I Didn't Realize Family Could Be Anything But A Source Of Pain Until I Met My Husband
Until I met my in-laws, I built my life and my career path on being as distant from any blood relation as I could be.
AleksandarNakic | Canva In college, I was perplexed when people’s post-graduation plans included moving back to places like Ohio to be closer to family. Why would anyone choose to do that?
I built my life and my career path on being as physically and emotionally distant from any blood relation as I could be.
I did not realize that family could be anything but a source of pain until I met my husband.
As we wrapped up our family vacation to California, I found myself longing to live there — even though there is very little I like about the state itself. I knew this was representative of my healing and growth.
For once, I felt as if I belonged with others.
My family is plagued with dysfunction. Addiction, abuse, mental illness, crime — you name some sort of dysfunction, and someone in the family is actively engaged with it.
It has always been that way: My grandmother raised all of my cousins; my aunts never wanted to be parents.
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Truthfully, they never stopped being children themselves and have perpetually failed to take responsibility for the souls they brought into the world. My grandmother never seemed to mind taking on that responsibility — except for me.
She never failed to let me know that I was unwelcome. Neither she nor my aunts ever missed an opportunity to insult my mother or get a few juvenile digs in when she was not around to defend me. My aunt once told me that it didn’t matter how smart I was because it was only a matter of time before I turned out to be a prostitute like my sister. I was five.
Despite the horrendous experiences I had around our extended family, my mother forced me to attend family events sporadically for the first 11 years of my life. She was attempting to mend severed family ties. She thought that if we showed up and did well then maybe we could prove we were worthy of acceptance. Love.
After a particularly traumatic Thanksgiving celebration where the entire family insisted I be the last to get a plate — for a reason that remains a mystery — my mom stopped trying to force any familial relations on me. She knew now that these were always people she would have to protect me from.
Even though my mom spent every Christmas and Thanksgiving waiting tables at Waffle House, leaving me to celebrate alone for most of the day, the holidays felt lighter. They were lonely, but they were peaceful. It was at that time that I decided I would rather spend my life alone than miserable.
Around age 13, I began cutting all familial ties one by one, starting with aunts and cousins. Eventually, I removed all four siblings and both of my parents from my life.
To this day, I only speak to my mother and my cousin. I have tried to mend ties with others, but there was no reconciliation to be had.
Shortly after deciding that Colorado had nothing to offer us anymore, my husband decided it was time to head West and visit his mother’s side of the family — the family he grew up with. Despite being married for two years, this was my first time meeting his mother or any of her family.
We married young and early into our relationship. We assumed no one would be supportive, so we kept our distance. Shortly before we left Colorado, his mother learned that we had eloped and called me in tears. “All this time I’ve had another daughter and I didn’t even know it?”
She and I cried a lot on that trip as we shared stories and expressed our love and admiration for the contributions each of us had made to the amazing man her son had always been and how much more of one he had become. I expected to be criticized. After all, we married quickly and I hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know them. I was a stranger. My background was also completely different from my husband’s.
Surprisingly, his parents accepted me with open arms. Everyone was fun, kind, and welcoming.
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There was not a single person who felt anything less than thrilled to hear I was part of the family. This was the first time I had ever been around a family of any sort that didn’t make me feel alone.
This was all very overwhelming for me. The existence of a family like this had shaken my core beliefs. Everything I knew about the world and my experience in it had been challenged. I may as well have just found out that snow was created by aliens. Nothing made sense anymore.
I did not know how to act in a family governed by love and acceptance.
I spent years building walls and maintaining distance between myself and others to protect myself. From my experience, to do anything else was to risk my safety. After meeting Brendon’s family, I wanted to dive into the closeness, yet the idea of doing so made me feel unprotected.
During Christmas last year, Brendon’s Meemaw and Peepaw came to visit us in Florida. Their upcoming trip caused me immense anxiety. It had been two years since I last attended a family holiday.
Caught in the throes of grief following the sudden death of my father just months earlier, I was unprepared to put on a good front or exchange passive-aggressive niceties. To my surprise, the visit was exceptionally pleasant.
They truly embodied their adorable titles as picturesque grandparents. They bought all of our groceries and spoiled my daughter. His Meemaw even insisted on doing our dishes their entire trip and refused to take no for an answer. This was more triggering than if my expectations had been met.
My entire life, I had been conditioned to fear my grandmother. I had watched her pass presents out to every child but me on more than one Christmas. To experience the love of a grandmother who owed me none made me feel undeserving. This trip also brought up the latent grief I carried for the family I never had.
After Christmas, I spent the next six months processing these feelings through therapy to prepare for our second vacation to California. By the time we landed in San Diego, I felt both prepared and excited.
Rather than shying away from the familial closeness out of fear, I was ready to embrace it. My healing was evident to myself and everyone around me.
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Brendon’s family dynamic is nearly identical to that of the characters in Modern Family, the popular ABC sitcom that ran from 2009 to 2020. He always said that, but I assumed he was over-exaggerating. It was during this trip that I learned close families didn’t only exist on TV.
The entire vacation was planned by Brendon’s Grandpa to celebrate his Uncle D.’s 50th birthday. He bought round-trip tickets for everyone who lived outside of California. Grandpa even made an itinerary of daily activities — all of which he funded.
We stayed with Brendon’s mother. She forfeited her bed to us while she slept on the couch. We never had to ask because, to her, that was a given.
Each morning, we woke up to a house full of loved ones. After grabbing a cup of coffee and a quick breakfast, we would all sit on the back patio and chat or play cards. Family and friends would trickle in to join us. Uncle D. typically opened the shared gate and would wander over periodically to chat.
By high noon, all of the cousins and a few of the neighborhood kids had made their way into the pool. Card games and Washers tournaments were in full effect among the adults. As the sun set, we would transition to one of the many planned activities full of food and laughter.
The visit came to a head for Uncle D.’s actual birthday celebration. What started with 75 people chatting casually and snacking on catered tacos eventually turned into a full-blown dance party. The open bar probably had something to do with that.
Grandpa led the kids in the Gangnam style, and I taught everyone to wobble. The littles found themselves in the center of a dance circle. People held one another as they belted the lyrics to Sweet Caroline. Before the cake was cut, Uncle D. gave a speech.
"I wanted to thank everyone for being here tonight. Each of you is here because we love you, and you make our lives better. I spend my life showing love to people who have never known love. I truly believe that is how we make the world a better place. Thank you for being people who we can love and be loved by in return."
When I reconnected with Uncle D. later in the night, I shared that I had never tried as hard not to cry in my life as I did during his speech. I was so grateful to their entire family for showing me love; I had never known it myself. He hugged me and kissed me on the forehead.
Uncle D. was right. Showing love to people who have never known love before is how we make the world a better place. The effects that this unconditional love and acceptance have had on all of my relationships are evident — particularly the one I have with myself.
We probably won’t ever move to California, but at least we always have a place to spend Thanksgiving where I am both loved and wanted.
Cina Lenee is a memoirist, blogger, and freelance writer. Her blog on Medium features articles on mental health, relationships, social justice, and compelling personal narratives.