When Biology Fails, Chosen Family Shows Up

How queer community becomes the village that raises us

Aster Asem

Published: November 25, 2025 | Last Updated: November 25, 2025

Note: The non-public sources in this story have requested Pride Source use only their first names as a privacy and safety precaution.

Societies tend to assume their ways of doing things are universal truths. "Humans are innately selfish," hence capitalism. "Someone has to be in charge," hence government. "A child needs a mother and a father," hence the nuclear family.

But history tells a different story. Many Native American tribes practiced collective resource sharing. Anarchist communes have proven viable. The Igbo people of Nigeria understood that "it takes a village to raise a child."

We are not, in fact, at "the end of history" — and when our biological families fail us, the village can step up, which is a very good thing, because genetic similarity alone doesn't obligate us toward anyone. Instead, our parents, in creating a person, assume responsibility over their care. But "a roof over your head" and "three square meals a day" alone do not make for a healthy adult.

"My parents had always been shitty towards me verbally," says Juno, a local trans individual. "Everybody would always say, after they met my parents, 'Wow, they're fucking terrifying.'"

But our parents made us and sustained our existence! Why shouldn't they have the right to shape who we become? I'm being sarcastic, of course.

"Gender always confused me," says Elliot. "I didn't really understand why it was a big deal or why it was so important in the broad scope of things. Due to social conditioning, I came to understand that it was important and I had to adhere to things, [but] I don't really adhere to any labels. I kind of just go with the flow of my own gender identity and sexual orientation."

But people who've long known us often expect definability, and, as many of us LGBTQ+ folk know, our fears about coming out are sometimes substantiated. Juno says that when she left home at age 19, she "just picked a direction to drive… [and] realized, ‘I don't have anywhere to go, do I?’" Thankfully, she figured it out. She stayed on the couch of someone she'd met in a queer student group at Eastern Michigan University.

Meanwhile, when she was in the thick of it, Audré found her own community — other kids oppressed by their parents' "culty Christian shit." And Elliot deepened his bonds within a fanfiction community.

When Reena, known as Car Cat (she/her), had to leave her ex-wife, she "didn't really have anywhere to go, or even a job — ’nothing like that.’" At a local event, she says, she "met someone, ‘who, just barely knowing me, was willing to take me in and house me for several months.’"

This person also helped Car Cat address her alcoholism and find a job. In return, Car Cat "did chores and whatnot" for them.

"It's kind of a cycle," Juno says. "People in my life who are willing to just let me sleep on their couch every once in a while will look at me and say, 'Yeah, that seems like an OK roommate.'" Elliot has had online friendships form but then atrophy. It's the ones who come close and stay who prove themselves to be family, regardless of genes.

But sometimes, biological relatives are those people, like the family of Audré's wife, Carina. Audré says, "I would have a friend that was going through something very difficult. Maybe their guardian died, or maybe their family was being really abusive. And so, they needed a safe haven. My family always stepped up to support my friends and people that I knew."

Elliot's family does the same. "Whenever anybody needs a place to go or a place to stay, my parents always [welcome] them."

One person who stayed with Elliot's family shared what the experience meant to them. Elliot recalls, "We had a pretty good conversation, and my best friend kept thanking me and saying... they [felt] a sense of normalcy again, being able to hang out with our family."

"I have friends now," Audré says, "who consider having my parents walk them down the aisle, or will come to family dinners because our lives have been intertwined."

Maybe that's why it hurts so much when biological relatives reject us — we've often been with them for our entire lives. They should know us. But when we come into ourselves, they show that the history we share means less to them than their preconceptions.

Car Cat, having found refuge and respite with her "adoptive mother," has become a leader in the local trans community, organizing a word-of-mouth event, working with moderators on a local Discord server, protecting people in public gatherings and helping strangers with more individual needs.

"When people are afraid to exist," she says, "when they're so disenfranchised, a lot of people who are far into their transitional journey still carry internalized transphobia, and it's sometimes difficult to eliminate that ultimately. But [we try] aggressive positivity, aggressively trying to include people, bring them to things, help them out when they're feeling down. The thing to do [when you're depressed] is not to just sit there and lay down and rot and die. It is to keep moving."

I've struggled with major depressive disorder for over twenty years, and I'm here in part because of people like Car Cat, who say, "Hey, come to the fucking bar. We're all going to have fun together."

I realized less than 18 months ago that I was trans. Since integrating into the LGBTQ+ community, I've never been happier or thrived more.

"There's absolutely nothing more affirming," says Car Cat, "for a trans person than being around other trans people and seeing that it's OK for us to fucking exist. It's OK for us to act however we are. It's OK for us to be neurodivergent and different. There are other people like us, and we are never alone."

As many of us grieve the loss of family feasts and cozy Christmases and fight the cold, dark urges us to curl into ourselves, I beg you: Just move.

It takes effort to escape the mire, but a hand to help pull you up can come from people you'd think wouldn't care. There are people like you, and you are never alone.