The family we choose: Why chosen families matter more than ever
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I found myself sitting in a Birmingham café, waiting for an always-late friend, doom-scrolling headlines. Across the Atlantic, a malevolent man-baby had signed off on a wave of anti-LGBTQ+ bills. I was thousands of miles from the fight playing out across American state legislatures, and yet the weight of his actions pressed down on me. For many of us, safety, acceptance, and belonging remain negotiable, conditional, up for debate.
Trump’s hateful actions are nothing new. LGBTQ+ people have always had to carve out spaces of love and support in a world where it isn’t always given freely. When the world pushes us to the edges, we don’t give in and disappear—we seek out others. Our allies, our friends. We form families.
And that’s what Rainbows and Lollipops, my new novel, is about: three strangers finding refuge in friendship. It’s a story of healing, hope, and the reality of what happens when the family we’re born into isn’t enough—but the family we choose is everything.
Legislation, resistance, and the power of found family
Right now, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) is tracking nearly 400 anti-LGBTQ+ bills across U.S. state legislatures. Many directly target transgender individuals, restricting access to healthcare, education, and even public spaces. In some places, families who affirm and support their trans children risk legal action. The stakes are not abstract; they are devastatingly real.
And yet, history shows that in the face of systemic oppression, LGBTQ+ communities do what we have always done: we come together.
In the 1980s and 90s, when the AIDS crisis tore through our communities while governments turned a blind eye (or passed laws restricting the mention of our existence in UK schools), queer people built networks of care. We sat at bedsides when biological families refused. We organised food chains. And we marched in the streets and demanded to be seen. Chosen families made sure queer youth weren’t entirely erased.
And a tiny part of me figured the battle was almost over. That the worst was behind us. For me, taking my whole gay self into the office each day was no longer something I pondered and agonised over.
And yet, the last twelve months have reminded me how we used to live.
Why we need stories that reflect this reality
When laws are written to strip away rights, when ‘loving’ families turn their backs on their offspring, when entire systems are designed to erase or repress, chosen families step in. They offer what the world withholds.
Media and storytelling play a huge role in shaping perceptions. We know this. If all you ever see are tragic endings and unfulfilled lives, it’s easy to believe that’s all there is.
That’s why I’m drawn to narratives that highlight chosen family—not as a consolation prize, but as something vibrant and full.
The Netflix series The Secret of the River is one such story. Set in a deeply conservative Mexican society, it follows Manuel, a young effeminate boy who finds refuge and guidance within the indigenous Zapotec community known as muxes—a third-gender identity recognised in their culture. These stories give us mirrors, reflections of the resilience and love that exist outside mainstream narratives.
Rainbows and Lollipops is my contribution to this conversation. It’s about grief, yes. And the hunt for Himalayan blue poppies to deliver the perfect wedding day experience. But more than that, it’s about how the right people—the ones who truly see us—can pull us back from the edges of ourselves.
Building family when the one you had falls apart
I didn’t set out to write a book about chosen family. Having lost my mother just before the pandemic, I wanted to explore the shape of grief. I thought I was writing about what happens in the aftermath of loss, about the letter-writing and form-filling that overtake a life long after funeral flowers wilt. But as I sketched out the storyline and created my characters, I saw what was really at the heart of what I wanted to say.
Jake, a wannabe stand-up comic, hides behind punchlines but drowns in the silence that comes after.
Trans Black woman Vicky is fiercely independent because she’s spent years holding people at a distance.
To the world outside, Lucy has her life together, but she’s spent so long creating a picture of perfection that she’s forgotten how to be real.
They don’t set out to save each other. But they do. Not in the dramatic, sweeping way that Hollywood often promises—but in the tiny moments. The shared laughter when life grows too heavy to carry alone. The quiet understanding that says, “I see you.”
And that’s what chosen family is. It’s not about grand gestures. It’s about showing up—again and again, even when it’s inconvenient. Especially when it’s inconvenient.
What this means for us
If the last few years have taught us anything, it’s that nothing is guaranteed. Laws change. Attitudes shift. But the communities we build—the people who stand beside us—are what keep us standing.
Maybe you’ve found your people already. Maybe you’re still looking. Perhaps you’ve had to walk away from places you thought were home. But here’s what I know:
- Chosen family isn’t second best. It’s real, full, and fiercely powerful.
- Finding your people isn’t easy, but it’s worth the search.
- We can survive almost anything if we’re not surviving alone.
That’s why I wrote Rainbows and Lollipops. Because sometimes, the family you need isn’t the one you were born into—it’s the one you build. Often from scratch.
And if this resonates with you, if you know what it means to build a life out of friendships that feel like home, then I’d love for you to read it.
Pre-order Rainbows and Lollipops now and be among the first to meet Jake, Vicky, and Lucy when their story unfolds this June.
Because, in the end, love is love is love. And it’s always worth fighting for.
👉 Pre-order now: Signed copy with free bonus ebook
💬 Reply and tell me about your own chosen family—who has been there for you when no one else was?
Let’s keep this conversation going. Because our stories matter. And so do we.
