During the holiday season, a lot of well-intentioned people encourage us to focus, more than anything, on our families. The message is loud and clear: Cherish the time you have with your loved ones, prioritize seeing family above all else, and be present in the moment. All of that is good and reasonable. But what happens when you can’t—or don't want to—go home?
That’s where the concept of “chosen” family can come in, if companionship is something you’re looking for. Anyone can develop a chosen family (or families) for any reason, though it’s something that’s long been held as sacred among queer communities. Even today (and especially in generations past), many openly LGBTQ+ people have been kicked out or otherwise disowned by our families, which can manifest in a number of ways—perhaps it’s temporary, perhaps there’s partial communication with certain people, or it could be a total estrangement. But what does it mean to have a chosen family, and what does it look like in practice? Like so many things about relationships: It depends.
As a gay person that’s been estranged from family for years, I’ve moved into and out of what many people might describe as chosen families. I’ve spent Easter with non-queer people who couldn’t afford to go home for the holidays. I’ve spent Christmas Day alone at an independent theater watching Moonlight. I’ve had Thanksgiving with a girlfriend’s coworkers—including, as I found out once I was seated, a couple who met as missionaries and definitely, absolutely did not realize we were gay prior to inviting us. I’ve been front and center in group photos where, I’m willing to bet, a lot of those people don’t remember my name or quite how I got there. I've also been in photos with people I talk to all of the time, even years later.
In an ideal world, I think chosen families would have the same rights (or at least, the possibility of the same rights) as those legally given to biological family; adding one another to your insurance plans, for example, or having no doubt you’d be able to visit that loved one in a hospital. I also think, in an ideal setting, chosen families would garner the same sort of respect and social acceptance as biological families. It’s all too common to “ghost” or blow off friends, or to feel you have to “grow out” of a friendship or friend group and focus on creating a “real” family via marriage or having children.
In reality, all of those things can coexist—you can be a parent and still be close to a chosen family, for example, or have a partner or spouse and still put time and effort into maintaining connections with others you aren’t tied to by blood. You don’t have to opt-out of “optional” bonds and communities just because people tend to let those relationships fade first in a busy world.
All of this said, chosen families are still made up of people, and people—myself included, for sure—are deeply flawed. Chosen families can disappoint one another, cause harm, break ties, or be cesspools of drama just like biological families or families connected by marriage. A gut reaction might be to say, Well, they’re not my real family, anyway, so I’ll just never talk to them again, and that is certainly something people might do. It might be that route is precisely the best choice for someone. But it’s also possible that these relationships, too, are worth nurturing and working on, and that there is nothing wrong with working through a hard patch with someone you care about, even if nothing “official” is tying you together.
If you’re comfortable sharing in the comments (or in a diary of your own!), I’d love to hear what experiences you’ve all had with chosen families, be it happy memories, life-changing experiences, or sore spots that could use some support and reassurance.
That’s where the concept of “chosen” family can come in, if companionship is something you’re looking for. Anyone can develop a chosen family (or families) for any reason, though it’s something that’s long been held as sacred among queer communities. Even today (and especially in generations past), many openly LGBTQ+ people have been kicked out or otherwise disowned by our families, which can manifest in a number of ways—perhaps it’s temporary, perhaps there’s partial communication with certain people, or it could be a total estrangement. But what does it mean to have a chosen family, and what does it look like in practice? Like so many things about relationships: It depends.
As a gay person that’s been estranged from family for years, I’ve moved into and out of what many people might describe as chosen families. I’ve spent Easter with non-queer people who couldn’t afford to go home for the holidays. I’ve spent Christmas Day alone at an independent theater watching Moonlight. I’ve had Thanksgiving with a girlfriend’s coworkers—including, as I found out once I was seated, a couple who met as missionaries and definitely, absolutely did not realize we were gay prior to inviting us. I’ve been front and center in group photos where, I’m willing to bet, a lot of those people don’t remember my name or quite how I got there. I've also been in photos with people I talk to all of the time, even years later.
In an ideal world, I think chosen families would have the same rights (or at least, the possibility of the same rights) as those legally given to biological family; adding one another to your insurance plans, for example, or having no doubt you’d be able to visit that loved one in a hospital. I also think, in an ideal setting, chosen families would garner the same sort of respect and social acceptance as biological families. It’s all too common to “ghost” or blow off friends, or to feel you have to “grow out” of a friendship or friend group and focus on creating a “real” family via marriage or having children.
In reality, all of those things can coexist—you can be a parent and still be close to a chosen family, for example, or have a partner or spouse and still put time and effort into maintaining connections with others you aren’t tied to by blood. You don’t have to opt-out of “optional” bonds and communities just because people tend to let those relationships fade first in a busy world.
All of this said, chosen families are still made up of people, and people—myself included, for sure—are deeply flawed. Chosen families can disappoint one another, cause harm, break ties, or be cesspools of drama just like biological families or families connected by marriage. A gut reaction might be to say, Well, they’re not my real family, anyway, so I’ll just never talk to them again, and that is certainly something people might do. It might be that route is precisely the best choice for someone. But it’s also possible that these relationships, too, are worth nurturing and working on, and that there is nothing wrong with working through a hard patch with someone you care about, even if nothing “official” is tying you together.
If you’re comfortable sharing in the comments (or in a diary of your own!), I’d love to hear what experiences you’ve all had with chosen families, be it happy memories, life-changing experiences, or sore spots that could use some support and reassurance.