Family connections aren’t always solid knots; sometimes, they’re small, hidden threads beneath the surface that stretch across time and distance, even reaching into the quiet moments.

When we think of tradition, family is often seen as a group that holds tight, keeps things together, and ensures everything stays in place. But what if we saw it a bit differently? What if family wasn’t about holding on but about letting go of expectations, roles, and the idea of what we think family should be?

Most people define family by blood ties and shared last names, those who look alike. But real connection and loyalty don’t always follow a clear path. It’s the person who isn’t your parent but checks in on you regularly, or the friend who shows up at the hospital or the neighbor who remembers your birthday.

These connections shift and reshape the meaning of family, showing that true bonds are more about who stands by us when things get tough than about who shares our name.

But, unfortunately, family bonds aren’t always full of warmth. Sometimes, they can be the very thing that creates deep scars. The love that should uplift us becomes the thing that weighs us down. When family becomes abusive, those connections become chains, leaving a trail of trauma in their wake. This can strip childhood of the comfort and joy it’s supposed to offer. Instead of building good memories, we are left with emotional wounds, hidden scars that affect us in ways we often don’t fully recognize until later in life.

In my book, The Silent Abuse, I talk about how this twisted version of family can mark you for life. Growing up in a family that is supposed to be your safe space, yet instead becomes the source of your emotional pain, can leave you wondering where those “good” family moments went. The idea of family, once a source of love and comfort, becomes more about survival than connection. I dive into how these experiences shape our understanding of what family really is and how to cope when the very people who should love you leave you bruised instead.

Family ties aren’t rigid; they are flexible, bendable, and sometimes fragile, but they can also be surprisingly strong when we least expect it. These connections don’t need to be “perfect” or “complete” to be meaningful. A family can be a collection of moments—a shared laugh after a long day, an unspoken understanding that fills the gaps between us.

That’s why it’s often in the quiet, unvoiced places that we forget how family can be found. It’s when there’s no fanfare or expectation. It’s in the stillness between two people who’ve been through the same struggle and don’t need to explain it—it just is. But when family has hurt you, it’s even harder to see the strength in those silences, which is something I explore deeply in my book. The truth is, sometimes, family isn’t something we build; it’s something we discover in unexpected places. And in those moments, we realize that what we once thought of as “ties” isn’t what we imagined at all. It’s a web of endless threads that has woven into something entirely new.