I have a deep bond with my twin, Danielle. And yet, we've never spoken. I was the first one born—on a frigid January day in the Bronx, in 1971. Danielle emerged four minutes later, not breathing. She had swallowed part of the placenta, and the extended lack of oxygen to her brain caused a serious disability. Her doctors broke the news: She would never talk, never walk, and she would suffer drastically limited cognition. They projected she'd live to be only 13. Danielle is a miracle because she's still alive—but that's not the only reason.

My sister's disability is so severe that she can't move her body, only her arms and feet a bit. Doctors believe she has the mental capacity of a 6-month-old; she can see, hear, and laugh—when she sees me, she squeals with excitement. She also communicates through sounds when in pain. It's the hardest part: to hear she's hurting but not know why.

Jennifer Walsh and twin sister Danielle Walsh age 1pinterest
Courtesy of Jennifer Walsh
The author (right) and her twin, Danielle, at age 1.

As toddlers, I liked to pull Danielle in her infant seat around our apartment, like she was on a ride, both of us exploding with giggles (to this day, she still loves being spun in her wheelchair). When we were 2, my parents placed my sister in an Intermediate Care Facility where she could get the 24-hour medical care she needed. We spent so much time there with Danielle and the kids living alongside her that their families became part of our own.

Jennifer Walsh and Danielle Walsh twins age 2pinterest
Courtesy of Jennifer Walsh
The author, left, and her twin Danielle, at age 2.

Adults who knew of Danielle would tell me how lucky I was, or say, "You were given this life for a reason." I wonder now if that pressure led to my rebellious teen years. I drove my parents crazy, sneaking out to go clubbing well past curfew. I wished so badly that my twin could be my accomplice; the stark difference between my hijinks and her life of stillness aggravated my heartache. When I visited, I'd tell her all my secrets. I always felt she was in there somewhere, stuck in a body that couldn't respond.

I always felt she was in there somewhere, stuck in a body that couldn't respond.

A voice, deep in the recesses of my mind, grew louder as I hit adulthood: Why me? Why do I get to experience all of this and she doesn't? Sometimes I'd wake in the middle of the night, hearing someone call my name; even though she can't speak and was miles away, I was sure it was Danielle. It became clearer to me that I wanted to do something special with my life, and Danielle became my fuel to push harder and get back on my feet even at my lowest. When the two beauty businesses I founded were thriving, the success was both of ours. When I was forced to fold a company in 2015, financially and emotionally gutted, I felt I'd failed us both.

Jennifer Walsh and twin sister Danielle Walsh in 2015pinterest
Courtesy of Jennifer Walsh
During a visit in 2015.

My sister has opened my eyes in a way that not everyone gets to experience. She helps me see colors more vividly, feel a breeze more intensely, and appreciate the ability to put one foot in front of the other. Entrepreneurship can rob you of your sanity, relationships, bank account. Danielle has made me realize that money comes and goes, but as long as I have my health and loved ones, I'm okay.

Why me? Why do I get to experience all of this and she doesn't?

Sometimes the guilt comes when I'm not expecting it. On a recent evening in Manhattan, I ducked into a little Italian restaurant with a man I'd been dating. The ambience was lovely, the dinner delicious. I was blissfully happy. Then a wave of sadness hit. I envisioned my twin lying in her bed in a dark room, staring at the ceiling. When I feel this sadness, I try to "transport" Danielle to where I am. If I see something breathtaking, I speak to her out loud, as if she's there, and we both say, "Can you believe how beautiful this is?"

Jennifer Walsh Danielle Walsh Winnie Walsh 2015pinterest
Courtesy of Jennifer Walsh
With their mother, Winnie, and younger sister, Briana, preparing for Briana’s wedding in 2015.

Some days I am filled with heartache for my twin, but most days I just see the blessings she has given me. Danielle now lives in a home in Florida, close to my parents and younger sister. As we get older, I see her more in my dreams. I often dream about what she thinks, what she wants to say. Sometimes she is standing, free from the confines of her wheelchair, and we can speak for hours.

Jennifer Walsh is WH's entrepreneurship advisor and host of the video series and podcast Walk with Walsh and the Alexa series Wake Up with Walsh.

This article originally appeared in the March 2018 issue of Women's Health. For more great stories and advice, pick up a copy on newsstands now!