Tina became a single mother in 2021 with the help of a surrogate. I remember when she put her daughter, Sandy Lou, in my arms for the first time, this tiny new life who'd come into the world in spite of such hardship. I had too much love to contain. It has been one of the greatest privileges I've ever experienced to get to know this little girl and see my sister as a mother flourish. Today, Tina and Sandy are the loves of my life. How lucky am I that I am going to receive two of them?