I recently started therapy again. I was talking with my new therapist about my rapidly shifting feelings about the prospect of moving back to Grand Rapids. 

When I briefly considered it this past summer, I immediately felt an immense amount of dread. I told myself that I wasn’t going to move back for a long time—maybe ever. That I was going to continue to try to build a life for myself in Chicago. 

But this past few fall months I’ve been thinking about it more, and I realized that now I felt excited about moving back. That I actually wanted to do it. I wondered what exactly had changed my feelings so much in such a short period of time. 

My therapist pointed out to me that one of the biggest things that had changed was the way that I viewed my parents. He told me that I was finally viewing my parents as an adult for the first time—I could see them as mostly good, although flawed, people. But the past couple years, I was viewing my parents the way that a teenager does—seeing them through a very negative lens as I finally began to question some things about the way I was raised. Before that, I saw my parents the way a child does—seeing them as close to perfect and putting them on a pedestal. I guess I’m a late bloomer since I didn’t realize that I was queer and trans until the ages of twenty-one and twenty-two and I didn’t start testosterone until this year (twenty-three).

I thought that my parents would never accept the person I really was. But I was wrong. They have mostly accepted me. They just needed time to get used to how I’m changing. And they’re not alone in that—it was really hard for me to even accept myself. If self-acceptance was so difficult for me, how could I expect acceptance of who I am to be any easier for other people?

A common queer narrative is the young queer kid growing up in a conservative Christian family. As soon as they’re able to, they escape their abusive family and then move away and find acceptance in the queer community. Other queer people become their new “found family.”

This stereotype is based in reality: some queer people do find their new family away from their family of origin. I have a friend who’s a trans woman in her seventies who unfortunately grew up with neglectful parents, and this year she invited me to a party where I met the members of her “family”—mostly elderly gay men, lesbians, and other trans women. It was lovely and gave me a taste of what having a found family is like. 

But that was only a taste. The “found family” story is not really my story. I’ve been lucky enough to make a few queer friends and acquaintances. But I’ve realized that no one has ever been there for me as consistently and reliably as my family. When I’m feeling low, when I need help, my family are mainly the ones who are looking out for me. 

Last month I visited my grandfather at his retirement community for the first time in a while. He has aphasia so it’s difficult to communicate with him. I was afraid he wouldn’t recognize me, but he said “oh, it’s you!” and his face lit up. When we were getting ready to leave, I hugged him goodbye. He hugged back and didn’t let go, so I didn’t move away. We side-hugged for a few minutes before we finally parted.

A few days ago he had a stroke and fell and hit his head. Now he’s in the hospital and he’s probably not going to make it. I’m crying as I write this because I was thinking about how I avoided seeing him for so long because I was scared. I was scared that he would be freaked out by my shorter haircut and deeper voice. But my last visit showed me that was a stupid thing for me to worry about. He still recognized me, he was still happy to see me, he still loved me. And now I’m mad at myself for not visiting him more often. Now it’s too late. I’m going back home to see him this week, but that will probably be the last time I see him. 

There’s a lot of talk these days about abusive family members, about going low contact or no contact to protect your peace. Sometimes that is unfortunately the best course of action—I have two friends who have had to do that. 

But sometimes your family does love you. If you’re anything like me, I hope you realize that before it’s too late.

Loran Vanden Bosch

Loran Vanden Bosch is a Chicago-based writer, tradesperson-in-training, community organizer, and long distance runner who graduated from Calvin in 2021 with an English degree. You can also follow them on Medium @loranvandenbosch.