Stepmoms Speak

The Stepmom Angle

By Mrs. H.

Mrs. H. maintains a popular blog at A Stepmom’s Say.

Before I met my husband, my dating life was fairly normal. I would meet someone, go out on a date, maybe another. I had one real relationship before I met the man I eventually married. I dated this person on and off for about two years. It wasn’t a good relationship, only because he wasn’t the right man for me. We had been friends before we dated, and it should have stayed that way. Still, as imperfect as that relationship was, nobody ever question my motives for dating him. We broke up, I moved on, and through God’s grace, I met Husband.

Almost from the beginning, people questioned why I would want to date Husband. Now, I know that his friends and family were very protective-his divorce was hard on him, but I was astounded at how critical people were of me. I know that their attitude was from a place of love and concern for Husband, but I was very saddened by it all. If they could see what an amazing guy he is, why was it so hard to believe that I could too? The people that truly were Husband’s real friends came around, and the ones that didn’t are no longer of importance to him. Now that I have the ability to look back on those days with a more critical eye, I realize that dealing with this kind of third party judgmental behavior, was just a prelude to my life as a stepmom. To be sure, there are bad people in the world. Some of them are stepmoms. Some of them are moms. Neither role predisposes itself to ensuring that the person filling those particular shoes will be bad or good. But if we are being honest, stepmoms are far more criticized and placed under suspicion than moms are. People always want to know what a stepmom’s “angle” is. I believe there are a few reasons for this. First, it is not natural to actively participate in the raising of someone else’s children. Sometimes tragedy necessitates this, and when it does, we are far more able to rise to the challenge-especially if that child is of blood relation, like a niece or a nephew. Not only is it not natural, it can be incredibly painful. I can honestly say that nothing has tested me more as a human being than my life as a stepmom. The vast majority of time that I spend thinking about how to better myself as a person, revolves around my role as a stepmom. Second, even though divorce has started to become somewhat of an accepted part of our culture, I believe that divorced individuals still wear somewhat of a Scarlet Letter. While we can accept that our neighbor or fellow church member is divorced, we don’t exactly want our daughter to marry him. Further, why would our daughter want to marry him? Why wouldn’t she want to start with a “clean slate”?

Third, since infidelity seems to have become the shining example of the rich and famous, it becomes the hidden suspicion of every person who comes into contact with Wife #2 that she was “the other woman.” I know many people who are divorced for a variety of reasons-none of which include infidelity; but it satisfies our sensational minds better to think that most marriages end because of some sexual trist by one partner or another. I hate having to endure the sideways glances of the new people that we meet, wondering if I was the reason that poor Stepsons come from a broken home. I know that many people look at our marriage from the outside and wonder why I decided to marry a divorced, bankrupt man with two kids. What’s in it for me? If Husband hadn’t been divorced or had children, nobody would have ever thought to ask that question-but because he is, they do.

Other stepmom blogs, as well as mine, like to discuss the pressures of stepparenting and how this affects their lives. It is a crucial component to who we are. However, what rarely ever gets discussed, and what is just as important, is the weight of third party (including BM) scrutinization of stepmoms. Scrutiny of their motives and of them as people.

All you have to do is read through the comments on my blog or other blogs to see the veracity of this. A normal day when I write about my feelings on this or that, can draw comments accusing me of martyrdom or hatred or bitterness. Somehow, my feelings are more suspect because I am the stepmom. If I express displeasure about something, I must be bitter. If I express happiness about something, I must be selfish. If I criticize BM, I must have an inflated sense of importance, because who the hell do I think I am-I’m only the stepmother.

Forget the pressures of having four children in your home. Forget the drain on your finances or the emotional toll of legal battles. The thing that often weighs most heavily on the hearts of stepmoms is how society treats them. Despite the fact that a good number of these wonderful women do a pretty bang-up job of helping their husbands raise children that are not related to them, they are still treated as second-class citizens. Citizens, whose every move is cast with suspicion as to “what’s in it for them.”

I started feeling better about myself as a stepmom when I stopped letting these third party judgments really get to me. Anyone who thinks that way really has no clue what Husband and I are all about. Still, it can get to me, and I often think about all my online stepmom friends who I am sure go through the same thing. My blog isn’t a self-help page or a textbook diagram of a stepmom. It’s just my thoughts and deeds, in all their imperfect glory. You won’t find answers there. And if you’re looking for an “angle”…Well, I don’t have one.

Maybe my life would be a little bit more interesting to the reader if I was some spiteful, evil stepmother.Or even some selfless Mother Theresa-type giving of her everything to her husband’s first life. Unfortunately, I’m neither of those things-I don’t even look like a big-boobed trophy wife. I’m just a girl who happened to fall in love with a guy that had a little bit more of a past than most of us. And, I love him enough to accept that past as part of our future together.

There is no sainthood, martyrdom or evil plan. There’s just us, trying to figure out how to make it day-to-day.

Stepmoms Speak

 Rev. Peggy P. Wilkinson is an interfaith minister and pastoral care specialist. She’s also stepmom to Casey, Kelly and Christy (and happy about it). Check out her website www.screamsofconsciousness.com, where you can sign up for a daily dose of her wisdom, humor, and touching stories. She writes here about how she used a creative solution to overcome tension with her stepfamily.                      

Using the Refrigerator to Thaw Things Out

When my husband and I married, three kids were part of the package. In the beginning, keeping track of what each of them liked to eat was just one more point of “overwhelm” for me. One would not touch milk. Another loved the stuff – but it had to be a certain brand, in a carton, not a plastic bottle. The other loved Gatorade, but not the original green stuff – the blue stuff. The other two loved peanuts but not peanut butter. I could feel myself tense up the minute the fridge was opened, at the outset of every weekend visit, as the kids surveyed the contents with deep sighs of disgust.

A couple of things occurred to me. One was that they should be made responsible for what they liked. And, two – I should make it easy for them to be responsible. The refrigerator could become the great common denominator between us. As it is in most homes, it could become the center of family info and fun.

And there was a third thing. Compassion. Have you ever gone to someone’s house and happened to look in their refrigerator? It in no way resembles the inside of yours. Even the same condiments feel foreign because they are not where you are used to seeing them. Kids are just so out of their comfort zone when they are getting acclimated to life in “Home B.”

So I took three brightly colored plastic placemats and cut them to fit in the shelves of the fridge. When the kids arrived, I asked them to pick their favorite color of placemat. I also put notepads in the corresponding color on a magnet, and attached each of them to the refrigerator door. Each kid now had a special place inside and out of the fridge.

Then we went to the grocery store together and they got their own favorite things. We put those items in their colored place in the fridge. When they needed more of something it was up to them to list the item on their pad on the refrigerator door. They loved it. I actually got a “COOL!” out of them.

Stepmoms Speak

Andrea Langworthy is a freelancer writer in Rosemount, Minnesota. She’s a columnist for the Rosemount Town Pages newspaper and Minnesota Good Age. www.andrealangworthy.com

We Are Family

By Andrea Langworthy

I received an e-mail survey from a writer who was gathering information for a magazine article. Recipients were asked how they refer to their stepchildren and what the children call us, the stepparent. I have been married to my husband for nearly 19 years, but I’m still not sure what to call his son. At the time we married, my husband’s son attended college in another state and, since then, our relationship has been mostly long-distance. I’ve only heard him call me by my first name or, recently, the nickname used by family and old friends. I like that better because it makes us seem close.

Which we should be. After all, I’ve known him since he was a darling eight-year-old when his father and I worked together. With children the same ages, his dad and I often shared their exploits and accomplishments. Nothing too personal, as we were only co-workers and married to others at the time. I remember the day his dad came to work excited to share the news it was his son’s birthday. He and his wife had given their teenager Prince’s new movie, Purple Rain. “That’s expensive,” I said. He nodded his head proudly.

Summers, our families were together at company softball games. There were potluck picnics, too, where we all chipped in for hot dogs. The kids went swimming in Bush Lake and everyone ate too much potato salad, cole slaw and brownies. Some of the adults drank too much beer. The day always ended with a softball game, kids and parents alike running bases and chasing fly balls.

All this work-related togetherness didn’t prepare us to become relatives when my husband and I married years later during a blizzard. Weathermen had advised against travel and we worried about my husband’s son and his girlfriend who were driving from Florida for the occasion. We should have told them not to brave the elements but it was important all three of our children bless the union with their presence. No one had expressed any outrage, but still, you never know what emotions are bubbling under a cool demeanor. After the ceremony, we headed to a fancy dinner and family bonding.

I’ll admit: at first, I tried too hard. Tried to make us a big happy family, refusing to believe the word “step” was part of it. I envisioned merry Christmases, everyone singing carols around the tree and opening gifts. I arranged birthday celebrations at restaurants and brought party napkins and cake, trying to create a family with little-kid celebrations for kids who were grownups. We all went skiing one year, visited Disney World another, both trips fraught with disaster. Once I let go of my starry-eyed notions, though, it became easier.

I’ve grown to love my husband’s son. I applaud his every accomplishment and ache for any unpleasantness he encounters. When he and his father meet for a yearly Cubs game in Chicago, I cheer every home-run moment they share. When he scoured my newspaper columns searching for a Christmas gift idea and sent me a first edition of Death Be Not Proud, a book I had written was a favorite, I cried.

This weekend, he and his wife will be in Minnesota and we will celebrate his 40^th birthday at brunch. I still don’t know what to call him. Stepson feels so distant, yet son, an imposition. As for what he calls me, it isn’t important. When he and I spoke on Thanksgiving, he ended our phone conversation with “Love ya.” That’s all that matters, isn’t it?

Stepmoms Speak

Sandy Williams is a mom, stepmom, and life coach who specializes in blended family issues. Find out more about her at www.stepfamilysuccess.com.  

It Was Them Against Me

 

By Sandy Williams

One day, long after my youngest stepson, Nick, had finished high school and was out of the house, I found out when it really became them against me.

Back in Nick’s junior year in high school, he came downstairs dressed in a suit and tie for school. When I asked him what in the world was going on with that, he told me that his shop class was having a photo taken for the yearbook. He went off to school, as did my other kids, and I really never thought about that morning again.

Several years later, my eldest daughter was driving my car with me as a passenger while she had her learner’s permit, and she got pulled over by a policeman for running a yellow light. He let her off with a warning, and as we drove toward home, I commented that I was really surprised Nick made it through his whole beginner driving experience without ever having received a traffic ticket.

That was when my daughter smirked and said: “Well, Mom, that’s not exactly true!” She went on to ask if I remembered the day Nick went to school in a suit and tie. She then revealed the true story about that day.

Nick had gotten a speeding ticket on the way home from school one day while driving his truck a little too fast. Trying to avoid punishment by parents as well as the law, he (with my daughters’/his stepsisters’ help) came up with the class photo story. Then he went to court instead of school that day, paid the fine for his ticket, came home at the usual time after school and I was none the wiser!

The fact that all of that deception went on, and that he had broken the law as well as having skipped school and gotten away with it, was amazing and shocking. But the strongest feeling that rose up in me was not anger; it was extreme satisfaction. After years of the big stepbrother being against my biological daughters, those same kids stuck together and turned against me! Hallelujah! My kids, biological and step, had bonded into regular siblings without me even knowing.

Stepmoms Speak

A New-Fangled Christmas
by Peggy Nolan

I grew up in a blended family (ok, a puree’d family) so Christmas with step-relatives was no big deal for me. In fact, growing up as a “step” kid (my mom later adopted me and my brothers) paved the way for my future as a step/bonus mom.
When I married my husband, I not only married him, his kids and his ex-wife, but I married into his ex-wife’s family. My “mother-in-law” is really my husband’s ex-wife’s mother…but she refers to my husband as her son and introduces me as her daughter-in-law. Kinda nice…but it does come with a separate set of “between my own ears” issues.

Putting my own personal issues aside, this family arrangement brings forth a realm of blessings that I can’t imagine a stepmom not wanting. My husband and I attended my mother-in-law’s family Christmas on December 20. This gathering included my husband’s ex-wife, her boyfriend, three of my husband’s semi-adult children, and all of “mom’s” children as well as her ex husband and his wife. All together, there was probably 25 people at mom’s. Five short days later, Christmas dinner was hosted by my eldest stepdaughter, and most of the same people who were at mom’s family Christmas were also at my stepdaughter’s.

The blessings are infinite and grow with each gathering. My husband’s children don’t have to split their time between parents. They don’t have to decide who they’re opening presents with, who they’re having dinner with, or how much time they spend at dad’s.

My husband and his ex-wife ended whatever battle they had going on in their marriage a year or two after their divorce was final. By the time I came into the picture, there was no animosity, no drama, no negativity. In fact, I was welcomed into her family as a sister and a daughter. And her kids are free to love me, like me, or leave me. Three of them have chosen to love me (the 4th chooses to leave everyone and be a victim).

My husband’s ex-wife and I are not best friends, but we are friendly toward one another. Her youngest son lives with me and my husband full time – and I know she appreciates where I’ve stepped in because her son is thriving.

Weather permitting, I will be spending New Year’s Eve with my husband, his ex-wife, her boyfriend, her sister, and at least one of her brothers and his wife. Originally, her sister invited my husband and I to join her for First Night…and we were going to spend the night at her place so that we wouldn’t have to drive home; however, with my husband’s ex-wife also joining in, we won’t be spending the night…all in good time, but not now. Even my husband is not ready for that!

Check out Peggy’s blog at: www.serendipitysmiles.wordpress.com

Stepmoms Speak

Ann Orchard, Psy.D., is a licensed psychologist who provides individual, couple, and group counseling through her private practice in Edina, Minn. Ann has also published research on stepmothers and has led stepfamily support groups. She is a stepmother of two. www.drorchard.com

 Time Heals 

By Ann Orchard 

Who would have imagined 20 years ago that Bob, my husband, and I would be celebrating my stepdaughter Elizabeth’s 30^th birthday with Bob’s ex? And happily so! Twenty years ago we were enmeshed in an acrimonious custody battle. Bitter words were hurled at each side, resulting in lasting hurt and anger.

My relationship with Bob’s ex – I’ll call her KB for short – had started amicably enough. By the time I came on the scene, KB had already moved east to Boston, leaving Bob with their two kids, Elizabeth (age 7) and Ben (age 5). When Bob and I became engaged after a year of dating, KB was one of the first to congratulate me and wish me the best. However, soon after Bob and I were married, the relationship between KB and me soured. Bob had been trying to amend the original divorce decree to reflect the change from joint custody to his now having sole physical custody. There would then be a legal record of his entitlement to child support.

All hell broke loose. After one year of an intense and expensive custody battle, I found myself depressed and extremely angry. The part I resented the most was her intrusion on my marriage and her contribution to making my first year of marriage the absolute worst year of my life. No honeymoon period for me. On our first anniversary, I even said to Bob, “We’ve been married for a year now- just you, me, Elizabeth, Ben, and KB.”

The custody issues were finally resolved, yet the bitterness remained while the kids progressed through middle school, then high school. The two sides were civil to each other (with some blowouts along the way), but no love was lost.

The “big thaw” started with high school graduations. Enough time had passed, and I felt it was just time to let go of my anger. I believe we each have a choice how we’re going to live our lives, and that anger is toxic. By the time we hit graduate degrees for each child, we all were having a good time at our joint celebration dinners. The dinners included the two kids, KB, KB’s second husband, Bob, me and other family members. Of utmost importance was the inclusion of KB’s mom and my mom – the “neutral parties.” A little bit of wine also helped.

Once we were done with graduate degrees (and no weddings in sight), I realized I genuinely missed our joint celebrations. So when Elizabeth turned 30 last fall, I was thrilled to receive KB’s invitation to travel east to help mark Elizabeth’s milestone birthday. It was truly an act of graciousness. Bob and I went and had a wonderful time at the celebratory dinner. No, I doubt KB and I will ever be best of friends, but I feel good about how our relationship has grown. As I said, who would have imagined?

Stepmoms Speak

The L-Word

Guest columnist Izzy Rose is stepmom of two boys, The Tall One and The Young One. The following post is reprinted here with permission from her excellent blog at www.stepmothersmilk.com.

Earlier this summer, The Young One claimed he was suffering from “separation anxiety” (his words).He hadn’t seen his mom for months and he was missing her with intensity. His dismal mood was made evident by slumped shoulders, apathetic table manners and a dramatic display of affection. The kid was oozing with emotion, of the Soap Opera variety. For example, when his dad went out to the garage, The Young One would treat it as a formal departure.

“Bye, Daddy. I love you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to the garage.”

“I know. I just love you, anyway.”

He started throwing that L-word around like it was losing popularity.

“Bye, Daddy. I love you. Bye.”

Poor kid. Heartbreaking times. His nerves were fried. He’d reached his threshold of ten-year-old bravery. It had been too long. He needed his mom, the original, not the step. Mama Bird was still living in California and we’d moved on to Texas. Video-chat was not cutting it. He was tired of talking to her forehead.  

The husband recognized that his little man was no tough guy, and indulged him. “Love you, too.” With that, he’d close the door to the bathroom and leave The Young One standing in the hall, waving a tragic goodbye.

I know. You want to take him under your bird wing and let him cry it out, don’t you? Well, this essay is actually not about separation anxiety. It’s about the L-word.

 Let’s talk about love.

I noticed during The Young One’s mini-crisis that his freedom with the L-word left me feeling very uncomfortable with my own reluctance to release the sappy sentiment. Why was I withholding?

A recent story in New York magazine asks, do parents really love their adopted children differently than their own offspring? A similar question can be posed to stepparents. Can stepparents really love their stepkids like they were their own flesh and blood? I’ve got to be honest. I think the answer is yes and no.

This love business. It’s a tricky thing.

I believe that with stepchildren, falling in love isn’t always instant. Just because you adore their father doesn’t mean you immediately fancy his kids. Or them, you. Why would this relationship be automatic? Women screen men for years before they find one to truly cherish. Our love is selective, isn’t it?

As much as I like the blissful act of letting go, of finally giving in to love with reckless abandon, I don’t say the L-word until I really mean it. Not only is this my rule for the man; it’s my rule for his kids, too.

I believe that with stepchildren, falling in love isn’t always instant.

I’ve always felt like society expects women to feel tenderness for anything with a heartbeat. Just because I have lady-parts, I’m supposed to love all of humanity? How did this ridiculous rumor get started?

I admit it. This confession makes me wonder if I’m missing a maternal gene. Perhaps my DNA is botched. Whatever the case, I hope my honesty here gives me a little absolution.

When The Husband and I got together, there were many who assumed that I’d fallen for all three of them. They expected that since I’d become an overnight mother of sorts, my natural, maternal instincts kicked in. Again, sorry to disappoint, but I did not feel this way. I wasn’t going to donate a kidney should either one of them get sick. Not right away.

Now, let me be clear, I thought the boys were lovely and I was very fond of them. But neither party was gushing l’amour. We were not living out a fairy tale. It was awkward. And, I thought our hesitation made the situation very real and strangely, comforting.

It wasn’t until over three years into our relationship that the words escaped my lips. One evening, I sat on the edge of The Young One’s bed, feeling sad for him and his nostalgia for the way things were, and it just hit me. I love this kiddo. I said, “Hey weirdo, I love you.”

And instantly, I knew I meant it.

Stepmoms Speak

Jill has two stepsons, a teenager and a “tweenager,” as the youngest likes to be called. She lives in Pasadena, California, and she co-blogs with her stepkids’ mom at The DHX. They named their blog after the “backpack mail” envelope the kids’ mom created to help them send important school papers between houses.

I Love You More Than All The Glass In The House
By Jill Davis Doughtie 

That’s my favorite line I’ve ever thought up on the fly.

The kids were roughhousing. I heard glass break. I came out and saw a blue hand-blown vase I’d bought from my local Mexican folk art store broken on the floor. The kids were sitting still with wide eyes looking scared – both of the broken glass and of what I might say. They still didn’t know me that well. I could tell they were worried.

“Chill out,” I said. “It’s no big deal. I’d rather my stuff didn’t get broken, but this wasn’t that special of a vase to me.” (It wasn’t.) “I know it was an accident. Besides, you guys are more important than any vase could ever be. I love you more than all the glass in the house. I love living in the same house with you guys. If it came down to it and I had to choose, I’d rather live in a house with you that had no glass in it at all!”

It was the perfect ending for that vase. It might have even been what I bought the vase for (without knowing it, obviously).

If it had been a really special vase, I probably would have been more upset initially. And if they hadn’t been obviously sorry and scared, I might have emphasized the “I don’t like it when my stuff gets broken” part a lot more.

But this happened just right. Given the choice ahead of time, I would gladly have traded it (and, actually, come to think of it, all of the glass in the house) for a chance to show and tell the kids in just this way right then that they were important to me and that I loved them.

“Look!” I said, after I’d swept up the glass and convinced them it was safe to move around and that I really wasn’t mad. “Now I have the perfect spot to put this pitcher. I’d been looking for a place for it.” (It was true, too.) I put a hand-blown blue water pitcher from the same shop in the same spot. They cheered right up.

* * * * *

I had a friend in high school whose father started a church in a rough part of town. One Monday she came to school and told me about a sermon her dad’s co-pastor had preached that weekend. He brought a vase up to the pulpit with him. His best friend had made it for him before going to Vietnam. His best friend died in Vietnam. That vase was really special to him. He told the congregation all of this. Then he threw the vase down and broke it. Everyone was quiet and horrified. “That’s a little bit like what God did for us,” he said, “when he sent Jesus to die for us. He sacrificed his only son. I only broke one of my most precious possessions to make a point.”

I’m not a Christian but I’ve always found that story to be powerfully moving. My friend said everyone in the congregation was quiet. It was the kind of sermon you only hear once or twice in a lifetime. It wasn’t just words. It was action. It was sacrifice – and sacrifice only to teach something. But I think it was worth it to him. It was a powerful enough sermon to reach me, and to keep reaching me for years, without my having been in the building when it was delivered. I don’t believe in the kind of salvation this man was preaching, but I do believe in love, and in showing it not just with words, but with actions and sometimes sacrifices.

That story was in my mind when the kids broke my vase. I was in the pulpit in our dining room, sweeping up glass. My sermon was, “I love you.”

Stepmoms Speak

Christina Hines is the author of Navigational Skills for Stepfamilies. The following is an excerpt from her book. Used with permission.

Lack of Awareness

When we navigate without awareness, we still remember the “Wicked” Stepmother in our Cinderella stories. We live inside the lingo, the language of “Broken Homes” and “Step” and everyone suffers on all levels. “Broken” takes on a tone as If there is something fundamentally wrong that will always be fundamentally wrong. Step has a tone as if someone is stepping on someone else’s toes or property, as if by stepping “in and on” you are doing something morally illegal.

Inside of this broken stepping on toes limited thinking…. 

We teach our children that love has conditions. “You are free to love everyone! Except the woman who now lives with your father.”

We provide our children with “Disney Land” weekends to ease the guilt we feel inside of us for not being there in the day-to-day.

We get divorced and cling fiercely to making sure our children experience “family traditions” only we don’t stop to understand what we are really doing to them.

Let’s see how this works. We tell our children “Get dressed, brush your teeth, eat breakfast, put your jacket on – you are going to Dad’s for three hours to have his tradition. Next, while you are in mid-play, you will need to put your jacket back on, come back home, we’ll drive to grandma’s and have our tradition (notice, at Dad’s you had HIS tradition but when you are with me, you are having “Our” tradition.) Take your jacket off and then mid-play, you will need to put your jacket back on. Next; we will get back in the car, drive to our house. Take off your jacket it’s time for bed! Now wasn’t that fun?

Children literally spend half of the day in the car. A quarter of the day taking their jackets off and putting their jackets back on.  A quarter of the day just digging into a wonderful play experience only to have it cut short once again.

Family traditions start to take on a tone of hurry up, let’s go, wasn’t that fun and we do this for your sake. Children’s little heads spin. They can’t remember whom they are playing with and everything feels to the child like there isn’t enough time. We literally teach our children how to not focus fully. We teach our children how not to experience something fully and then we label and medicate them when they can’t seem to focus.

More of what’s Inside of this broken stepping on toes limited thinking…

We send them over to the other parent’s house exclaiming “Oh I will miss you so much while you are gone,” and then the child spends half the time at the other parent’s house worrying about how lonely and upset the other parent is with visions of the “missing” parent crying missing them so much and unable to enjoy their time fully because they are too busy worrying about the other parent’s experience. We teach our children to always feel like something is missing.

We get out of one relationship to get right back into the “same” relationship with someone else or we go for someone completely different and spend all our time comparing, complaining and “pining” for what we no longer have when we didn’t enjoy what we had when we had it. Never fully enjoying our present moments.

We watch a child grow and develop and we have reverence for the process yet we have no tolerance and lack reverence, time or patience for the emotional evolutionary process of growth and development that needs to happen inside of marriages or inside of divorces or our remarriages.

We treat our children like partners and our partners like children.

We ignore our pain, bury it, pretend it doesn’t exist and we hide behind children using them as an excuse on why we can’t move on or worse, we use them like bait on a fishing rod to attract a potential parent for them verses trying to attract a partner for us who will eventually be a good stepparent.

We set our new relationships up to be stressful and chaotic because we didn’t take the time to process our emotions and then we get mad at our new partner for expecting us to be fully present to them.

We expect our new partners to love and accept our children and us unconditionally while we don’t accept and love them unconditionally.

We set the stepparent up by sabotaging their relationship with our children by bending the rules when the stepparent isn’t home or by blatantly coming out and saying, “I don’t mind but your stepmother is on my back.”

We set our children up to feel abandoned and to resent the person who does what we do for our children – by allowing our children to sleep in bed with us at night and then “kicking” them out when an adult comes into the picture.

We blame the “other” parent when our children lie, manipulate or act out on our time with the children. We say the children are doing that because of who the other parent is and oh what a great parent we are.

 We blame the stepparent for pointing out our children’s behaviors and focus on the stepparent instead of focusing on parenting our children 

Women walk around comparing themselves to each other while competing for who’s better, prettier, has a better body, looks younger, makes more money, has a better house. As if a child cares about any of those things. (Who is that really about?)

Men are so confused, not knowing who to listen to, the biological mother or the stepmother. Knowing perfectly well that he’s completely screwed either way, lying to each woman causing more problems for themselves crying, “Women are crazy people!”

We haven’t learned to “play nice” inside of our adult relationships while we tell our children to “play nice” with others. Or, we no longer care about teaching our children how to play nice, we would rather they think of only themselves. We haven’t learned to share the joys of child rearing while we tell our child to share or, we tell our children that they don’t have to share. We haven’t learned to respect each other while we tell children to respect others or, we don’t care if our children respect others and enjoy our children’s ability to be fully self expressed to the point of pure rudeness. We play a lot of ego oriented superficial games and waste our time and life energy on things that do not matter and have absolutely nothing to do with our children.

With all or half of this going on inside of the lives of stepfamilies, it’s easy to see why there is so much stress involved. Most of it has nothing to do with being a parent or having a child. Children are not the problem at all. Most of it has to do with our inability to navigate the issues that belong to us.

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Stepmoms Speak

Diane Fromme is a writer and 13-year veteran stepmom to Brittany (22) and Ian (20), who were six and four when their mother died. Her upcoming book, Stepparenting the Grieving Child, offers an insider’s guide to navigating the unique joys and challenges of living with a child whose parent has died. For more information and to sign up for her newsletter, go to www.dianefromme.com. You can also check out her blog. Here is the opening excerpt from her book. Printed with permission.

How Did I Get Here?
By Diane Fromme 

“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” – E.M. FORSTER

Fall, 1993

The blue of seven-year-old Brittany’s eyes matched that of the cloudless sky over the softball field. I had offered to watch Brittany and her younger brother Ian at the playground adjoining the field while Brian, my fiancé and their father, played a tournament game.

 It was the first time I’d ever looked purposefully into her eyes. I think I was afraid of what I might find there, just one year after the children had lost their mother to cancer. But in Brittany’s eyes I saw an unexpected calm. Only the slight, purplish-grey smudges underneath yielded a clue of strain; dark crescents in the soft, ivory skin.  When the sunlight would flicker across her eyes, I also saw questions. Unspoken questions and no answers.  Ian’s eyes were a little darker than Brittany’s: seawater blue. He was so active that I couldn’t get a deeper look. Ian was five and if he showed any sign of mourning it was masked by his nearly constant motion.  The kids dug around in the wood chips near the swings, climbed on the geo structure, and played a fantasy game concocted from the depths of their imaginations. Sometimes I let my gaze wander over to the action on the softball field, but most of the time I studied the children. I was taken with the creamy perfection one finds in the faces of the young. Their constant jabbering amused me.  I wondered what they’d been through, losing their mother. I couldn’t connect from my own experience – I had just spoken to my mother that morning – and so felt a distance from any understanding of their pain.  When Ian asked me to take him to the bathroom, he didn’t look at me but he did grab for my hand. I wasn’t used to being around children in recent years. The little hand felt strange at first, but overall warm and good.”We could get used to each other,” I thought. “This could work out just fine.”    

~

I clearly recall that when I was considering marrying Brian, everything lined up in my logical view of the world. I liked children: as a teenager I had been a youth leader and a day-camp counselor, and in my mid-twenties I mentored an at-risk, ten-year-old girl.  Now, close to thirty, I had met a man who was kind, intelligent, and sensitive, and I was actually eager to help him and his children move forward in the aftermath of his wife’s and their mother’s death.

What I didn’t know anything about was the distinct nature of stepfamily formation, its singular undulations and patterns, coupled with the effects of grief and the possible ways grief can manifest over the years. So without much further study than snapshot observations of the children, I launched optimistically forward into “I do,” which became a union of husband and wife and two children, not to mention two dogs and three cats. I also didn’t realize that Brittany and Ian’s mom, though deceased, was an essential part of our new family.  

In many ways, my blissful optimism was healthy: When you’re moving into the role of stepparent, it’s beneficial to become educated and gain assistance early on, during a time when you’re feeling positive and hopeful. And when you’re adding the challenge of stepparenting after a parent has died, some level of grief education is also vital. Of course it’s not too late to shore up your knowledge. Thank goodness, because I didn’t seek help right away.  

After many years of “let’s try this” stepparenting, followed by many years of research about what the experts recommend, my formula for successful stepparenting after a parent dies looks closest to this:  

Willing Attitude + Stepfamily and Grief Education + Support Resources = Sane Stepparenting   Grab hold of the opportunity to explore all parts of this equation, while at the same time reflect on how you arrived in a family where a child’s parent has died.