My Toxic Sister Hurled a Vial Text at Me into the Middle of a Family Chat

We took the high road and shut her down

Lynda Wallis
4 min readMay 26, 2022


Photo by Pablo Stanic on Unsplash

My sister is a rather dreadful human. She was and always has been mom’s favorite. Mom never tried to hide this fact from my two brothers and I.

When we were young, I wanted nothing more than to be her friend.

I’m the oldest of four, she was the third child. I was painfully shy, she was loud and outgoing. Moving as much as we did when when we were small was really hard on me. When we were the new kids the third time the year I was in fourth grade; my cojones for starting over again had shriveled away to nothing. It was a grueling experience for me.

My younger sister seemed to bounce through our third move that year as if nothing significant had happened. She found a gaggle of friends right away. I wanted to be part of her easy circle and friends.

She wanted no part of me. Ever.

I don’t care about whatever may have caused my sister to shape herself into the dreadful human she is. We all have terrible choices and experiences we’ve made in the past, things that happened to us and around us we had no control over. We have a large degree of choice regarding how we manage our past and who we evolve into.

My sister has always loved being outrageous.

Over the years her entire friend circle has all fallen away due to her toxicity and volatility.

She is an extreme taker. The body count left in her wake has never seemed to matter to her in the slightest. She is ruthless, calculating, cunning, and cold.

Of course she has no idea I made the choice years ago to put as much distance as possible between myself and the toxic people in my life, foremost among them — her.

To her, my distance is a personal affront. She hasn’t the slightest idea of why or that I even have chosen to distance myself from several core birth family members.

For me, it was an excellent choice for my mental health and the state of my soul.

At 16, I made a conscious decision to not be a mother like my mom was. I worked hard to learn other ways of mothering, I talked, I listened…



Lynda Wallis

Deeply rooted in the mid west, I write about little things — everything is a little thing-art, the creative process, the natural world, and love.