The Ultimate Mirror.
Reflections on both loving and hating your twin sister.
Being a twin.
A blessing and a curse.
Amanda and Adrienne. Adrienne and Amanda. The twins. The Perrot twins. The look-a-likes.
Twins.
As I sit here in our Balinese room, glancing between Amanda sleeping on the bed beside me and the glass windows through to the pool a mere 17 steps away, I can’t help but think. And cry.
I both love her and hate her.
I love her because she is hilarious, brilliant, beautiful and entirely herself.
I hate her because she is hilarious, brilliant, beautiful and entirely herself.
Amanda and I grew up together in Saskatchewan on a grain farm 14 miles from the nearest town. In hindsight, our childhood was relatively pure — we found ourselves (quite literally) running through fields of golden wheat, reading Nancy Drew, drawing, writing and collecting rocks, stickers and stuffed animals. The youngest of five daughters and with two ambitious and generous parents, Amanda and I grew up with plenty of support and love. But life wasn’t perfect and neither was our family — we all incurred hurts and inaccurate beliefs along the way that, for better or worse, shaped us into fucked up human beings. Nonetheless, a boyfriend of mine once referred to our family as being straight out of an episode of Leave it to Beaver. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
When we moved to Saskatoon after high school to enter university, Amanda and I grew apart. Realizing that we were no longer required to spend every class and social outing together, and in choosing different career paths, we discovered our own friends and explored new situations with wide-eyed wonder. We still lived and hung out together (because, quite frankly, it’s very handy to have a built-in drinking buddy), but we each found a sense of freedom in not having to share each and every experience.
Finally.
We were our own people.
Amanda moved to Calgary after her degree to work as a geologist in oil and gas. I continued on with law and stayed in Saskatoon once I was finished. Amanda had her life. I had mine. We talked on the phone every once in awhile and texted sporadically. We had closer friends than each other. I no longer knew what Amanda did on a daily basis.
Amanda and I — like most (if not all) twins — have always been competitive. Amanda is naturally more artistic. One of my most vivid memories is of drawing a Christmas card in grade 5 and being incredibly proud of it. A replicated picture of an old shepherd in a bright green robe, I had coloured the entire thing in dark pencil crayons. Oh man, this is so darn good that I just KNOW I’m going to win our class’ card competition!
Then I walked over to Amanda’s desk and saw her work.
An entire nativity scene, complete with baby Jesus’ face perfectly proportioned and highlighted. My heart sank. I knew it was game over. The art competition was hers.
It always was.
I resorted to kicking the shit out of more logical pursuits. Math? 96%. Physics? 93%. English? No probs.
Ha. I’m good at stuff too. Karate chop!
I was too young to realize that in competing with Amanda, and in vowing to best her in academics, I was directly contributing to her insecurities regarding her intelligence. So fucked up. Because she is brilliant.
Back and forth we went. Back and forth. Competing. Fighting. Competing.
The first kiss (Amanda). The first boyfriend (Adrienne). The first period (Amanda). The first scholarship (Adrienne). The first, the first, the first.
Winning or losing. It was always one or the other. We never realized we could walk away from the competition hand in hand, together.
In the last five years, Amanda and I have each been through a lot of changes. She left her career as a geologist in Calgary to move back to St. Brieux with her husband, Matt, to help expand our mom’s sign-making business. I left my career as a lawyer to create my own storytelling company. In getting back to who we really are — in simultaneously pursuing the whispers of our hearts over the shouts of our minds — we have both broken the mould. And in doing so, we have become closer. We once again find ourselves relying on each other — for support, kleenex and a whole lot of articles about overcoming fear. We share our books on self-love and entrepreneurship. We buy incense because we both feel more spiritual and we burn the shit out of it.
We’re getting back to who we really are. We’re connecting again.
But it’s bringing up a lot of stuff.
Earlier this year, at the age of 31, we agreed to meet up in Bali. It’s the first time just the two of us have travelled together, which is actually kind of strange considering the cumulative mileage we’ve covered.
Yay! A trip to ourselves! Just the two of us!
We eat the same food, laugh at the same (obviously) hilarious shit, borrow each other’s clothes and both prefer the same amount of sleep (which fyi, is a lot). We know what each other are thinking — sadly not because we can read each other’s minds — but simply because we are wired the same way.
But within a few hours of Thursday’s yay-yay-a-familiar-face massive hug in Denpasar’s airport, the competitiveness hit full force. This time?
We can’t run.
Amanda is really good at coming up with brilliant ideas. Every time she comes up with something, I think fuck— I wish that was MY idea. Or when I share my plans for an awesome future story, she shares her fears — “What if people think you’re cooler than me?”
We’re both striving to do some kick-ass work, but we’re both terrified of the other being more loved.
That’s right. At the end of the day, the reason for our competitiveness always comes down to one root fear:
We’re both terrified of the other being more loved.
So although we try our best to fully support each other, we often come up short. In these times of doing work that is so vulnerably close to our hearts, the stakes are even higher. We don’t want to admit our insecurities of being “the inadequate twin,” particularly when it comes to showing the world who we really are, so we gloss over the support and hold back the real love. We’re terrified of the other’s success.
How can we truly support each other if we’re terrified of the other’s success?
The funny thing in all of this?
We are totally on the same path.
Not necessarily in a day-to-day same-kind-of-business sort of way; after all, Amanda has her gig and I have mine. But in a we-both-believe-in-the-same-vision kind of way.
We both want to inspire people to wake up. We both want people to embrace who they really are. We both want people to know that when they are themselves — truly themselves — they will never, ever in a million fucking years, regret it. We’re just going about it in different ways — ways that reflect our natural differences.
So as I glance back and forth between Amanda and the Balinese pool outside, I can’t help but waiver between my love and my fear.
She causes me to doubt everything about myself.
She causes me to believe that anything is possible.
She is the ultimate mirror — both brutal for my self-esteem and wondrous for my self-confidence.
And through my fears, I can’t help but listen to my heart. To her heart.
It’s time to remove ourselves from the competition.
Amanda, I am honoured to call you my twin sister. If I can ever repay the support you have shown me, particularly over the past few years, I will die a happy twin. I am so excited to watch you soar and for our parallel paths to create one large road. From here on out, I will follow your lead. You have always known the way.
Love always,
Adrienne
