For most of my life, if someone asked me about my “immediate family,” my answer was simple: my mom.
I was fortunate to grow up in a loving household. As an only child, for most of my life, it was just my mom and me under that roof. My parents divorced when I was five, and from then on, my mom became the steady presence at the center of my everyday life.
That was my normal, and for a long time, I never thought twice about it. As I got older, though, I began to realize that my normal looked different from that of many of my friends and teammates. They went home to two-parent households, often with siblings, while I went home to my mom. I never felt like I was missing something. I simply began to understand that families, and what feels “normal,” can look different for everyone.
When I came to Michigan my freshman year and joined the field hockey team, I became more aware of that difference than I ever had been before. Suddenly, I was surrounded by teammates with big families, with parents, siblings, and relatives who quickly became familiar faces around our program. For the first time, I found myself feeling a little insecure about how small my own family was.
Before each season, our team puts together a book introducing every player’s family. Each person submits a family photo and a short description of everyone in it.
I remember procrastinating on sending in my photo my freshman year because I knew my page would look different. While my teammates wrote about their parents and siblings, my page would be a picture of just my mom and me. Then there were the smaller reminders. On my Michigan Field Hockey bio, under the section about family, all I had to write was, “Mom, Nicole.” At our preseason meet-and-greet luncheon, each player stood up and introduced her family. I remember feeling nervous as my turn got closer, listening to my teammates introduce parents and siblings and knowing that when I stood up, all I had to say was, “This is my mom, Nicole.”
None of these moments changed how much I loved or valued my family. But they made me hyperaware of its size in a way I had never been before. The family that had always felt completely normal to me suddenly felt small.
By my sophomore year, something had started to change. I had built strong relationships with my teammates, and I moved into a house with four of them. These were the people I practiced with, ate with, lived with, laughed with, cried with, and spent nearly every day with. My roommates became my rocks and my go-to people for just about anything. Somewhere along the way, I began to realize that the people I spent the majority of my time with were more than just my teammates and friends. They were my family. They were people I loved unconditionally and would do absolutely anything for.
And with my teammates came their families. The five of us living together came from completely different places, from Maryland and Delaware to the Netherlands and California, but whenever one of our families came to Ann Arbor, our house seemed to gain another set of parents. When one of the dads was in town, he might be outside working on our backyard or fixing up the front lawn. When one of the moms visited, she was making sure we were fed and had everything we needed. Their visits never made me feel like I was watching someone else’s family from the outside. Instead, they made me feel like I was part of it.
As a freshman, I had looked around and felt insecure about how small my family seemed. By my sophomore year, I looked around and felt like the luckiest person in the world because of how big it had become.
I came to Michigan to play field hockey, but somewhere along the way, I was given so much more. I learned that family is not measured by how many names you can list in a bio, how many people fit into a family photo, or how many people you can introduce at a luncheon. It is measured by the people who show up, who make you feel loved, and who you know will be there when you need them.
If you asked me today who my immediate family is, my mom would still be the first person I think of. She will always be the person who taught me what it feels like to always have someone in your corner. But my answer is no longer quite as simple as it once was. My family now stretches from California to Maryland, Delaware, the Netherlands, and wherever else Michigan Field Hockey takes us.
I used to think my family was small. Michigan taught me that it never had to be.