Maybe it’s a function of being on the planet for a number of years, but there is this realization that the group of people I was born into–they call that family of origin these days–is not the same as the family I choose.

Looking up the root of the word “family”, I had to laugh that the old Latin meaning was “servants in the household.”  Now that makes sense.  It is those that used to serve the owners of the house.  Or these days perhaps, it is the group of people that make up the household. 

What is a challenge is to recognize the patterns of expectations that pretend to rule families.  “We’re a family–we stick together.”  “No need to speak about that outside the family.”  “Why didn’t you tell me–I’m family!”  All hints of expectations of how we “should” treat one another.

Thank all the Gods that I have found something better than all those family rules, myths and unspoken patterns–I am a member of a tribe.  I am thrilled to have chosen sisters who chat and delve deep into life’s mysteries with me, give me a slap on the butt when I’m a jerk, hold me when I’m down.  It is fabulous to enjoy my brothers when they do connect with me (once every three months?!), whether kin or members of my herd.

Thriving where nourished; setting aside that which does not fuel me with a blessing.