extended family

All about how to stay connected, strengthen ties and talk politics with your big, happy extended family.

How Childhood Attachment Shapes Adult Heartbreak
I was twenty-eight years old, sitting in my therapist's office for the fifth time that month, crying over yet another failed relationship. This time it was Marcus—kind, stable, emotionally available Marcus—who I'd pushed away for reasons I couldn't explain. "Tell me about your parents," my therapist said gently, sliding the tissue box closer. I rolled my eyes. "Really? We're doing the whole 'blame the parents' thing?" She smiled softly. "I'm not asking you to blame anyone. I'm asking you to understand yourself." What followed was the most uncomfortable, enlightening conversation of my life. Because as I started talking about my childhood, patterns emerged that I'd never seen before. Patterns that explained every heartbreak, every self-sabotage, every time I'd chosen someone emotionally unavailable or run from someone who truly cared. My therapist was right. The blueprint for heartbreak had been drawn long before I ever fell in love. The First Language We Learn Attachment theory sounds complicated, but it's actually quite simple: the way our caregivers respond to us as children teaches us what to expect from relationships as adults. It's our first lesson in love, trust, and worthiness. My mother loved me—I never doubted that. But her love came with conditions. It appeared when I was good, obedient, successful. It vanished when I was needy, emotional, or imperfect. I learned early that love was something I had to earn, not something I inherently deserved. My father? He was there but absent, physically present but emotionally distant. He worked late, hid behind newspapers, and responded to my excitement or sadness with the same uncomfortable silence. I learned that expressing needs pushed people away. So I stopped expressing them. I didn't know it then, but I was learning a language—the language of anxious attachment. And I would speak it fluently in every romantic relationship I'd ever have. The Dance We Can't Stop Repeating My first serious relationship was with Jake. He was charming, unpredictable, and emotionally unavailable. Our relationship was a rollercoaster—intensely passionate one week, ice-cold the next. I never knew where I stood, and that uncertainty drove me crazy. But here's the twisted part: it also felt familiar. The push and pull, the constant need to prove myself, the anxiety of wondering if today would be a good day or a bad day—it all echoed my childhood. I was trying to earn Jake's consistent love the same way I'd tried to earn my mother's approval. When he'd pull away, I'd chase harder. When he'd show affection, I'd melt with relief. I was addicted to the cycle because somewhere deep inside, I believed this was what love looked like. After Jake came David, then Ryan, then Christopher. Different faces, same pattern. I was attracted to men who made me work for their attention, who kept me guessing, who made me feel like I had to be perfect to be loved. The Good Guy Problem Then I met Marcus. Sweet, consistent, emotionally intelligent Marcus. He called when he said he would. He communicated clearly. He didn't play games. He made me feel safe. And I couldn't stand it. Within three months, I was picking fights over nothing. I felt suffocated by his reliability. I started noticing flaws that weren't really flaws—he texted too much, he was too eager, his kindness felt boring. The anxiety I'd felt with the others was missing, and without it, I didn't recognize the feeling as love. I broke up with him on a Tuesday night, citing some vague excuse about "not being ready." He took it gracefully, which only made me feel worse. That's when I ended up in therapy, finally asking the question I should have asked years earlier: Why do I keep destroying the good things in my life? Unpacking the Invisible Suitcase My therapist explained that I had an anxious attachment style, likely formed by my inconsistent childhood experiences with love and attention. Children with anxious attachment grow into adults who:
By Ameer Moavia15 days ago in Families
The Last Unopened Gift
Chapter 1: The Geometry of Silence The snow did not fall in New York City that year; it descended. It came down in thick, heavy curtains of white that muffled the screaming sirens and the frantic honking of yellow taxis. By 10:00 PM on December 31st, 2025, the world had been erased, replaced by a monochrome landscape of frost and shadows.
By omar18 days ago in Families
Trying to Conceive Is More Emotionally Exhausting Than Anyone Warns You. AI-Generated.
Trying to conceive sounds simple—until you’re actually living it. At first, it feels hopeful. Exciting, even. You tell yourself, “This will happen naturally. We’ll see.”
By khadidja dalache20 days ago in Families
Friends: Our Chosen Family
Friend: Definition According to most dictionaries, a friend is a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection. True friendship is not one-sided. Each person respects and looks out for the other's well-being. The relationship is stronger than just knowing someone or being acquainted with a person. The relationship goes much deeper than that. In order to be a true friend, three components must always exist.
By Margaret Minnicks21 days ago in Families
Flowers of Tears
Deva: Kani, stop spinning. You’ll get dizzy and fall right into the mud. Kani: But the rain makes the puddles look like mirrors, Appa! Look, I’m dancing on the sky.
By BG22 days ago in Families
The Black Sheep in a Circle of Wolves. Content Warning.
It’s the holiday season. A time for families to come together and share joy and memories. And give thanks for all the blessings they receive in life. My cousin has been hosting the Thanksgiving festivities at her house for a while now, so going there has become tradition. I couldn't tell you what it's like. I've never been invited. So while my family enjoys turkey, ham, stuffing, alcohol and togetherness, I sit here. Alone. In my bedroom. For I am the Black Sheep of the family.
By Evelynn Cross25 days ago in Families
The Quiet Strength of Family. AI-Generated.
Family: The Place We Learn Who We Are Family is often the first world we experience. Before we understand society, responsibility, or identity, we learn them through the people closest to us. Family teaches us how to speak, how to listen, how to react, and how to love. Even when family relationships are complicated or distant, their influence remains deeply rooted in who we become.
By Bevan Keren26 days ago in Families
Behind the smile:Living with a narcissist who charms the world but destroys you
There's a particular kind of pain that goes unseen_the kind that wears a mask in public but leaves bruises in private. Narcissist abuse is one of the most invisible forms of emotional violence, not because it's rare, but because the person causing ham is often the most admired in the room.
By CIM29 days ago in Families
Echoes of silence:. AI-Generated.
Inside the dimly lit living room of a modest home, the air was thick with tension. The walls, once adorned with family photographs and laughter, now seemed to absorb the sharp words exchanged between two parents locked in yet another conflict. Their voices rose, clashing like thunder, while their children sat silently in the shadows, their small hearts pounding with fear.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Families
The Ghost Village in My Bones
Marco felt it most on Sundays. Not the lazy Sunday afternoon quiet of his own suburban street, but a different kind of quiet, one that hummed with cicadas and the distant clang of a church bell. He felt it in the smell of his Nonna Emilia’s kitchen, a mix of tomato, garlic, and something ancient, something that smelled of dusty sunshine and sea salt. He’d be sitting at the chipped Formica table, pushing around pasta, while Nonna, gnarled hands kneading dough on the worn wooden board, would talk. Always talk about Fiumedinisi.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Wet Glow
Frank rubbed at his temple, the cheap coffee from the gas station still hot but doing little to warm the chill that had settled deep in his bones. Rain had finally let up, but the streets outside were black mirrors, catching every lurid flash from the liquor store sign, the blinking neon of the late-night diner. Ten past midnight. Leo was late. Again. The wipers on his beat-up Ford Escort made a sad, rhythmic thwack-scrape, like a worn-out heart.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Shattered Home:. AI-Generated.
The house on Willow street regarded everyday from the outside—white paint peeling from the shutters, a rusted swing creaking within the wind, and a garden that had lengthy surrendered to weeds. but inner, the walls carried echoes of arguments, whispers of betrayal, and the heavy silence of a family unraveling.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Families