Chosen Family
The word family invites a variety of images for us. It might remind us of gathering around the tree on Christmas morning or a table crowded with food and guests on Thanksgiving. It might evoke flashbacks of vacations, picnics, and other events that remind us how lucky we are to have each other.
This charged word might also bring to mind less-than-pleasant recollections. The unexpected loss of a parent or sibling. The harm done by words spoken in the past. Then there’s the outright familial rejection and persecution many in the LGBTQIA+ community experience among family.
Our families of origin are responsible for our first exposure to how the world works. Within the confines of this unit, we learn our first words, take our first steps, and experience our first human interactions. With no other significant input, we trust these early life lessons to be true.
As we grow, we are introduced to the concept of action and consequence. Some lessons are simple: We touch a hot stove, and our hand gets burned. Others are complex: We tell the truth about breaking the window, and we are punished for the damage yet praised for our honesty.
The complexity of relationships only expands as our circle of friends does. We are exposed to new ways of seeing the world, new ways of connecting with others, and we become aware that not everyone will love or even like us. While so much new input can influence our worldview, we remain primarily guided by those first exposures. We assume the information that had been so deeply ingrained is true. But what happens if/when we discover that our assumption is false? To whom do we turn when the environment we call home feels unwelcome or even unsafe?
Behind the Facade of Perfection
I would love to say that my personal family “truisms” stressed the importance of empathy, mutual self-respect, unconditional love, and acceptance. I wish I had been taught to extend patience and compassion. If you are one who received such wisdom in your formative years, I hope you count yourself blessed. But if not, parts of this missive may resonate more with you.
I am what is commonly called a PK—short for preacher’s kid, the youngest of four in an Assemblies of God family. In public, we were to be perfect in every way. Well-mannered, articulate (when spoken to, of course), neatly coiffed, and always smiling. In private, things were quite different. My father, to put it mildly, was not one to practice what he preached. My mother made it her mission to ensure my father’s indiscretions were kept hidden from everyone else. Long story short—how the world worked in our house was to hide, keep secrets, and, when all else failed, get angry or leave.
In whatever way your chosen family comes about, know it is a group with whom you will potentially make new and wonderful memories. It is a group in whose midst you will have the opportunity to release old truisms, heal those wounded places, and hopefully enjoy many moments that remind you how lucky you are to have each other.
At about age 8, I noticed the disconnect between what we learned in Sunday school about how we should live and how members of the Adams household actually lived. My father, whom I revered despite his behavior, eventually left for a younger woman. The church paid for my mother and me, the only child still at home, to move to Texas. My family of origin, and everything I thought was true, was shattered.
Fear of further abandonment and isolation haunted my teen years and intensified with the realization that I was gay. I recall hearing from the church platform that God would forgive a murderer, but a homosexual was doomed. And so, fearful of hell, I tried to “pray the gay away.” Rejection by my church family felt inevitable.
In 1987 during summer break of my junior year in college, I learned that my brother, Jim, was also gay. Given our upbringing, we both wrestled with our faith. While I had reached a point of rejecting God, Jim just could not. In 1989 Jim took his life, largely because of this inner conflict. My fear of rejection by God and a spiritual family of any type was fulfilled.
Accumulating a New Family
But, in the midst of all this, something wonderful was happening. It didn’t occur all at once, but throughout a course of years. I didn’t actively pursue it, and yet it was there when I needed it.
My chosen family, at first a loose band of friends I had met throughout the years, saw through my masks. With them, there was plenty of room for me to grow, learn, and change without judgment. I learned to trust others enough to share my fears, worries, and pain. I learned to speak of my past in a way that brought freedom and relief to areas blighted by shame. In their midst, I no longer feared rejection. Ingrained habits to push them away were met with love (and an occasional kick in the rear). Moreover, I learned to recognize who was deserving of my trust. My chosen family was, and continues to be, one forged in trust.
Today, my chosen family is a network of friends that continues to grow. It is a community of people with whom I share every aspect of myself—emotional, spiritual, and intellectual. How our chosen families form is unique to each of us. It might happen by seeking out events or organizations that support the community with which you best identify. It might happen through shared experience. It might even include some family of origin. If you’re like me, it has been happening all along your journey, simply waiting for you to take advantage of the beauty such kinship offers.
In whatever way your chosen family comes about, know it is a group with whom you will potentially make new and wonderful memories. It is a group in whose midst you will have the opportunity to release old truisms, heal those wounded places, and hopefully enjoy many moments that remind you how lucky you are to have each other.