When I was still married and struggling to conceive, I realized I would have to start thinking about motherhood differently. I’m a Gen Xer, and raising small humans into adulthood was something I always thought of as a guarantee. That was until my doctor said my ovaries had failed and, without expensive fertility treatments, bearing children would be next to impossible.
Suddenly, I was faced with the reality that I wasn’t destined to give birth. Though I always thought that adoption would suit my personality and beliefs, the realization still stung. There’s the inevitable spiral that follows, the thoughts of grief and inadequacy: “Did I do something wrong in my past?” “Maybe motherhood is not meant for me.” And, “Do I really want to have children?”
I’m a natural nurturer. Without any prompts, I’ve always thrown as much love as I can on my nieces, nephews, cousins, friends, and neighborhood children. Since my 20s, I assumed that this characteristic would be part of being a mom. But redefinition accompanies adulthood, something that I embraced throughout my decades.
What I realized is I didn’t need to start from scratch. I became an auntie at age 15, when my sister gave birth to Christine. According to her, back then I was a “novice auntie” who had one thing in mind: to show up. When I returned home from college, Chrissy and her younger sister, Simonne, piled into my car, and I took them everywhere.
I didn’t ask for guidance on what to do when they were hungry or tired, or even what they liked to do. My only intentions were to relieve my big sister of single parenthood and connect with these toddler humans on the beach or at a museum. I would introduce them to my friends, new languages, or musical artists blaring from my car speakers. Or we’d just hang out at my home, immersed in a project, movies, or the art of being silly.
Though parenthood has been studied extensively, being an auntie is a relatively new realm of expertise. As recently as 2010, Psychology Today wrote that family textbooks made no references to aunts, uncles, nieces, or nephews. We are often thought of as forgotten kin, silently filling in as babysitters or emotional support for busy parents. Tufts University scholar Kareem Khubchandani coined the name Critical Aunty Studies, an academic framework that explores how aunties threw a loop into the nuclear family model by “doing vital survival and support labor.”
Early on, I understood how to be that auntie who has a clear role as a non-mother. Aunties have the ability to provide support by looking at these relationships through an unconventional lens. I would support any of their dreams and aspirations, as long as they are true to their hearts. There are times when approaching parents isn’t in the cards, and aunties can play confidant or be the purveyors of tough love.
When Chrissy asked me if I invented this auntie blueprint, I had to say no. There were so many that provided what I needed, when I needed it: Auntie Al, Aunt Ursie, and Aunt Dee have all passed on. But Aunt Joy and Mireille are still with us. Our conversations are hilarious and beautiful. And Joy always encourages me to push harder with the things I want. Her New York accent always cuts straight to the core: “Where are you at with that project?”
Similarly, I seem to provide a fresh role when teenagers and twentysomethings are in need of a reset. I’ve had a handful of young family members live with me. I’ve dispensed so much advice that it could fill a 500-page novel. Every course correction is in the direction of their goals, coupled with excursions and fun. Having auntie adult money makes it possible to go on a trip, concert, or fancy dinner together. Or, it’s just lounging on a couch, catching up, and pouring out hearts. And in recent months, asking why the neighborhood kids are arguing and what’s really wrong in their hearts.
I also asked my friends on social media how aunties (blood-related or not) have impacted their lives. The replies were vast and beautiful:
“My mom never liked to cook and still doesn’t. But her sisters stepped in and always cooked for my birthdays. I’ve also learned to cook from them.” —Nick
“My Tias were there for me when my parents got divorced as a child. They were my confidants. Looked to them as extended mother figures when I felt like I could not go to my own mother for certain things. I miss them both dearly RIP.” —gl0omco0kii3
“My mom’s two youngest sisters shaped me, for sure. They taught me how to be ‘cool.’ Introduced me to punk/local music and indie films, took me to the city, and they let me borrow their shoes and clothes all the time. They also gave me my weird sense of humor.” —Valentina
“My tias helped raise me. They’re still my second parents, but also my confidants, my goofiest travel buddies, and I just can’t speak highly enough of our relationship.” —Angela
One by one, people told stories of aunties who raised them, offered them support, or were their biggest cheerleaders. This information wasn’t new, but hearing these experiences opened up to me the vital role of aunties throughout our lives, no matter the background or culture.
Today, my own auntie status has evolved into something vastly different as I watch them blossom from afar. Chrissy has turned into a matriarch and the glue that keeps my Florida family together. Watching her blossom into this has been one of my greatest joys. My twin and I encouraged her to travel abroad, which she did. She met her lovely husband while living in Spain for 17 years, and their lives are intertwined in the most magical ways, especially with their almost 2-year-old daughter. She credits her success to her aunties.
Simonne took a detour away from grad school to pursue a music career in Europe. A fairly successful one, actually, that had her opening up for Jared Leto’s band 30 Seconds To Mars and producing music for artists around the world. After meeting her husband, she had her daughter, then enrolled in medical school. After giving birth to her son last year, she officially became a doctor and started her residency. I couldn’t possibly take all the credit, but her ears were open while sitting in the back of my car many decades ago.
There’s also my delightful chef cousin who operates an award-winning restaurant in Los Angeles, is married, and is raising an almost 4-year-old son. I used to grab her for sleepovers while she was a teenager. I knew she was in need of some cousin-auntie time, and I had plenty to give. It was truly a village that made these extraordinary women soar.
Recently, I sent Chrissy some clothes I was ready to give away—pieces that I cared deeply about, and I knew would complement her. “I know the clothes were clean, but the scent was all you,” she told me. “That auntie smell immediately relaxes me.”
