"Shreya will get into any college; she uses Raj as a ‘sympathy card.'" I overheard someone say this to my mom earlier this year. She calmly responded, “I get that it's hard to understand what it's like to have a family member with a disability…” My older brother, Raj, has Down Syndrome and Autism, making everyday tasks like brushing his teeth, eating, or making friends much harder—things most people take for granted. Despite this, Raj is resilient, warm, and hardworking. Though others may see him as “different,” we share a bond that has shaped me in ways few can understand. The words “sympathy card” stirred up emotions in me: anger, sadness, and hurt. It reminded me of our time in the Midwest, where our community embraced Raj without question. But when we moved to Austin, things changed. Suddenly, we became “that family” with a “different” child. People stared, and the warmth we once knew turned into distance. I just wanted people to see Raj as the remarkable person he is. One memory stands out. At a birthday party, the host mom handed goody bags to all the kids except Raj. She told my mom, "I wasn't sure if he would understand, so I didn't get him one.” I remember handing my bag to Raj, knowing it wasn't fair. Worse still, this mom worked as a special-needs aide and had once called kids with disabilities “psychopaths.” It made me wonder: how can someone in her role think this way? Where was the acceptance? Why was my brother unjustly branded “imperfect”? Then there was Raj's own birthday party. We invited families, but some parents hesitated. One even said, “You should only invite ‘kids like him'; other kids will be bored.” I couldn't help but question the true meaning of inclusion and why some parents resisted teaching their kids respect for people like Raj. Why was my brother again unfairly portrayed as "imperfect"? These experiences shaped me, making me question why people act this way. Are they unaware, rude, lacking empathy, or just ignorant? Each moment was a painful reminder of the prejudice Raj and our family faced. But it also taught me to become more understanding and resilient. As a family, we work hard to address misconceptions and stereotypes about Raj's condition. Even in elementary school, I was raising awareness about Down Syndrome and Autism. I'd give talks on Down Syndrome Day, pass out informational flyers, and join Buddy Walks. Through my non-profit, Art for a Cause, I used art to spread awareness and shared my story through writing, even co-authoring a book on Down Syndrome. My hope was to build empathy in my community and help people understand what growing up with a brother like Raj really meant. Despite these efforts, some people still accuse us of “playing the victim card.” Truly understanding our reality means living it, and most couldn't even manage a day in our shoes. As siblings, we carry unique burdens and face complexities beyond our years. I remember the helplessness I felt when Raj struggled during COVID-19, as he became quieter and more withdrawn. For over four years now, I have waited for him to call my name or play with me again—a hope that keeps me going despite the pain of missing him. As siblings, we often hesitate to add to our parents' already overwhelming responsibilities, keeping our own worries to ourselves. We experience a mix of emotions—worry, fear, sadness, and anger—all compounded by the biases we encounter. While many of my peers can't relate to this, we continue to grow stronger and more compassionate because of it. My goal is not to seek sympathy but to foster empathy - to shed light on my experiences and promote awareness and understanding. Growing up, I missed having a supportive community or siblings who understood what it was like to have a brother with a disability. This sense of isolation pushed me to turn my experiences into something positive. I became committed to helping other siblings facing similar challenges. To provide genuine support, I trained rigorously and became a certified facilitator for sibling workshops. This year, I launched my first sibling support group through Art for a Cause, giving siblings a place to feel understood and valued. Through my journey, I've learned that life isn't about achieving perfection or simply accepting imperfections. It's about celebrating our differences and finding strength within them. It's about choosing empathy over sympathy, offering understanding and kindness, and using our experiences to uplift others. Above all, it's about recognizing our shared humanity.