Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people in your life who want you in theirs. The ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile and who love you no matter what.”

― Maya Angelou

When I was growing up, I had an Auntie named Sue. She was not blood-related to me but was my mum’s best friend. I didn’t know that; it was not acknowledged if I did. She was my Auntie Sue, and if I was naughty, she told me off. She hugged me when I was sad, and she loved us. Her daughters, as far as I knew, were my cousins. They were my family. Once, a mean girl at school stole my New Kids On The Block poster. I was in year five, the girl in year 6. I remember saying, “I’m getting my cousin Stacy on you.” The girl said, “No, she ain’t your real cousin, my mum said so….so you can’t get her”. I was gobsmacked. I had never heard anything like it. What did she mean, not my real cousin? I sat in class all day thinking about what the mean girl had said.

After school, I went straight to my Auntie Sue’s. I was so angry. For context…my auntie Sue and her family were…connected. You didn’t mess with Sue. I knew that as a kid. She would just look at me, and I would not do whatever I was planning. But not today. Today, I was furious.

She opened the door, and I screamed: “I hate you …liar”. She looked at me for a second, crossed her arms, and said, “This better be good.” A few minutes later, I was sobbing in her arms, asking why she was not my real aunty…but more importantly…why Stacy was not my real cousin (I hope Stacy reads this as she reads my blogs, and it will make her laugh).

My auntie Sue told me that she was my auntie and her children were my cousins. Just because there was no actual blood didn’t mean we were not family. She said that my mum was her best friend and that best friends are exactly the same as sisters. I cried so hard that day.

The next day, the mean girl (who also reads my blogs….yup, I see you, preeing gal) got two very public smacks in the mouth from my cousin Stacy. One was for the poster ( which I got back later the day), and the other was for lying about her not being my cousin. I’m not encouraging violence in any way, but no one ever said that she was not my cousin again… I’m just saying.

Once, Sarah, my Auntie Sue’s other daughter, ran away from home. I remember creeping by the closed door to our house as Sarah cried to my mum. Then my mum said Sarah would be staying with us for a while, and my cousin Sarah shared a room with me for a while. I think she was six and she was 15. I’m sure she loved it, lol. Nothing changed between my mum and Sue, and in a few days, Saah went home, and life just continued.

The point is that is how I grew up. When your best friends’ kids were family.

But as an adult, I didn’t have that. My sons didn’t grow up with aunties and cousins who were actually best friends. I struggled so much in my young adulthood with life that I could not maintain these kinds of relationships.

But that changed and I met my best friend/sister…whatever. But this blog is not about her.

It’s about her daughter.

It’s her birthday today. This triggered what I am about to say next.

My best friend’s daughter is not like the daughter I always wanted (or whatever the saying is). I have a daughter, and one is plenty. She is the niece I would have always wanted.

But I have the same love towards her as I do my own children.

It’s complicated…. that’s the best way to describe it. Now I think I know how it was for my mum and my Auntie Sue. I am sure lots of people reading this can relate, whether it be a friend’s son, daughter, or whatever—a love you have for someone close to you and their family.

It’s a strange feeling because I see her as my child, but she is also my friend. I have a similar relationship with my oldest son. We are so close that we can be friends. Like I said…. it’s complicated.

I have seen this girl go through some stuff—Jesus, things that would take me a hundred blogs to cover. And, of course, it’s not my place to list this and that. But she knows. We all know.

I wrote a blog about her before, my BFD (I may have just invited this abbreviation). She is a nurse, and she worked the front line during covid. She was newly qualified or on the way to becoming qualified, and she was there. So young and with so much responsibility. Her mum used to cry when she spoke about how worried she was about her daughter. It’s not so much about getting sick but more about watching people being so unwell and dying. Yet she still rocked up day after day. In the blog I wrote about her, I say how epic she is. I also said how much she would help me by saying that.

Anyway…back to why I am writing this blog

My BFD spends a lot of her time doing things for other people, not just in her job but in real life. She has had to watch a very close family member live with severe mental health. She has had to watch how this impacts the family. Watch them be sectioned many times. Be part of the recovery. She has had to listen to conversations that are not normal. She had had to defend his mental health.

During all of this, many people have let her down, including some family and friends. I will never understand why people treat her so poorly at times. She does not deserve it. I know that I will never be one of those people who do that.

She has had to change who she is because of someone else mental health.

I keep bringing it back to her because she struggles to do that in real life. She struggles to put herself first. She will do things that she doesn’t want to, knowing that others will benefit.

Sure, she has a little mental breakdown just because her dog is sick in her actual hands …but who doesn’t.

She doubts herself.

She questions herself day and night.

I often wonder how a beautiful person can be so doubtful about who they are. But she is. And it makes me sad.

She once told me about Kintsugi: the art of precious scars. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art. Every break is unique, and instead of repairing an item like new, the 400-year-old technique actually highlights the “scars” as a part of the design. Using this as a metaphor for healing ourselves teaches us an important lesson: Sometimes, in the process of repairing things that have broken, we actually create something more unique, beautiful, and resilient. She was talking about someone I love very much when she told me this …. But I wonder if she can take her advice.

My BFD is one of the few people who can disagree with me, but we would never argue. We have a mutual respect that I only have for a few people.

I know that if my daughter needed her, she would be there, just as my cousin Stacy was for me. She knows that if she needed to knock on my door and tell me she hated me, I would cross my arms and say, “This better be good,” just like my Auntie Sue did for me.

If I called her right now, on her birthday, and said Quick…I need you to do…..she would.

I once asked her to agree to something – no questions asked- and her response was…I am your ride-or-die.

She supports my people. She checks in on me.

She comes home and catches me sunbathing in the hot tub with her mum on a workday and takes photos (Such a weirdo)

She puts him in check for me

She brings me flowers for no reason.

She makes me make jerk tofu (WTF)

She is my family. And I Love her.

She has had to establish some firm boundaries lately, and as we all know, this can be painful and exhausting. But I want her to know I am proud of her.

I think we forget to tell people how important they are to use, especially the family we have that is not by blood.

Also… It’s her birthday, and I forgot to order a card sooooooo

Please tell someone who is family but not by blood that you love them today.