On Friendship & Chosen Family

Image Credit: Krista Mangulsone on Unsplash

I’ve been trying to write about friendship and chosen family for months, but nothing I compose feels good enough to publish. I’ll write an essay, polish it, think on it, revisit it, and then end up trashing it.

I want to write honestly about how I’ve been feeling, and I also don’t want to upset any friends who may read what I write. I want to express the emotions that accompany being mistaken about your friendships, and I also don’t want to sound too bitter, too petty, too pitiful. It’s a damn near impossible tightrope to walk, but I’m giving it a try.

Having strong family ties is a blessing. My parents have almost always been there for me when I’ve really needed them to be, and I’ll always be grateful for them. But they probably wouldn’t associate with me if we weren’t blood — I’m queer, I’m agnostic, and if I had to choose a political label, I’d choose democratic socialist; these are not identities my parents agree with or fully support.

My sister is the best friend I could ever ask for, and my brother is a great friend as well. I have some wonderful cousins also. But having a strong, connected friend group means having a chosen family that consistently chooses you even though you’re not bound by blood or marriage.

I have coworkers — and former coworkers — that I adore, and we occasionally spend time together outside of work. I have acquaintances I enjoy catching up with when we find ourselves at the same stores or events.

I have solid friends who are quite busy, but who I do feel loved by. I have long distance friends who I don’t hear from often, but who I’m always happy to hear from.

I have friends I’ll always love that I’ve nevertheless needed to separate from. I have friends who’ve separated from me.

I have friends I used to think of as chosen family, but I’m not sure how to feel about them now.

Of the metaphorical rug-pulls I’ve experienced as an adult, realizing I may not actually have a chosen family is a relatively minor one; I know this. But it’s still difficult to come to terms with, and I think I’ve figured out why.

Forming a chosen family seems to be especially important for queer people, and perhaps especially for queers whose parents think they’re going to hell. There’s a part of my little bisexual soul that longs for a family in which every member loves me for who I am, not in spite of who I am. It’s also true that as a single, child-free person, finding family where others might only find friends feels like a smart move for my long term safety and overall well-being. These are not ridiculous thoughts, and I’m certainly not the first single, queer, child-free person to have them.

I love my life most of the time. I love my little cabin in the woods, I love my cats, and I’m thankful for the numerous other aspects of my life that I have to be thankful for. The past year alone has given me so many good days and personal triumphs. But it’s also been a year filled with grief; and one of the things I’ve been grieving is the chosen family I’m no longer certain I ever truly had.

In Friends: The Reunion, one of the show’s creators explained the premise of the iconic series as such: “The one-sentence pitch is: it’s about that time in your life when your friends are your family.” I don’t know if I’ve ever had “that time” in my life, and I don’t know if I ever will, and maybe that’s okay.

Life has taught me that people need each other — I might be dead if not for the kindness of good neighbors — but life has also taught me that the only person I can rely on to always have my back is me. I learned this lesson in my twenties, and I guess I’m learning it again in my thirties. I can only hope by the time I reach my forties — should I be so fortunate — that I won’t have to be taught this lesson once more.