I don’t have many friends. Not because I don’t want them or because I’m difficult to get along with (though, fair warning, my cat and I can be a bit picky). I have a small circle because I choose them deliberately. I choose people who nourish my soul. I choose people who respect the deepest parts of me—the parts that society once taught me to hide. And in doing so, I have discovered something that feels more radical, more transformative, and more liberating than anything I ever expected: chosen family is not a backup plan. It is a revolution.
Blood Ties and Emotional Boundaries
For many transgender people, the idea of family can be complicated. For some, it’s a source of comfort and love. For others, it’s a well of hurt, rejection, or conditional acceptance that feels like rejection in disguise. We are often told that blood is thicker than water, as if that aphorism should silence our pain or guilt-trip us into remaining loyal to people who cannot or will not see us for who we truly are.
Let me say this plainly: you do not owe anyone access to your life simply because you share DNA.
If that sounds rebellious, it’s because it is. It’s a quiet rebellion with enormous consequences. It means we get to decide who matters to us, who we trust with our hearts, and who gets to stand beside us through this messy, beautiful, defiant journey of becoming. And for those of us who are transgender, that journey is often one we must make with courage, with community, and with clarity about who actually deserves to walk with us.
The People Who Stay
I came out as a transgender woman later in life. Like many, I had already lived an entire other life—a life that felt like someone else’s clothes, someone else’s voice, someone else’s mirror. When I transitioned, some people faded away. Others slammed the door. And a few stayed, but only on the condition that I play small, stay silent, or accept their discomfort as the cost of their presence.
I declined that offer.
In their place came a few remarkable souls. A woman who brings me groceries when I forget to eat. A nonbinary poet who reads my writing and tells me I have a voice worth listening to. A gay couple who leave space at their table every Thanksgiving just in case I want to come by. They are not perfect, and neither am I. But we show up for each other, not because we have to, but because we choose to.
Choosing Love Over Obligation
There is immense power in that choice. It is the power of love that is not obligatory, not transactional, and not dictated by guilt or biology. Chosen family is formed not through blood but through intention. Through vulnerability. Through shared dreams and mutual respect. And when the world tells you that you’re not worthy, chosen family becomes your proof that you are.
I used to think that setting boundaries meant I would be lonely. That if I said no to gossip, to toxicity, to relationships that drained me, I would be left alone. And for a while, I was. But in the silence that followed, I began to hear my own voice again. I began to rediscover what joy sounds like when it’s not filtered through fear. And I began to attract people who didn’t just tolerate me but saw me.
Real Connections
And that is the magic of chosen family.
They show up for the real you. They text you just to see how your hormone levels are balancing. They bring you soup when you’re down. They celebrate your name changes and cry when you send them a selfie that finally feels like you. They are the people who get excited about your wins and hold space for your heartbreaks. Not because they’re obligated, but because they love you.
For Those Still Searching
To those who are reading this and wondering where their chosen family is: I see you. It is okay if your circle is still forming. It is okay if you are grieving the loss of blood ties that couldn’t stretch to hold you. Your grief is valid. Your hope is valid too.
Finding your people takes time. Sometimes, it means letting go of the idea that your family of origin will change. Sometimes, it means opening yourself up to new connections, even when you’ve been hurt before. Sometimes, it means being the first to say, “You matter to me,” even if your voice shakes. And sometimes, it just means being patient with yourself as you learn what kind of love feels like home.
And while protecting your peace is necessary, so is guarding against the slow creep of self-isolation. There’s a difference between healthy solitude and painful loneliness, and it can be easy to blur those lines—especially if we’ve been hurt or betrayed. It’s okay to be cautious. It’s okay to take your time. But don’t forget to open the window once in a while to let others in. Healing happens in community, even if it starts in quiet.
Let yourself be known. Let yourself be found.
Online Family Is Real Family Too
In today’s world, many of us—especially in the trans community—spend more time online than we do anywhere else. And that isn’t a flaw; it’s a survival tactic. The internet is not just a tool, but a lifeline for those living in small towns, unsupportive households, or places where queer folks are scarce.
Online chosen family is just as real and just as powerful as the connections we make in person. A Discord server where everyone uses the right pronouns. A group chat that erupts with love when you share a selfie. A late-night message from a friend across the world reminding you that you matter. These are not digital placeholders—they are acts of real, intentional care.
There’s a kind of magic in finding people who speak your soul’s language—even if you’ve never met them face-to-face. Of course, online spaces can come with their own challenges—burnout, performativity, the temptation to hide behind personas—but they also offer room to breathe, to explore, and to connect without judgment. They allow us to find kindred spirits we might never have met otherwise.
So if your chosen family is scattered across screens and usernames, know that it counts. It absolutely counts. You’re not less connected just because your hugs are typed out in asterisks. What matters is the intention, the care, and the consistency. Real love, even through Wi-Fi, is still real love.
The Real Thing
There is no formula for building a chosen family. It is as unique as each of us. But there are some common threads: kindness, presence, honesty, and a shared understanding that love is a verb, not a noun. It is something we do, again and again. It is calling someone by their real name, even if you met them under another. It is seeing someone in their full authenticity and saying, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
In my quiet little corner of the world, I have found something extraordinary. A few people. A lot of heart. A life that feels more like mine than I ever thought possible. And while the circle is small, it is mighty. It is my revolution.
The Bottom Line
If you’re lucky enough to already have chosen family, cherish them. Tell them you love them. Not because you’re supposed to, but because it feels true. And if you’re still searching, keep going. Be curious. Be open. Be exactly who you are. The people who are meant for you will see you, and they will stay.
So no, chosen family isn’t some second-rate substitute for “the real thing.” It is the real thing. It is love, chosen freely and fiercely. It is a reclamation of our right to belong. It is proof that we get to write our own story.
Chosen family is not a consolation prize. It is a revolution. And it begins the moment you say, I deserve to be loved exactly as I am.
