Being an identical twin was suffocating, but living apart showed me how much I needed my sister

• Growing up, my identical twin sister and I were inseparable.
• I still respond to my sister's name, assuming someone is misidentifying me.

The first time I was separated from my identical twin was the day I had to stay in the NICU while my understandably upset mother brought my sister home to adoring fans.

It's impossible to know how a brand-new baby feels, but once I was out of the hospital and armed with climbing abilities, I moved swiftly into her crib every night, much to my parents' confusion in the morning. As we got older, we were dressed in the same outfits in alternating colors, were dubbed "the twins," and people constantly asked us how to tell us apart.

I wanted to separate myself from the twin identity

Many twins I know have gone through a period of seeing their look-alike as the bane of their existence — someone you're constantly compared to despite being different people.

Having been misidentified so many times, I still respond to my sister's name. Even my schoolmates identified me based on the color of my backpack (purple) or hair (pink) at the time. It became frustrating not being seen as a singular being.

The first opportunity to live separately came when I was 21 and moved from Ireland to Berkeley, California, to work for four months. Suddenly no one addressed me by the wrong name; no one asked if my twin and I could telepathically communicate. I was given space to forge new parts of my identity.

But my sister and I weren't speaking. It felt like grief, a type that's still difficult to express. It took her being thousands of miles away, in a different time zone, to appreciate the deep connection we had. Here was someone who knew me better than anyone else in the world since our conception. No matter how terrible the fight, there had to be a compromise — our DNA decided that in 1995. Your twin sees your worst side, but the bond is unconditional.

When my twin left, we struggled again

The following summer, my twin went to work in Vancouver. The same strange ache occurred, and a few years later, she emigrated to London — only an hour's flight away, in the same time zone, and yet she was out of my everyday life. I couldn't knock on her bedroom door and instantly have company. I had to think for myself, make more decisions, and learn to venture places alone. In the UK, she struggled with missing Irish culture, while I felt completely overwhelmed by the Dublin housing and cost-of-living crises.

When she moved back to Ireland last year, my parents were astonished at how little we argued anymore and how we found ways to navigate around the other's bad moods or problems. While before we felt stifled, we now appreciate understanding each other in such a deep way.

When I spoke to my twin about her experience of living abroad, she described a significant boost in confidence. "The time away was very much needed for me," she said. "I came back a more well-rounded and assertive person, knowing I was able to live life not just Kate's quieter twin. It was easier to find a more authentic version of myself when I wasn't being compared to anyone."

My twin isn't a mirror or my other half but a unique person who happens to understand me as a whole.