My brother Elian has three kids by three women and constantly asks me for money. Recently, he announced another pregnancy. I snapped: “Get a vasectomy! Why do you keep having kids you can’t afford?” He paused, then admitted, “I think I’m trying to make up for something I can’t fix.”
It turned out he’d lost a baby with a college girlfriend, Ayda, years ago and never healed. He’d spiraled—dropping out, couch-surfing, barely holding a job. His kids now were his attempt to atone, even if unconsciously.
I stopped enabling him. No more money, no more crutches. At first he was furious. Then a car accident and a wake-up call pushed him to start small: steady work, sending child support, showing up on time.
A year later, he’s getting a vasectomy, going back to school, and finally present for his kids. Not perfect—but trying.
Sometimes helping someone means letting them face consequences, and sometimes it takes a lifetime to finally choose better.
