'My sister and I were best friends. Until we became mothers.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

My sister Caroline and I are only eighteen months apart, and I'd say we were really good friends – until we both became mothers. We grew up sharing a bedroom, and we had the kind of relationship where you'd be fighting one moment and best friends the next.

We were each other's bridesmaids, we holidayed together and, in the early days of motherhood, we helped each other – our first-born kids were born just three months apart. We even used to joke that we'd raise our kids side by side, and for a while, it looked like that was going to happen.

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The first year or so of motherhood, Caroline and I were still really close. At the beginning, it was all baby photos and shared sleepless nights. We swapped tips on breast and bottle feeding, teething gels and nappies.

But somewhere along the line, things changed.

Caroline became competitive. Everything felt like a subtle dig; who was weaning first, whose baby walked first, who was sleeping through the night. At first, I brushed it off. But now, four years later, we can barely be in the same room without arguing over how we parent.

She thinks I'm raising "feral" kids. That's her exact word. She says it with a laugh, but there's always an edge to it. According to her, I'm too soft. I let my kids walk barefoot in the supermarket (because sometimes it's just easier than fighting over shoes). I let them climb on things that other parents might think are dangerous, I let them get messy, stay up late if we're having fun, and I don't force them to eat food they hate.

She says I let them run wild.

I say I let them be kids.

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In her house, everything has rules and order. There are no screens during the week. No talking at the dinner table until everyone has finished eating. If her son talks back or gets emotional, he's made to stand in the corner, facing the wall, for ten minutes. I watched her do that once when we were visiting Mum and Dad. Her son was bawling because he wanted to keep playing and didn't want to eat dinner yet.

She told him, without flinching, "You know the rule. You talk back, you face the wall." He stood there, shaking, while the rest of us ate roast chicken like nothing was happening. That was the moment I knew we were on totally different planets.

She says I let my kids "walk all over me." But I believe in talking to them, not shutting them down. I want them to know their emotions are safe with me, not something that gets them punished. If my daughter melts down in public, I talk to her, even if people stare.

My sister thinks I'm "performing gentle parenting for strangers." I think she's performing discipline for her own ego.

It's not just between us, either. It's started to affect the rest of the family. Our parents are stuck in the middle, constantly trying to keep the peace. At family gatherings, things get tense fast. One time at Mum's birthday lunch, my son spilt a glass of juice and my sister snapped, "See, this is what happens when there are no boundaries." I laughed it off, but inside I was furious.

He's four. He spilt juice, he didn't set the table on fire!

Her kids are well-behaved; I'll give her that. They say please and thank you. They sit quietly when told. But they also seem anxious, like they're constantly bracing for the next rule to break. My kids are chaotic, sure, but they're happy and confident. I'd rather have messy honesty than fearful obedience.

What's sad is that now we judge each other. And worst of all, the cousins, who should be thick as thieves, are starting to notice. "Why do we have to sit still here, but not at your house?" my niece asked me the other week. I didn't know what to say. I want them to grow up together, not grow apart because of our differences.

We've tried talking it out, but it always ends in the same way; me crying, her calling me too sensitive. I don't think she sees how hurtful her comments are. I don't think she realises how upsetting it is to be constantly criticised by someone who used to be your best friend.

Sometimes I wonder if this parenting divide is just the surface of something deeper; some kind of shift in how we see the world, or maybe even how we see ourselves. We both want to be good mums, but our definitions of "good" have grown so far apart. It's like we're speaking different languages, and every disagreement ruins the closeness we once had.

I don't think there's only one right way to parent. I'm doing what feels right for my kids.

She's doing what feels right for hers. I just wish we could find a middle ground, or at least agree to disagree, without tearing each other down.

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Feature: Getty.