I didn’t expect to become estranged from my family, but it is something I have wondered about myself. Am I the kind of person—the kind of daughter—who would be strong enough to leave?I have feared telling this story. What will it say of me?Family is defined as “a group of persons unified by the ties of marriage, blood or adoption, constituting a single household and interacting with each other in their respective social positions, usually as spouse, parent, child or sibling”. [Brittanica.com]An ideal family consists of people who offer love, support and stability; they are the people you can confide in and trust.The people who consist of my family (as defined), are not the same people I can confide in and trust.It has not been easy to rewrite the meaning of family. I have needed the kind of help only therapy and a best friend can offer. When I finally left (as secretly as the internet allows), moving from the west coast to the east, I thought I knew where I would end up, but plans changed, because change is the only constant.I am 2,537 miles from “home”, in Pennsylvania, living with someone I used to play Trolls with from the ages of 9 to 13. (That’s me on the right.)There is an alchemy in distance, and magic inside the rekindling of a relationship developed in girlhood; the four years we spent in friendship (1990-1994), before my parents moved me away, bonded us for life—like blood, as family.When you are a child, you imagine with your friends the kind of life you think you’ll live as an adult, and your world is still small enough to believe in the BIGNESS of your dreams. Where I have forgotten myself over the years in an effort to “grow up”—and given up my dreams for my family (as defined) and too many exes—my childhood friend reminds me who I am and where we both come from that is worth leaving. Thirty years later, we have resumed collaborative dreaming; we talk of a future as best friends and housemates, who age into wise, weathered women sitting in rocking chairs on porches, drinking sweet tea and observing daily life.Because of her, I can rewrite family as “persons who are not afraid of my differences, who include me, who are curious about me and withhold judgment”. In my family, I am not trapped by shoulds or tradition, nor am I expected to read minds; my needs expressed are not used to harm me and my boundaries are respected.This childhood best friend is my true sister, and witnessing her mother-daughter relationship has offered me communication tools to consider repairing my own. Rewriting family has not come without a cost and I am spinning the gold I find with the hope of someday reestablishing connection with my parents and reintroducing myself.