Stepparenting: The Good, The Bad, and The Challenging

I've been a stepmom for a few months now; just enough time to THINK I know everything about the job while realistically still having a lot to learn. But I do know this: Entering into and becoming this kind of family comes with a unique set of good, bad, and challenging elements.  Most of them are impossible to predict before the fact, and my previous attempts to prepare myself for this new life now feel laughable - just like new parents who are adjusting to life with an infant, entering into life as a stepparent simply isn't something that one can prepare for.  There aren't enough books, articles, and other resources in the world (and by this point, I think I have read everything written on this topic) to adequately understand how life changes when a person enters into stepmotherhood. I've had a really tough time articulating my experience over the last few months.  Friends have asked me how things are going, and the best answer I can give is "it's the hardest thing I've ever done."  And although that's true, it's not a real answer.  So here it is - my three-months-in, as balanced as possible, explanation of my experience of being a stepmom: The Good, The Bad, and The Challenging.  The Good 1.  I think that becoming a stepmom is the greatest gift that a woman can give to her partner.  It is extremely gratifying to know that I'm helping Pete in a profound way that no one else can.  During the early stages of our relationship, I witnessed first-hand how difficult - often devastating - single parenting was on Pete.  Now that we are co-parenting, his load is lightened.  This not only means that simple time-management things are easier (e.g. one of us can fold laundry while the other puts Lucas to bed), but also that Pete has the opportunity for a more balanced life.  Unlike before, he now has adult company every night, and when he needs a break, he can take a night off to do something that fills him up, while I take over the parenting.  We all know that we're better to others when we care for ourselves first, and in his single parent days, Pete didn't have much opportunity for that.  Being Pete's partner and co-parent gives me the opportunity not only to care for him, but also to empower him to take the time to care for himself.  2.  Stepmothering has given me the valuable opportunity to be a positive influence in Lucas's life long-term. The more caring, nurturing adults children have in their support system, the better their prospects are for success.  Pete brings a set of parenting strengths to our family, and I bring a separate set - which means Lucas gets twice as much support, structure, and love at home as he would without me.  3. I'm learning a new skill-set.  There are a variety of ways people live out their role as stepparents, and  I’ve chosen the highly active route - I help with homework, I enforce rules and discipline, I participate in bedtime routines, I plan birthday parties and gift ideas, I initiate craft projects, I help with school drop-offs and pick-ups.  Although I never thought I would be good at this before, I've been working hard at honing these skills, and it turns out...  I'm actually not too bad.    The Bad 1.  Sometimes I feel left out of my own family.  I really can't explain the sting that comes from Lucas pushing right past me to get to Pete, completely ignoring me.  Or the sting of him refusing to hug me at bedtime after I've spent my whole evening entertaining him and taking care of him.  Or the sting of not being acknowledged as a parent by other family members.  Stepmoms statistically have the worst mental health of anyone in a family, and I think a big reason for that is because we consistently receive these blows to our self-worth. Some days I feel nervous to come home because I know that I'm risking facing these blows yet again. 2.  The cliche that step-parenting is "all of the responsibility with none of the credit" could not be more true. So much of my time, energy, and resources are spent on parenting.  But yet, this work so often goes unseen and unacknowledged, both by Lucas and by others.  Bio parents often experience a similar feeling, but I think it is compounded for stepparents because our efforts are focused on a child for whom we have no legal rights, biological ties, or shared history.  We also tend to do more of the "behind the scenes" work, while our partners do the work on the "front lines".  Although Pete has been wonderful about giving me credit and building my confidence, it's still an uphill battle. 3. Although we know it's important, it's difficult for Pete and me to prioritize our relationship as #1.  Every resource I have found says that it is vital that partners in stepfamilies put their relationship first, prioritize one another, and create a strong foundation.  Without this, the family will fall apart.  This is especially important in a blended family, since the daily stresses are so much greater, divorce rates are so much higher, and the children's first model of an adult romantic relationship is one of brokenness.  That Pete and I should put each other first is a wonderful idea in theory.  But the demands of parenting and other forms of adulting stretches us so thin that sometimes it feels like we don't end up prioritizing each other to the extent that we both deserve.  The Challenging 1. I have to be very intentional about keeping my priorities and schedule balanced.  Becoming a stepmom has been a massive life change, but it doesn't mean that my other identities and values are less important now.  As mentioned above, I work hard to keep my identity as Pete's partner at the top of my priority list, just as he does for me.  I also am trying my very best to keep up with my social calendar and my groups of friends who mean so much to me and really give me life.  I’m also trying to make time for the things that benefit my mental and physical heath. Finally, I’m still working toward finding personal meaning, interests, and direction.  Keeping all of these things balanced is challenging for many people, but managing everything in addition to being a new stepparent is extra tough. 2.  Stepmoms are constantly combating systemic cultural undervaluing.  Society does not look favorably on stepmoms as a whole, and this can have a negative impact on how we view ourselves and treat ourselves.  Some stepmoms think of themselves as "less than" bio parents, and some don't even refer to themselves as stepparents unless they are married to their partner.  I have to be very careful to avoid these self-depreciating tendencies.  Most of the time, I think I'm doing okay with this. I know that my role matters.  I'm not JUST the stepmom, I AM the stepmom.  It's something that I can be, and should be, super proud of.  3. I'm still figuring out my role.  This is particularly true when it comes to behavioral problems and discipline.  Whichever "experts" say that disciplining should be left up to the biological parents have obviously never been in a room or a house alone with their stepchildren.  It's just not realistic.  But, as we have been combating a lot of behavioral issues during the past few months, Pete and I have to work together to decide how to, and who should, handle them.  We want Lucas to see me as a parent with authority in our home, but we don't want him to resent me, which could happen in this phase since he's still getting used to my permanency in his life.  Luckily, Pete and I are virtually always in agreement when it comes to rewards and consequences for Lucas, and this is just one of many things that we have the opportunity to work on, and learn from, together.  Having a teammate in this is invaluable.   Conclusions In short: This is hard.  But what that is worthwhile ISN'T hard?  I'm sure my list of good, bad, and challenging things will change a lot as time goes on, because this is such a dynamic role that I have stepped into.  But one important thing that continues to be clear is that I have the unwavering support of my partner, who is grateful that I've stepped into this role and never lets me forget it.  That alone makes it worth all of the hard parts. And finally, even when I feel like I don't know what I'm doing - and that's most of the time - the important thing is that I AM DOING IT.  And I'm going to keep doing it, and keep working on doing it well.

Focus on the Stars

One of my favorite things to do in nature is stargazing.  Whenever I escape city life, one of the first things I do is look at the night sky, which is so bright and beautiful and unique.

True confession: I have been struggling a lot in my life recently, for a variety of reasons that are equal parts within, and outside of, my control. Many days feel so dark and clouded with negativity and tough moments, that finding the good seems harder than rocket science.  But one night recently, when I was struggling to find clarity and happiness, my partner made this analogy about my favorite nature-related activity: "When you look at the sky, you have two choices.  You can focus on the dark space, or you can focus on the stars... the way they sparkle, the designs they make, the way they light up the sky." 

That comment stopped my tears, dead in their tracks.

Most of the night sky is dark, and we shouldn't ignore the dark. It's healthy to identify and claim our dark spaces, to know that it's okay for them to be part of our sky. But we can't stop there. We also need to identify our stars, and know that they can be as bright as we let them be.  Our view is so much more beautiful, so much more transcendent, so much more illuminated, when we choose to focus on the bright spots - our stars.

My stars are my partner Pete, and the rest of my family, both bio and chosen.  My stars are dinner parties with friends on my deck at dusk. My stars are weekend North Shore getaways; That first sip of wine at the end of a long day; The time that Lucas referenced something the three of us did "as a family"; A strong run on a crisp early fall afternoon;  Songs that instantly make me feel warm; Solving a problem at work that I've been trying to figure out for weeks.  Put together, all of my stars work together to form amazing constellations and mini-universes.  So many tiny little dots of happiness that add up to a lifetime of sparkle and brightness.

My sky includes both dark space and bright stars.  Every day is filled with a combination of both.  On the days when I'm focusing my gaze on the dark space, I'm missing out on the stars.  But on the days when my attitude is shifted to keep my eyes focused on the stars, the dark space fades away.  On those days, my stars seem brighter, bigger, and better. 

No matter how cloudy the day, no matter how dark the sky, there are always stars.  Sometimes we have to look harder to find them, but when we do, they are always visible in some capacity.  The dark space is always there, too.  Every day brings potential reasons for self-doubt, for tears and anger, for divisiveness. We can focus on those things if we want, but by doing so, we are missing out on the beauty of the stars - the part of the sky that is really worth gazing at.

Focus on the stars.

A Thank-You Letter to my Ex

Two years ago when I was packing in preparation to move out of the house we bought together and shared for the previous five years, I found so many emotion-filled memories.  I wrote them down for you and told you that maybe some day I'd be able to thank you for these memories.  Two years ago, I wasn't ready to say thank you.  I was so hurt by your leaving, and was grieving the loss of a future with you that would never be known.

Today, as I am again packing up my home in preparation for the next phase of life, I am finally ready to say thank you. 

Thank you for letting me go.  You knew I was feeling trapped in our life.  I desperately needed a chance to experience the kind of freedom and self-actualization I never had before.  We'd met in our early 20s, barely post-college, certainly unequipped to make a decision about what we would want "for the rest of our lives".  For most of our marriage, I was in your shadow.  My accomplishments were your accomplishments, my identity was your identity, my pride was your pride.  Since you left, I have become me.  I have my own identity, my own name, my own interests and accomplishments.  I'm proud of who I am - not of who my husband is.  The best thing you ever did for me was leave me. 

Thank you for showing me that I didn't need you.  I thought that I did. I didn't think I knew how to be an adult without you.  But necessity showed me that I could. I've learned to do everything that I need to do - on my own, using my resources, without your help.  Some of the ways that you did things were smart, and I learned from that. Some of the ways you did things were not smart, and I learned from that too.

Thank you for not letting it drag out at the end.  Once you were done, we were done.  There was no chance for mediation, counseling, or reconciliation.  My attempts to beg you to change your mind or give me another chance were met with emotionless walls of refusal.  That hurt me at the time, but now I am grateful.  The letting-go phase was the hardest, and if it had gone on for longer, as no doubt would have been the case if you had acquiesced to my wishes, the hurt would have been greater.

Thank you for being fair.  We each took what we deserved in order to equalize, nothing more and nothing less.  There were no fights about who was owed what - we knew what the math said, and neither of us had enough animosity toward the other to try to fight for more. Having now experienced the impact of a divorce that is not fair or equitable in any way, I am extraordinarily grateful that ours was.

Thank you for the opportunity to experience something honestly difficult.  This was the first time in my life that I was faced with a true tragedy: something that I didn't think I'd ever have to do, something that I didn't know if I could do, something that in some circles I was judged for.  It was only by going through this that I learned that I really am braver than I believe, smarter than I seem, and stronger than I think.  It was only by going through this that I'm now equipped to handle something much worse and much harder.  Everyone should have the opportunity to experience truly difficult things.  Not only do they provide a chance to prove strength, but they give the good things so much more meaning.

Truth be told, we were both just winging it, which is all anyone can ever do.  I'm so much happier now, and I believe, and hope, that you are also. 

Hello, I Am: Bisexual

June is one of my favorite months of the year.  In addition to it being the month with the longest days, the prettiest sunsets, and the best running weather, one of the reasons I love June is because it's Pride month.  Pride has been special to me for different reasons every year I have celebrated it.  Today, I want to acknowledge one of the things I'm proud of this year.

I remember over a decade ago, wondering to myself if my attraction to women was just a phase, whether it was something I should pursue, whether it was abnormal. I can remember at that time feeling like I would never have the support I would need to give it a fair shot.  I remember years later, how right it felt the first time my lips touched her lips, her hand touched my waist, my fingers touched her hair.  I remember wondering how anyone would think that could be wrong.  I remember standing in the capitol rotunda minutes after the state senate voted for marriage equality, chanting "love is louder" and rejoicing knowing that regardless of the gender of the person who I would some day love, that love could be legally recognized. I remember kissing a woman in public and being approached by a man asking if he could join us. I remember walking hand in hand in a park at night, wondering if it would be safer to let go.  I remember the nervousness of coming out to my straight friends, and my family, and being met with a mixture of love, total acceptance, concern, and denial. I remember hours upon hours in talks with gay friends, interrogating them about "how they knew", and feeling almost jealous of their certainty of exclusively same-sex attraction.  Why didn't I feel so certain?

For the nearly two years that I was grappling with sexual orientation and trying to figure out where I fell on the spectrum, I almost exclusively dated women. The couple of men I went out with were unappealing, and I had absolutely no interest in them. Women were beautiful, and soft, and freeing. And complicated.  Sometimes women turned away from me upon finding out that I had a relationship history with men. Dating was a struggle, as I consistently felt like I had to prove to women - and to myself - that I was legit.

But the minute I met Pete, everything changed.  When he touched my back on the balcony before our first date, the sparks I felt were different and stronger than anything I'd felt before.  Our conversation was authentic, and barrier-free, and fun.  And five hours later when we finally kissed, after what felt like years of waiting, I knew that I never wanted to stop.  That night, I was finally able to easily answer the question that I'd been struggling with for years: I am not gay.  I am not straight. I am not confused. I'm bisexual.

One of my biggest concerns when I was in the beginning stages of a hetero-normative relationship was trying to decide how I was going to maintain my queer identity. I wasn't sure how I could still be bi when I'm living like I'm straight.  Pete has been incredibly supportive of this part of who I am, and has encouraged me to do what I can to continue to live and grow in my bisexual identity, despite being in a monogamous heterosexual relationship. He has embraced my community in a way beyond what I could have ever dreamed.  He is more comfortable with it than I would have ever expected. When he isn't sure about something, he asks me.

When I first started bringing Pete to events, there was some confusion among my wider network.  A couple of people candidly said to me, "I thought you were a lesbian".  Others assumed that he was a new gay on the scene, and weren't shy about wanting to meet him.  He took all of that in stride.   One stranger approached us at a queer event and, upon seeing that we were together, told us we "shouldn't be at a gay bar if we're straight."  We shrugged it off, knowing that everyone who really matters to us is supportive and accepting and welcoming.  Not every person needs or deserves to know our story.

For the first time in my life, I'm completely confident in my sexual identity.  I know where I stand. Discovering the truth about myself has been a long and winding road, and in some ways I think we are all constantly in a process of learning about ourselves.  But for now, I feel like I have really "arrived".   I'm proud to be bisexual; in fact, it is one of my favorite things about myself.  In the wise words of the beautiful and inspiring Mary Lambert: "I can't change, even if I tried.  Even if I wanted to."  There is no reason for me to want to change this about myself.

However you identify, in whatever aspect of your life, I hope you feel confident in that identity. And if you're not sure about an aspect of who you are, I can tell you from experience:  the process of self-discovery takes effort, but it is well worth it to come out on the other side being truly proud of who are.

Happy Pride month!!!

What Marriage Isn't

My boyfriend and I have been talking about marriage.

Don't freak out.  I'm not dumb enough to agree, or ask, to marry someone I've only been dating for a few months.  Only a naive, inexperienced, overly excitable child (i.e. me at age 23) would do something that ridiculous.  Pete and are I aren't talking about getting married ourselves.  Honestly, right now we are a lot more concerned about getting him un-married, which has been a a tenuous, frustrating, and seemingly never-ending process.  But through this experience, and through thinking about my own experience of marriage and divorce, I've come up with a list of my values about what marriage is... or rather, maybe more importantly, what it is NOT. This list is a work in progress.  It's silly to think that one's ideas about any big topic, marriage included, will remain constant from one season of life to the next.  This list almost completely contradicts what 23 year-old Kate believed, and 43 year-old Kate will likely have yet another very different lens. But, in the present moment, this is what I know to be true.:

Marriage is not necessary.  Just because a couple is in a long-term relationship does not mean that they are required to get married.  It's one option, but it is not the only way to be committed and to demonstrate that commitment.

Marriage is not a status symbol.  A married person is not in any way superior to a single person, despite what mainstream culture might subtly suggest. Being married does not mean that a person is more stable, more mature, more desirable, or happier. 

Marriage does not increase commitment.  A couple's level of commitment to one another should not change upon getting married.  Marriage is a symbol of commitment, but it does not create greater commitment. 

Marriage is not gender specific.  Marriage is an equal opportunity institution, for either same or different gendered couples.  Minnesota proclaimed this loud and clear two years ago.  36 other state governments agree.  Churches and other faith communities across the nation agree.  I don't think this could be more obvious and fundamentally true.

Marriage is not an antidote to loneliness.  Some of the times I  felt the most alone were when I was married, and some of the times I felt the most included and in community with others were when I was single.  Too many people get married because they believe it will create permanent company and companionship.  It won't.

Marriage does not mean a loss of individual identity.  I was recently at a wedding where the couple lit a unity candle:  They each took separate candles, representative of their individual selves, and from those flames lit a third candle, representative of their relationship.  After lighting the unity candle, the bride and groom were then instructed by the pastor to blow out their individual candles, leaving only the joint candle to burn.  This struck me as the wrong foundation for a marriage. Being married is not a reason to extinguish one's own flame.

Marriage should not equate to starting a new life together.  By the time a couple gets married, their life together should already be created and well-established. They should know each other inside and out. They should have gotten into fights about taking out the trash or loading the dishwasher.  They should be used to falling asleep to the rhythms of one another's breathing.  There should be no post-wedding surprises or big life changes upon getting married.

Marriage does not have to be boring.  Married couples do not have to follow the traditional, Norman Rockwell American Family format.  They don't have to buy a house in the suburbs, have a dog and 2.5 children, and settle into a routine.  There is no standard rulebook for a great marriage, and every couple should be able to create for themselves what they want from their life together.  "Settling in" is not an unavoidable part of marriage.

Marriage does not come with a lifetime guarantee.  This is a hard one to swallow, because what couple ever wants to consider that their marriage may not last until death parts them?  But it's true - and recognizing and understanding that is realistic and healthy.

None of these assertions meant to undermine the importance or relevance of marriage, either at the individual or societal level. Rather, they are meant to challenge some of the perceived qualities about marriage that many people, for a variety of reasons, might believe going in.  This list is simply what I have arrived at as a result of experiences (both what I have witnessed in others, and what I have lived myself), personal beliefs, and values.  If you are married, if you have been married, or if you might someday consider getting married - I challenge you to thoughtfully come up with your own list of what marriage does or does not mean to you. 

This Too Shall Pass

One year ago today, my ex and I sold the house that we jointly owned.  Closing on the house meant so much more than a transaction of property.  We were also closing on the life that we had created together - taking the last legal step to dissolve that which was binding us together.  We sat in the small beige office room awkwardly for two hours.  He was detached and seemingly unemotional, as expected.  The grief I felt was more pervasive than I thought it would be, and at the time, it felt stronger than me.  I spent the rest of the day catatonic on the couch, because even breathing felt too hard - let alone completing the menial tasks of the day.

At the time, this was by far the biggest problem in my life, the worst thing I could imagine.  But now, one year later, it is just a distant memory.  I'm not scarred from it.  I'm not still defeated by it.  I am far from paralyzed.  The was no permanent damage.  I would almost go so far as to say that I'm glad I went through it.

Most problems and struggles, even those that seem enormous while they are happening, are fleeting and impermanent.  Most won't have an impact at all a year later.  This is a reminder I'm hanging on to today, as I now face a completely new and different challenge. Just as that which felt crushing one year ago is now completely a "non-thing", that which feels crushing today will be a "non-thing" in time.  It will work itself out. That is the nature of problems; they don't last forever.

But even when we know intellectually that a problem isn't permanent, it can still feel all-consuming when we are right in the thick of it.  Knowing it isn't forever doesn't change the present situation.  It doesn't lessen the current impact.  It doesn't mean the problem doesn't matter.  It does, however, provide a bit of perspective.  It can help to remember that, based on personal history of other problems that have resolved over time, it is statistically almost certain that "this too shall pass."

I have a pesky tendency to want to control everything in my life, to fix problems immediately, to erase pain, to get rid of whatever forces are contributing to the issue.  But sometimes I need to learn to just ride it out.  Lately I have been trying to live by the mantra of the Serenity Prayer:  "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."  I'm really good - probably a little TOO good - at having the courage to change (or fix, or control) things, but the serenity part and the discernment part could use a little work.  Worrying and attempting to control the uncontrollable is counterproductive, and will just result in frustration and feelings of defeat.

Even the biggest problems in our lives right now probably will no longer be relevant in six weeks, or six months, or a year.  They won't last forever.  Maybe they'll be replaced by different struggles, but then we'll have the benefit of more experience under our belt.

So as I consider my attitude and response to the problem-of-the-moment, which feels all-consuming and impossibly daunting today, I remember how horrible and pervasive my "one year ago" problem felt at the time.  There are parts of my life that I cannot control, and although they are frustrating, they also provide opportunity for learning and growth.  And they are not forever.  This too shall pass.