Dancing in Between
March 18th, 2025
Writer: Alexa Oriel
Editor: Zoe Gellert
Being the middle child is like standing center stage in a dance you didn’t choreograph. It's like being thrown a formation from the first beat, expected to balance the ensemble while still discovering your own rhythm. In my family, that meant navigating the space between my older sister, Sydney, and my younger brother, Jake, each with their already established roles in our carefully orchestrated dynamic.
From an early age, my siblings and I held nightly dance parties with my mom playing music and my dad filming us prancing around the kitchen. All it took was for my younger brother to yell, “Hit it!” and we knew to immediately play my family's all-time favorite musical, SIX’s soundtrack.
For as long as I can remember, my parents have relied on a familiar frame in any given situation: “If Sydney can do it, anyone can.” This mantra, a testament to my sister’s role, underscored her position as the inevitable test subject for my brother and me. Sydney was the first step in our routine, the foundational movement that set the rhythm for everything that followed. While I admired her, I also felt an innate responsibility to protect her — an ironic reversal of the typical older-younger sister dynamic, much like a dancer spotting for a partner, ensuring they don’t fall while still allowing them to succeed.
Then, in 2010, when our family became complete, so did my role as the middle child. It wasn’t long before I became known as the “Jake Whisperer.” My younger brother’s admiration for me was almost instinctual — whatever I did, he mirrored. If I hated bananas, he hated bananas too when he was old enough to realize it. When he was upset, he would lock himself in his room, refusing to talk to anyone but me. I was the only one who could get him to open the door, the only one who could calm him down. If Sydney was the preparation, then Jake was the landing. Creating the final moment of a perfectly timed leap, relying on me to guide us safely to the ground.
Every routine contains a set of turns; the most difficult is the Fouetté. This is on one foot, with the other leg swinging in the air. It requires core and arm alignment, and it comes down to balance. I have always been familiar with the delicate nature of balance. Middle children learn independence quickly. They know the best leaders are not the loudest in the room but the ones who can read the room. I am the glue for my family, anticipating when someone needs support or needs to feel seen.
Don’t rush the turn.
Being the middle child to me means embracing the in-between space where stability meets spontaneity, always taking the back seat in a car ride, and sleeping on the pullout couch during family vacations. It is where you learn to lead by listening and finding strength through independence. Like a dancer perfecting their craft, I've learned that balance isn't just about control and trust in myself and my family. Every turn, every beat, and every role I play in my family’s choreography has shaped me into who I am today. The key isn't just landing the turn; it's finding the rhythm to keep going.