Who Gets a Seat at My Table

People love to say, “Blood is thicker than water.”
Usually right after you’ve admitted you don’t talk to your sister anymore.

And look, I get it. If you grew up in one of those families where Sunday dinners were sacred, arguments ended with hugs, and nobody stormed out over dessert, my life probably sounds dramatic to you. But here’s the thing: my childhood wasn’t bad. It was good, even. I was loved. I was safe. And there were still patterns I eventually decided not to keep.

That’s the part people don’t always see.
You don’t just inherit the good china, you inherit dynamics.
Some you carry on.
Some you break.

And breaking them? That’s when people start looking at you like you’ve just announced you hate puppies.

The people closest to me understand. They’ve seen the behind-the-scenes footage. But the acquaintances, the ones who think “family always comes first” is an unbreakable rule, they can’t always imagine stepping back.

I don’t blame them. If your family is a warm, slightly chaotic but ultimately safe place, you can’t imagine needing distance. Mine was loving too, but love doesn’t always cancel out dysfunction. Sometimes it takes love – for yourself – to say: this far and no further.

Which is why my friends have become my second family.
Not a backup plan.
Not “plan B.”
A chosen one.

These are the people who call after a fight, not to get the gossip, but to make sure I’m okay. The ones who will text “eat something” when I sound cranky, who will sit with me in the messy middle, who will remind me that one bad week doesn’t erase a good year.

My circle is wide and weird, friends fifteen years younger who keep me from aging prematurely, friends thirty years older who remind me everything passes, and friends my age who know when to hand me a cocktail or a latte and when to hand me a reality check.

This, to me, is adulthood: having people around who let you be complicated, messy, and occasionally unreasonable; and knowing they won’t vanish when you are.

Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes it’s the people who stay when things get uncomfortable. The ones who don’t flinch when you’re not at your best. The ones who feel like home – even when “home” hasn’t felt like home in years.

And maybe that’s the point:
We don’t just inherit family.
We get to choose who sits at our table.
And that choice?
Worth everything.