A blogger/reporter in Seattle asked me.
“If you could choose your family again, would you?”
My answer came fast and sharp.
No, I would not.
Because the truth is, I would never willingly choose pain, betrayal, or people who make me question my own worth. I would never choose a family where silence cuts deeper than words, where love is conditional, and honesty is a foreign language.
If I could choose again, I would choose people like me. People who fight for the ones they love, who give without keeping score, who are transparent even when the truth hurts. I would choose a family that builds, not breaks. A family that protects, not exposes. A family that loves loudly, not one that leaves you starving for scraps of affection.
Blood has never been enough for me. Blood ties mean nothing if the heart behind them is cold. I have learned the hard way that sometimes strangers will show you more love than the people who share your last name or walk with your blood gushing through their veins.
So no, I would not choose mine again. I would choose a family that mirrors my soul. A family of loyalty, of honesty, of relentless love. Because family should not be a wound you spend your whole life trying to heal. Family should be the one place you never have to question if you belong. The one place you should feel safest but most importantly a family should be one who nourishes your mental health in a positive way and not destroy it.
After all blood without love is just biology, not belonging.
