When I was seven, I discovered that my family and I were descended from pirates—or at least the pirate-adjacent. It was one of those rainy Nantucket days when the fog rolls in so thick it feels as though it’s crept indoors, curling up on the furniture with you. My dad, perhaps in an effort to keep my sister and me entertained, decided it was the perfect moment to share some family lore. He stood in the middle of the living room, raised one brow theatrically, and announced, “Did you know your great-great-great-great-grandfather was a pirate?”

To a second-grader raised on Peter Pan reruns and Halloween costumes with plastic cutlasses, this was life-changing news. Forget math homework—my bloodline was tied to the high seas! No wonder I’d gravitated toward backyard treasure hunts and made my own maps. It was destiny, seared into my DNA. In that moment, I imagined my ancestor swinging from ropes, commanding a ship full of swashbucklers, and dodging musket fire as gold doubloons rained down from some freshly looted hold.

My father, ever the storyteller, didn’t provide many details (which only made the story more exciting). “He sailed with a crew that wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up,” he said with a wink, implying connections to bootlegger schemes or maritime mutinies. That was all I needed. From then on, I saw echoes of piracy everywhere—in our family’s weathered maritime artifacts, the salty tang of the harbor air, even in my parents’ endless battles with the inn’s unexpected plumbing leaks. I was living amongst rogue seafarers turned responsible citizens!

But much like the moment you realize your crush isn’t quite as witty as you thought after three red flags in a row, the family myth unraveled for me as I grew up. And honestly? That process proved to be just as enlightening—if a little less romantic.

The High of Myth: Childhood and the Illusion of Adventure

Before long, my life became a montage of pirate-inspired delusions. I concocted rivalries with other kids on the playground, telling them I had “pirate blood” as if nautical despotism were a notable personality trait. Each game of hide-and-seek turned into me bracing for adventures against imaginary Royal Navy officers. (Honestly, I was less a kid playing make-believe and more of a child-sized Captain Jack Sparrow without the rum or eyeliner.)

Family stories have a way of embedding themselves into your identity, especially when they feel larger than life. My “pirate heritage” was my ultimate fun fact at dinner parties. And it wasn’t until college—getting frothy beer and skepticism served to me at the same time—that I realized the cracks. A roommate had the audacity to ask questions: “Wasn’t piracy a big deal in the Caribbean? Wouldn’t it have been harder to pull off in New England?” These were inconvenient moments of scrutiny. (Who wants logic when you’ve been building a salt-encrusted daydream for years?)

So I did what any amateur historian with too much pride would do: I investigated.

Myth Meets Reality: The Real Story Behind the Folklore

Here’s what I uncovered in dusty archives and sea-soaked museum documents. My great-great-great-great-grandfather—let’s call him Nathanial, because that feels appropriately 18th-century—wasn’t a pirate at all. He had, in fact, been a perfectly legitimate sailor who occasionally brushed shoulders with privateers. Privateers, for the uninitiated, were essentially glorified pirates hired by governments during wartime to plunder enemy ships under the guise of patriotism. Imagine if today’s world leaders outsourced their battles to side hustlers brandishing swords and slightly tarnished morals.

Nathanial didn’t steal treasure maps or bury gold. He trafficked goods like molasses, textiles, and other necessities—maybe smuggling on occasion but hardly the type of character to get a Johnny Depp biopic. He wasn’t flinging himself from crow’s nests; he was arguing over cargo fees. And the biggest dash of glamour? A rumored standoff with a rival crew that ended, anticlimactically, in noisy negotiations. No buckles were swashed that day.

Was he a bad guy? Hardly. Was he a pirate? Certainly not. But like any good family legend, the details had been twisted and embroidered over time. That’s the thing about family myths—they endure because they tell the story we want to hear, not the one that necessarily happened.

What This Means for Relationships

You might be wondering, “What does this have to do with dating or relationships?” Well, everything. Just as I had to untangle my supposed pirate ancestry, we all inherit stories about love and human connection. Maybe it’s your grandmother muttering sage warnings like “Never go to bed angry” (a good idea in theory but not the all-encompassing truth). Or maybe it’s a myth you’ve constructed about what your relationships should look like—stories like “soulmates never fight” or “real love starts with an undeniable spark.”

These myths are comforting, sure. They make us feel like there’s a secret formula, an anchor preventing us from drifting aimlessly on love’s open sea. But relying on myths without questioning them can be just as limiting. Sometimes, you need to rewrite the narrative.

Here’s How We Break Down Relationship Myths

  1. Identify the Story You’re Stuck On
    Ask yourself: What belief about relationships or connection keeps rearing its head? Maybe it’s tied to how you were raised ("Love should be practical and easy”) or informed by pop culture ("If there’s no drama, it’s not passion”). Write it down and stare it squarely in the eye.

  2. Fact-Check Your Assumptions
    Just like I learned my pirate ancestor was basically an over-glorified UPS guy, take time to question what you’ve been conditioned to believe. Did loving partnerships really hinge on constant communication in the days before cell phones? Were people really better at romance in the past, or did they just have shorter lifespans to screw things up? Spoiler: Many of our ideas about love are stuck in a cinematic frame.

  3. Decide What to Keep and What to Toss
    Family myths and dating conventions don’t have to disappear entirely. Some of them can be reimagined through a modern lens. For instance, even though the pirate story turned out to be, well, a lie, I still love the spirit of adventure it introduced into my life. Similarly, “don’t go to bed angry” might mean learning how to table arguments productively instead of groggily hashing them out at 2 a.m.

  4. Write Your Own Map
    Craft your own “rules” based on what you value now. Maybe that means prioritizing humor over grand gestures or recognizing that attraction builds over time rather than arriving like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Your myth doesn’t have to be what others expect—it just has to feel authentic.

Charting New Waters

In the end, I made peace with Nathanial’s non-pirate existence, and I’ve challenged myself to see family myths as stories—not shackles. Relationships are no different. Whether it’s dating, marriage, or navigating the great maze of attraction, we’re all making it up as we go, piecing together maps from bits of history, intuition, and our desired futures. And if one X doesn’t mark the spot? Well, there are other treasure chests to pursue.

So, here’s to letting go of ill-fitting myths—pirate lore and otherwise. Because sometimes the real magic isn’t in clinging to the story; it’s in courageously stepping into the unknown.