What Chosen Family Means To Me
And how it's making space for my given family.
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What Chosen Family Means To Me
My family Christmases growing up were, among other things, intense. My mom demanded our presence, no ifs, ands, or buts. We were required to show up and we were required to behave. Show up we did, behave we mostly didn’t. My siblings and I erupted into passive aggressive fits of finger pointing and guilt tripping and teasing and drama . I never quite felt safe but I never felt unsafe either. Amidst all of that chaos there was a gooey love centre, like the melted chocolate in my mom’s famous Hello Dolly dessert bars. It kept me wanting one more bite, even if my brothers ostracized me for taking a single crumb more than they did.
After my mom died, gatherings with my family became fewer and fewer. After a couple of years, I moved as far west as I could. I didn’t know it yet, but I needed that distance to make sense of things. I love my family deeply, of course I do. But love on its own is not synonymous with growth. I was hungry for knowing. Knowing myself, knowing my patterns, knowing what family could look like without the other ingredients that overpowered the decadent gooey chocolate centre. I’d grown blind to the love and I could only see the chaos.
I’m grateful for my relationship with my dad, which grew stronger in the years to come. He’s probably the most important person in my life today. My relationship with my mom got better as well but that was a lot easier now that I was the one steering it. I can finally say the things I didn’t know I needed to say. I remember camping in the desert looking up at the moon on a quiet night alone. The moon often made me think of her. “Mom, I need you to know that we believe different things. Your God and my God… they’re… not the same, but they are.” I muttered to the moon. My voice cracking incase she can somehow hear me. “And… I’m sorry… but I’m never gonna be the priest that you wanted me to become.” Her response (which was actually my response for her, like some kind of cosmic ventriloquism) was one of non-judgemental acceptance, something I’d hoped she would have grown capable of had cancer not taken her at 67. Had the treatments not gradually crippled her clarity for more than a decade after her diagnosis. “Oh, Andrew. I’m sorry I put that pressure on you. You know I love you as you are.”
I’m still untangling the meaning of family for myself. I also still have hopes of fostering a healthy one of my own. In the meantime, I recognize that the chaos of my childhood impacted me deeply. Sure, I am to various degrees small-t-traumatized, but I still yearn for the driving force behind it all: love. This love sized hole, I’m pretty sure, has had many dogs curled up inside, but when Christmas rolled around year after year, I didn’t want to be a part of it. I was alone. I felt empty and lonely and pathetic. Pulling Momo in for a cuddle and speeding time up with partying and alcohol. The holidays are nothing but chaos, I figured. Muttering fuck this and fuck that under my breath every time I had to go out into the world. It was a time for greed and gloating and shame and judgement. Anything else would be better than this.
I was becoming better at recognizing that familial love in my friends.
The past few years have offered me an olive branch. More dogs, of course, but the idea of chosen family landed lovingly in my path. The short of it is that I lived in a barn for a few years (yes, a literal barn with horses and everything) and the woman who owned the barn, an avid dog rescuer and animal lover, rescued me, too. She invited me over year after year to every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner with her family and friends, some of whom were also orphaned to some degree. Eventually, I’d say yes, and awkwardly sit among strangers and listen to stories. Social anxiety would inevitably force me out the door and back to my literal barn with horses and everything until those strangers turned to friends and then to family and my social anxiety became outweighed by love and acceptance. I was becoming better at recognizing that familial love in my friends. Greed and gloating and shame and judgement were only ghosts.
The chaos of the holidays had always been separate from the love that catalyzed it, however tangled the two seemed. This Christmas, I’ll be spending time with some of my closest friends. It’ll be intimate but intentional. My intentions are set for celebrating life and family and all of that good stuff. Being thankful and sharing stories and making jokes and showing that inner child that he was right to be excited for these times, and he was also right to protect himself from the chaos. It isn’t all cheery though. If you catch me at the grocery store on an off day, you might witness my Grinchier side. Sorry. He still makes an appearance from time to time.
There is a simple equation to it, I think. If a) your family dynamics cause you anxiety and b) you can identify the behavioural patterns that are at the root of these dynamics and c) your family members are not willing to discuss or address these issues with honesty and vulnerability and openness and d) your personal emotional limits don’t allow the space required to foster that openness, then it may be time to shuffle in some new people. You choose the ones you grow with. The family I want, chosen or given, lives in a mutual excitement for something not only important, but enriching. I keep an open line with my given family members as best as I can if they’re interested in fostering this growth, and if they’re open to listening as much as they need to be heard. Of course, I hold myself to the same account. And sure, we can talk about the weather for hours, but an openness and a capacity to talk about hard things when hard things are happening is a non-negotiable. I don’t know, maybe that’s too harsh and I’ve just grown cold. In all honesty, I’m still learning to overcome this barrier myself, which is why I believe distance sometimes plays a pivotal role in healing.
You choose the ones you grow with. The family I want, chosen or given, lives in a mutual excitement for something not only important, but enriching.
I really can’t escape this primal desire to be among family. If I had my way, I’d pluck my favourite people from all over the world and set them on a long table with me every damn weekend (you know who you are). Attempting to isolate myself left me like a ship without a sail, but anchors can be people and places and of course dogs. There was a time when Momo felt like my only anchor, my whole family, and I’m grateful for him. Having chosen family doesn’t mean I don’t love the family I was given, however distant they might be. It just means that this is where I am, and i’ve made the choice to love the people that have fallen into my path like family, the ones with whom I feel a mutual openness. I couldn’t be happier about it, and that, too, is my choice. My mom’s famous Hello Dollies may never make an appearance, but there will be a table with family. And there will be dogs under that table. And they’re family too.
With love,
Andrew, Yaya, & Boo
Pre-order my new book. Find Momo Everywhere is a whole-hearted tribute to Momo, the dog that was my chosen family while my life was rife with change. A book about dogs, love, loss, and nature. Written, photographed, and illustrated by yours truly.
Thank you for this. . . . At age 64, I am still struggling with the legacy of my given family (I love them but . . . ), and a year and a half after losing my beloved partner (my best friend and place of calm and joy) to brain cancer, these holidays feel especially difficult. But it's okay. We are all a work in progress.
I find myself sharing your newsletter with my nephew because I often feel like your writings are so similar. Family can be so hard. My mom loved my children dearly but she and I had such a difficult relationship. I miss her of course but we have had the best time with our now adult children at Christmas since she has passed.