Family Is Complicated
My husband recently asked me to write a blog post about him—more specifically, about the very different families we came from. The conversation that sparked it was lighthearted at first, one of those “what if” discussions that start as fun and end up revealing something much deeper.
We were talking about winning the lottery. A huge sum. Life-changing money. And the question was simple: Who would we invite to ride with us on a party bus to go collect our winnings?
On the surface, the answer seems obvious—siblings, their spouses, our kids. The people closest to us. But then the real question emerged:
Who would be there simply to be happy for us… and who would be there because they think they might get something out of it?
That’s where the differences between our families became impossible to ignore.
My husband is one of five siblings, just like me. His family relationships are… complicated. His youngest sister is someone I never want to share oxygen with again—ever. That bridge isn’t just burned; it’s gone. His older sister and her husband, though, are genuinely good humans. Even when we don’t agree, I love them. They are kind, decent people.
His two brothers are also good people—but I don’t think they’d appreciate the invitation, nor would they accept it under the simple premise of come and celebrate with us. That kind of uncomplicated joy isn’t really how things work in his family.
My family, on the other hand? They’d be there—all of them.
All of my kids and their significant others.Nephews, nieces. My older sister, my brother, my two other sisters, and their spouses. Not because they expect anything, but because that’s how my family has always been. Through good times and bad, joy and grief, stability and chaos—they’ve shown up. Emotionally. Financially. In the best ways they can and know how.
And I’ll admit—I take that for granted sometimes.
Moments like this remind me that not everyone grows up with that kind of family. Not everyone has people who love them even when they aren’t very lovable. Not everyone has a safe place to land.
My husband’s family is very different. Relationships are strained. There’s a lot of water under the bridge, and I don’t think anyone really knows how to fix it—or if they even want to. For me, at least where the youngest sister is concerned, reconciliation isn’t on the table.
What hurts the most for my husband isn’t just angry words or apologies that went nowhere. It’s what he sees as deliberate exclusion—certain children left out by their own parents, “family” events that don’t include all of the family.
The last time everyone was invited to something was his dad’s 70th birthday. He’s 76 now.
Something changed. No one will explain why. And it hurts.
He’s asked his older siblings. He’s tried to understand. He’s no longer speaking to his parents. And while time has passed, the wound hasn’t healed.
I remember one particularly difficult season. He called his mother, needing to talk, needing comfort. She said, “I don’t want to hear it.”
I heard it. From her own mouth.
And it broke my heart.
That was four years ago. Things aren’t much better now.
Family is complicated. It’s messy. But it should be the place you go when things fall apart. It should be the place where you can ask for help, an ear, a shoulder. For my husband, it hasn’t been that.
I am one of five.
My husband is one of five.
We came together nearly ten years ago—baggage and all.
I am deeply grateful for the family I came from. I love them. I’m proud of them. I’m grateful for the family I’ve created too—five humans I gave birth to and two I claim as my own. They are good, decent people, and I know they will look out for one another long after I’m gone.
My husband, even after all this time—after being welcomed and accepted into my family long ago—still struggles with the contrast. Sometimes he’s in awe of the relationships I have with my siblings. Sometimes, I think he’s a little envious.
And honestly? I get it.
Because while he didn’t come from that kind of family, he does have one now. They love him. They root for him. They pray for him. And that matters—even if it doesn’t erase the damage from where he came from.
So if we ever win the lottery?
T and T can ride the party bus with us. All of my family can ride along too, fly my girls and their guys in to make the trip with us, maybe include Curtis and Shelly and just roll out and have fun together.
The rest can hear about it after the fact and wonder why they didn’t get an invite.
Family is complicated.
Love and Light. Hang tight.
Mothersense and Miscellaneous 