I'm one of seven kids, and I love being around a bunch of

The words of Abby Huntsman, when she said, “I'm one of seven kids, and I love being around a bunch of siblings because I think it teaches you independence, and it teaches you how to grow up quickly and also just be a good friend and be a good sister,” carry within them the warmth of family, the fire of growth, and the deep humility of shared living. In these words lies an ancient truth: that the soul is not shaped by solitude alone, but by the presence of others — by the laughter, rivalry, and compassion that only life among kin can teach. Her reflection is not merely about childhood or family, but about the forging of independence, the cultivation of character, and the sacred art of togetherness.

To grow up among many is to live in a constant symphony — sometimes harmonious, sometimes discordant, but always alive. In a household of seven children, one learns quickly that the world does not revolve around oneself. There is no room for vanity when others need the same bread, the same space, the same love. One must learn patience, the balance of self and service, the art of listening amid chaos. In such a world, independence is not the absence of others but the ability to stand strong among them — to find one’s voice not in isolation, but in the chorus.

Huntsman’s words recall an eternal principle that families, tribes, and communities have long known: that strength grows through relationship. The child who must share learns empathy; the one who must help learns responsibility; the one who must compete learns resilience. The independence she speaks of is not selfish freedom, but the strength born from cooperation — the kind that allows a soul to thrive even when alone because it has learned first to coexist. The ancient philosophers called this balance “virtue”: the alignment of the self with both discipline and kindness.

Consider the story of the Brontë sisters — Charlotte, Emily, and Anne — three women who, growing up in the wild moors of Yorkshire, found both companionship and challenge in each other. Their shared life, marked by both hardship and imagination, nurtured genius. They critiqued each other’s writing, supported one another through rejection, and stood united in defiance of a society that dismissed women’s voices. Yet each remained distinctly herself — independent in thought, style, and spirit. Their unity was their foundation; their individuality, their flowering. Like Huntsman, they understood that siblinghood teaches not conformity, but the harmony of strength and tenderness.

To “grow up quickly,” as Huntsman says, is also to be tested early in the fires of shared living. Among many siblings, the lessons of life arrive swiftly — patience, forgiveness, humility, endurance. One learns that tears cannot last too long when others depend upon your laughter, and that love must be given freely, without the expectation of always being first. Maturity comes not from age, but from responsibility — and the home crowded with brothers and sisters becomes the earliest classroom for the soul’s education.

And yet, from this closeness arises a paradox: in learning to live among many, one learns to stand alone. The heart that has navigated the currents of family — the joy, the conflict, the reconciliation — becomes steady in the wider sea of the world. Such a person carries within them the calm of belonging and the courage of selfhood. They know how to speak with honesty, listen with empathy, and stand with integrity. This is the independence of which Huntsman speaks — not the brittle independence of pride, but the quiet confidence of one who has been loved, tested, and taught by life’s first companions.

So, O listener, take this teaching into your heart. Whether you have one sibling or none, a family by blood or by bond, remember this: the lessons of family are the lessons of life. Seek not only to grow strong, but also to grow kind. Learn to share and to stand alone, to forgive and to hold firm, to lead and to follow. For in the dance between connection and independence lies the fullness of humanity. The tree that stands tallest in the forest does so not because it grew apart from others, but because its roots intertwine deep below the soil, sharing the strength of all.

Thus, the wisdom endures: independence is not born in solitude, but in the sacred company of others. Be a good friend, a loyal sister, a steadfast brother. Honor those who shaped you, and in turn, shape others with grace. For every family, whether bound by love or circumstance, is both the forge and the foundation of the soul — and from its lessons, one learns not only how to live, but how to love.