“Like Family” at Work: A Bridge or a Boundary?

I recently had a heartfelt conversation with my son, who runs a bakery in Chiang Mai, Thailand. He was speaking warmly about his staff—about their dedication, their personalities, how they work together. I smiled and said, “Sounds like they’re like part of the family.”

But he paused. “They are not family,” he said. “You should never think of coworkers like family.”
At first, I was taken aback.

I grew up in a world where your workplace often felt like a second home. We shared birthdays, grieved losses, pitched in when someone was sick, and stayed late when there was a crunch—not because we had to, but because we cared. You pulled your weight because you knew everyone else was pulling theirs. There was camaraderie. A sense of shared purpose. I believed then—and still do—that when people feel connected, they give their best, not out of guilt or pressure, but because they want to see each other succeed.

But my son challenged that view. He spoke from experience, and with clarity: “That is corporate culture talking,” he said. “Companies in North America push this ‘we are a family’ narrative so they can blur boundaries and get more out of their employees. If it is ‘family,’ then you are not supposed to question long hours, lack of raises, or unfair treatment. If you do, it is like you are betraying the family. That is not healthy.”

His words stuck with me.

There is truth on both sides, and perhaps the difference comes down to generational experience—and geography. I came of age in a time when lifelong employment was common, where loyalty was rewarded, and where the emotional fabric of the workplace was just as important as the professional one. My son, on the other hand, lives in a time where burnout is rampant, boundaries are essential, and many have learned (the hard way) that companies can preach “family values” while making very un-family-like decisions—like layoffs over Zoom or wage suppression.

Maybe what I have cherished as connection, he sees as emotional manipulation. And maybe what he views as professional detachment, I still see as missing heart.

And yet, as I think about it more deeply, I realize the answer is not about rejecting either perspective—but about recognizing intention.

Calling a workplace “like a family” can be a beautiful thing—if it means creating a space of trust, support, and genuine care. But it becomes problematic when it is used to sidestep fairness, suppress boundaries, or blur roles. Love without respect is manipulation. But respect without warmth? That can feel empty.

In my own life, I have experienced workplaces that truly felt like family—where people cared for each other as human beings, not just job titles. I have also seen the opposite: environments where the word “family” was used as a guilt trip. Perhaps the key is not in the word itself, but in how we live it out.

So maybe the better model is not “family” or “not family,” but rather community.

A healthy workplace community is built on mutual respect, clear boundaries, and human kindness. You do do not have to be family to care. You just have to be decent. Thoughtful. Present. Willing to help when you can—and humble enough to ask for help when you need it.

At the end of our conversation, my son and I did not fully agree. But we did not have to. We both believe in creating meaningful environments—his approach just places more emphasis on structure and boundaries, mine on connection and loyalty. Maybe the real lesson is this: work is not family, but it does not have to be transactional either.

It can be something in between.
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Something human.