I always believed there wouldn’t be anything big enough to separate me from my family…

What I came to find out is that family isn’t always who or what you think it is. Some people are adopted; some people grow up in “broken” situations and never really get what this “family” thing is all about, or what it is supposed to be, so I guess in a lot of ways I should say I am lucky for having what I had.

But Family is essentially just a word. It’s a word people use all too often to mean something that can’t really be said.

As a child I believed I was loved, but how silly one mistake can be, and how utterly devastating the fall out.
I married a man my family did not approve of and this family I thought I had, fell apart.

I still have nightmares about it. My husband tells me that “family” means something different than what I was taught, what I thought, you know about blood being important.

I was the type of girl that knew even if you were adopted (no blood), it didn’t make you any less of a member of the family.

Sure, mistakes were made. Or what if it wasn’t a mistake? I try to think of it like that, maybe there are no mistakes. Maybe this is just the universe’s way of leading me to a place where my true family is.

What is family? Love. Support. Respect. Understanding…