Let’s Talk About Chosen Families

I cannot tell you how many homes I’ve been in—how many families I’ve entered, just to be taken away. 
 
I can’t tell you how many times I had to sit aside and watch my many foster siblings open up their holiday gifts in front of me or how many times I was sent to bed without dinner. 
 
I can tell you how many missed birthdays I’ve had as a child (9) and the one lesson I learned from my experience in the child welfare system—which is, nothing good lasts forever. 
 
For those of you who may not have read my previous blogs or haven’t had the chance to hear me speak about my story, let me give you some background. 
 
I started my journey in the child welfare system when I was 4 years old. At that time, life was a series of unfortunate events, to say the least. I was just going through the motions of life, like everyone else. I had grown up with adults constantly trying to force me to talk about my trauma and trying to find “the deeper meaning” to everything I do. But it was quite simple, I was a kid who endured a lot of abuse and the response from the government was “I know you just lost your little sister… but let‘s separate you from your siblings and tear you from the only family you’ve ever known. And to top it off, let’s keep shipping you from home to home and hopefully one will stick.” 
 
At age 8 I was introduced to a therapist named Mary-Jo. This therapist was different and I couldn’t understand it. She was the first adult in my life that didn’t force me to talk. Once a week for an hour I would go to her office in Cambridge, ON and did nothing but play with toys in the big sandbox she had. 
 
Now, that might seem like nothing to some, but to me, that hour was the highlight of my week. I didn’t have toys in my foster homes and even if I was lucky enough to have them, the environments I was in were far from play-friendly. 
 
As the weeks went on and my love for therapy grew, so did my attachment to my therapist. Finally, an adult in my life looked at me like a human and not just another case file. Someone whose only intentions were to help me, this was rare. 8-year-old me knew better—I kept having to tell myself, nothing good ever lasts. Enjoy this hour once a week and get back to reality. 
 
On my second last session, my therapist (who is also a foster parent), asked if I wanted to come over for dinner. My foster home at the time gave me nothing but McDonald’s’s and meat Macaroni—I thought, “well, can’t be worse than that” and I agreed to come over for dinner. 
 
I arrived at their house and I still remember the warm fuzzy feeling I had when I first walked into their home. I could see and feel that they had a lot of love for each other—I thought, is this what family is? Maybe. 
 
Mary-Jo’s children went to play in the park behind the house and I stayed in to help make dinner. My therapist made me feel safe, so I wanted to stay close. Eventually, I joined her children at the park and I’m glad I did. 

“This is what being a kid feels like,” I thought, while I was swinging with the kids, seeing who could go higher. 
 
The evening came to an end, and it was time for me to head back to my reality. 
 
Or so I thought. Fast forward to a week later, I just had another missed birthday but that didn’t matter. My therapist had asked me if I wanted to move in and I said yes. By the end of July, I was in my new home. Greeted with a bed FULL of stuffed animals, in my OWN room. This was big for me. 
 
As I think back to all the wonderful memories made with my chosen family, I can’t help but compare them to my past homes. Getting things can be bittersweet as it shines a light on what you didn’t have. 
 
I didn’t have toys let alone, my own room. I didn’t have free access to food, and I didn’t feel wanted in any of my past foster homes. 
 
My family and I have been through a lot—moving in at 9 and getting adopted at 14 didn't mean my journey came to an end. I’m still on my journey but I know now, I’m not alone. No matter how deep I go down the rabbit hole mentally, I know my family is there pulling me back up. 
 
My chosen family isn't just the ones that adopted me. A have a few friends that I truly consider family. For me, family isn't about who you’re related to by blood. It’s about who’s there for you in your time of need, who you want to focus your energy on and vice versa. 
 
My chosen family makes me feel loved and wanted and for me, that’s all I ask for. 

What are some things you ask for from your chosen family?