Becoming theirs: my journey through step-parenting

Merriam Webster defines a stepmother as follows: the wife of one’s parent when distinct from one’s natural or legal mother. I became a stepmother on June 2, 2007. To say my journey has been challenging is an understatement. That goes without saying. I would love to share with you my journey in becoming theirs.

Marrying into a family unit that was formed long before you is a daunting and an utterly terrifying act. Women carry their babies for 9 months before giving birth. I became a mother in the time it takes to say two words; “I do”. When you chose to love a man or woman with children those two words take on a whole new meaning. It is not just your partner that you are vowing to love and cherish. You are committing to loving and cherishing these souls that he brought into the world with another. It is serious. It is an honor. As stepmothers and stepfathers, we are called to sacrificial love with boundaries. We are called to love them purely and wholly. We chose them every day. So how do we do that?

I have been a bonus mama for almost 15 years. While I will never claim to be an expert on any one subject, I do feel confident in telling you that I have some authority on the subject of step-parenting. And I wish I could tell you that I stumbled upon this knowledge because I have been the quintessential portrait of a doting and loving bonus Mom. Unfortunately, we do not gain wisdom by things being easy.

I began this article by telling that you that I was going to share with you my personal journey in mothering another woman’s children. The truth is this story is not just mine. It’s theirs too. And it is to be honored and respected. I had various conversations with my kids about this article and what I was wanting to convey. I asked them two very important quesions, “How did you feel most loved and seen by me?” and “How could I have been better?” I encouraged honesty. Did it scare me a little? Of course it did! I don’t want to find out after almost 15 years my children felt like their life resembled Cinderella’s. Their answers were real and incredibly helpful to me. I think it’s really important that along with hearing from me, you hear from the ones who started this journey to begin with.

Step-parenting is not an ideal situation. Especially for the kids. In a perfect world, which children deserve and yearn for, they envision their Mom and Dad staying together forever. To be there, married, for all of their important days. You must honor and respect this. As much as my kids accepted me with love, it’s not fair that they had to. They did not ask for their parents to get divorced. And they most certainly didn’t chose to gain a new parent. Accept this fact and watch how your kids open their arms to you. Honor them. Communicate with them. Let them know that you understand how unfair it is. I would even go as far as allowing them to feel sad about your marriage to their mother or father. I understand that children thrive when both of their parents are happy and fulfilled. But that does not negate the fact that when their mom or dad move on there is a death of sorts. While you are ecstatic and so happy to begin a new life with this person there are little ones that are mourning. They are mourning the death of their parent’s marriage all over again. They believed in their parents love even when their mother and father couldn’t. They are innocent and their belief in love is astounding and something to be praised and honored. Hold space for them. Be patient. Love them unconditionally. In the space you hold they will heal. Things will shift and the love they learn to believe in is the love you share with their mother or father.

Holding space is something that is crucial in the journey in step-parenting. You must hold space for your children. What does that mean? For me it meant to be patient. Patient with their hearts. I knew they loved me and that they even accepted me. But I was new. I wasn’t their Mom. And truthfully, I never wanted to be. They had a mother who loved them and cared for them like only a mother could. I simply wanted to be a bonus heart in their life who loved them and accepted them for who they were. I wanted to fill in the gaps where their mother and father couldn’t. I wanted to be their safe space. I wanted them to know that they could come to me with anything. I wanted them to know that they would be held and not judged. I just wanted to love them. Holding space also meant honoring the love their mother and father shared. I think this was the hardest part for me personally. But it was the most important facet to this journey.

Loving a man with children is easy. Loving a man who loved another woman? For me, it felt impossible. It was hard. There were dynamics that we were created long before I entered the picture. Learning to understand and respect their journey was very difficult. Finding my place was really hard at first. I wanted to be her friend for the kids. And in the same breath I wanted to punch her. That may be harsh, but I have to be real. This back and forth battle in my mind and body was exhausting. It was causing strain on my own marriage. How stupid! I reminded myself that I chose this love and life. In recognizing my choice I realized I had another choice. So I chose love. I woke up one day and chose to see her for who she was. She was not my husband’s ex-wife. She was my children’s mother. This opened up a special tenderness in me. The love I chose was not for my husband, or even for her, but for my children. I came from a fractured home that was the direct result of a divorce. I did not want my kids to experience the hatred and the rage. I wanted to heal the fracture with this love and create something new. So I made a choice. I chose to honor the love these two souls shared. I saw the mess. I saw the beauty. I honored it all. This recognition and acceptance is the reason why I have the relationship I have with my children to this day. My willingness to accept the love their mother and father shared is the reason why they call me Mom.

I became a mother the day I got married. I continued on my journey of motherhood and gave birth to our daughter almost 13 years ago. I was so excited to bring our daughter into the world. Creating life with a man who already had children brought on a quiet anxiety. I was so excited about this new life growing inside me. I knew we had to tread lightly when we told the kids our news. Tenderness beckoned once again. It called out to me loudly. Their hearts. Their feelings were at the forefront of my mind. Would they feel like they were being replaced? Did they fear that their dad would love this baby more? Would they accept this soul as their sibling? Would I love them the same? Would my love for them change? These thoughts plagued my mind for months. Just as tenderness called out to me, love screamed louder. “Just be. Just allow.” Throughout my pregnancy I included them in whatever they felt comfortable with. They were there the day I gave birth to our daughter, their sister. I will never forget it as long as I live. I was met with the same tenderness that called to me months prior. They loved her. They accepted her. And then something happened that I could never anticipate. As I snuggled my newborn baby I looked at each of them; taking in each of their features, mannerisms, and facial expressions. My love for them did change. It changed drastically. The love I felt for them was visceral. It was primal. I loved them as if I gave birth to them. They weren’t my step-kids; they were my kids. If you find yourself faced with the honor of loving someone else’s children, love them as if they were you own. Fiercely and unapologetically. If you have your own children do NOT show favor. Do NOT make them feel like it’s your “biological” children against them. Meet them where they are at. Remember that just as they didn’t chose to gain a new parent they did not chose to gain another sibling. If you heed any of my advice it this right here. They are children. They are equals. Biological or not. Almost 15 years later I can tell that this thought process is gold. Love these souls as your own. Let them know their value. Tell them what you love most about them. I love each of them for who they are. Each one of them are so unique and vastly different. Their differences and unique nature are what make our family whole. Love them. Honor them. Remember always that they were there before you.

Another really important piece of advice is to enjoy your new family. Make memories with them. While making new memories with them make sure that you honor the memories from their childhood before you. Show an interest in their past. Keep pictures of their mother and father in your home. You won’t miss out on creating new memories with them by allowing them to reminisce on old ones. My kids are adults now and constantly remind me of all the fun times we have had together. It’s so special!

Lastly, and most importantly, be gentle on yourself. These souls do not come with a manual and you will screw up. Count on it. You will make mistakes. A lot of them. Like I stated earlier, wisdom does not come with ease. Own these blunders. Forgive yourself. You are doing the very best you can. Being a bonus Mom is not easy. It can be utterly heartbreaking. Apologize when you mess up. My kids and I have gotten into our fair share of fights over the years. I hate that part. But when they call me for advice or because they drink too many mountain dews and have a full blown bladder infection (I won’t name said child, but they know who they are) and need natural remedies I am reminded that all the energy, love and tears I have invested makes this all WORTH it. I can’t count how many times over the years they have called me to be the voice of reason between their Mom and Dad. They need me. My place in their life is valued. And so is yours.

I have loved these souls for almost 15 years. It feels like a lifetime. Merriam Webster got it all wrong. I may not be their natural mother, but loving them is innate. It’s easy. Even when it’s toilsome. I hope my journey has helped you if you too are a bonus parent. Every family is different. These are the truths I have learned along the way. It hasn’t always been easy, but it has been worth it. These souls are mine and after all these years I know for certain that they love me unconditionally. The step-parenting journey is not the term I would use to describe who I am to my kids. I am their parent. I am their Mom. I am theirs. And becoming theirs has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

https://www.instagram.com/mandylanphere/

I am my own now

The following is a journal entry from this evening. I’ll provide a little bit of background before I share the entry. I have been going through an amazing process of healing with an amazing woman. She is helping me dismantle so many years of limiting beliefs and ancestral trauma. This last week we discussed the women in my family. The following entry is my brain processing all of the information that I took in. As I read over what I wrote I laughed a little because the revelations or “AHA” moments only carry one sound, “DUH!” I can honestly tell that you that often times the things I have been so afraid to confront have resulted in that response. Sometimes it guts me from the inside out and other times I laugh at myself and think, “THAT is what you have been avoiding?” Before I get to long winded, I will just share the entry now. And if you are currently working on healing your heart from trauma, I see you. I honor you. The light in me recognizes the light in you.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020 New Moon

I am my own now. As Julianna guided me to say those words I started to cry. Up until that moment I had never uttered such words before. It was foreign. I  am my own now. I am my own now. What does that even mean for my life moving forward? Years and years of generational beliefs released in the amount of time it takes to utter five words. Here’s the thing about generational and ancestral DNA, it was never mine. It was never theirs. And still it’s handed down like fine china. It’s who we are. Right? I don’t know how many times I have heard myself say, “I am who I am because of the women who went before me.” That’s the thing.  How could I be something that was never me to begin with? The bitterness? The suffocation? Every time I shoved my feelings down deeper? Or the fact that I am familiar with the salty taste of my own blood because I bit my tongue so hard it bled? Each time I have muted myself to make others more comfortable? I have done this since I was a little girl. We are strong women I was told. If you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all. Keep your suffering quiet. That’s what women do. Deny yourself every day. That’s what good Christian girls do after all. Feel nothing. And when you do? Be quiet. Swallow the lump in your throat. That’s far easier than opening your mouth and using your voice. Don’t make waves. It seems these beliefs run far deeper then my own mother. Or even her mother. These skewed narratives have been apart of our DNA makeup for a very long time. Too long. The moment I released these ties to these women in my lineage I felt an immediate sense of relief. I am my own. Over the last few days I have been so emotional and incredibly sad. Sad that these women who lived before me have been so shut down. When things became uncomfortable for my own mother she left. That is incredibly heartbreaking. My sadness very quickly turned into rage. Holy fucking rage. I am here present day wading through the darkness and the rubble to heal what they could not. To be my own. To heal for them. To heal for myself. I am doing this incredibly difficult work so that one day my great, great, great granddaughters can be proud of where they came from. So they will truly know that they are were they are because of a woman who became her own. A woman who healed the ancestral cycle. So they will never suffer in silence. So they may never deny themselves for any person, religion or thing. So when they do suffer (for we are human after all) that it’s done in the loudest, most obscene manner. So they never know the taste of their own blood in their mouths. So they may KNOW themselves. So they use their voices. LOUDLY. So they never have to wade through the wreckage. So they know their worth. So they realize they don’t need to make waves because they are the god damn ocean itself. SO THEY ARE THEIR FUCKING OWN. Just as the woman who cried over those very words and felt the relief for the women who would long come after her. “I AM MY OWN” will be the words echoing in the hearts and mouths of these women for years to come.

becoming acquainted with solitude

A few weeks ago I shared with you all that I have been working my spiritual ass off to heal parts of myself that have been closed off and blocked for a long time. About a year ago my anxiety started to rear its very ugly (and uncomfortable) head again. I have struggled with anxiety at various times in my life. Here’s the thing about anxiety. It’s an alarm. It’s my body’s way of getting my attention. To wake me up. Instead of hitting “snooze” on this inevitable alarm system I decided to get some help to dismantle these wounds. A couple of weeks ago I was doing “the work” and I found myself in a giant wound. My self expression. Or lack there of. At some point in my life I stopped allowing myself to dream up beautiful and extravagant things for myself. I can recognize when the original wound was created. I was a little girl. This wound has festered and carried over into my life as a woman, a wife and a mom. I have lost myself in my family and all the responsibilities that come with those titles. And that’s the thing, wife? Mom? Those are just titles. They are not who I am. Anyways, that was a very long winded way for me to express to you that I wanted to share a journal entry I wrote yesterday. Writing has always been something that I love. LOVE. My husband encouraged me to share it and so I am going to take a leap and do just that. I am not sharing this for accolades of any sort. It’s merely me jumping in feet first and sharing a piece of myself that has been closed for a very long time. And if you are touched or moved by my words along the way than that will make the vulnerability worthwhile. That’s another passion of mine. Helping others. Truly seeing others. Letting them know they aren’t alone. So here goes.

Saturday, July 25, 2020

“There are voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter the world.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Solitude has been something that I have avoided for a long time. I have always felt afraid of solitude. The echoes of past wounds are deafening. Any time I have been able to catch a few moments of solitude that’s when it happens. An orchestra sounds. All my thoughts, fears and dreams would, and do come blaring in like a symphony. A symphony of chaos. It’s overwhelming and I have avoided it all costs. And for far too long. I am choosing today, here and now to find moments of solitude for myself. Maybe that’s been the problem all along. I’m not spending enough time in quiet contemplation. Maybe, just maybe these overwhelming thoughts and emotions need their own voice and they are taking any opportunity they can to get my attention. They are competing with each other because they can never get a word in edgewise because I am the one who has shut down. I am the one who is refusing to spend a moment in quiet solitude. Maybe if I am deliberate about this time of solitude I will create a stage of sorts for each and every thought that enters my mind. Maybe if I get lost and allow I will find myself and in turn create my own orchestra. My own unique symphony. A symphony of wonder and amazement. Maybe the chorus will heal me. Maybe the solitude will help me piece myself back together again. The music of my own creation will be what fuels me and guides me back to myself and my dreams. And even my fears. Because given the space to just be I will realize that there is room for it all. And what a lovely sound that will be. Solitude will be the place where, for the first time I will hear it all. And I will sing along  to my own song. The song of my soul and the longings that reside within. There in lies the magic that the quiet offers. Herein lies the truth, I have nothing to fear and I never did.

 

 

the puzzle

IMG_6570When turmoil hits I often think of that proverbial puzzle. You know, the one we liken our lives to once we have it all figured out, once all the pieces fit together leaving us with a picturesque view of the ocean or a snow laden mountain top. So what happens when life happens?  When our life is blown into smithereens right before our very eyes? Our once perfect picture is stained and unrecognizable. We don’t know where to begin. We try frantically to create a new picture. To find new pieces to fit together to give us the same sense of security and hope we once felt. We see the pieces that once were and we shutter. They are ugly. They are painful. They are grotesque. They are dark. They are hopeless. They offer nothing to us. Except the painful reminder that life will never be the same. No, those pieces will never be what they once were. So we begin to move through the rubble of our lives and attempt to re create. To reinvent. To reestablish. But can we? Can we actually piece back together something that is irrevocably damaged? Can we recreate it to be exactly what it once was? No. Our lives will never be the same. We will never be the same. So what do we do? We start over. We take a step back and survey the wreckage before us. The shattered remains. We realize that the puzzle will never again look as charming and delightful as it once did. We begin working. We begrudgingly grab the remains and wonder to ourselves how pieces so small and so ugly could actually create something worthwhile. Something whole. As we move and work we notice that the puzzle we are creating is coming together. Piece by piece we are creating something new. Something abstract. Something different than we have ever known or seen before. We step back and admire our work. And that is when we get it. We understand. We acknowledge that our work was created from the rubble. And it is with this recognition that we see. We see our new reality. And we are full of gratitude. Why? Because we know that our beautiful, abstract puzzle is whole. And we have an even deeper knowing that our ruin and destruction is what created this beautiful masterpiece. We understand that if our life had never crumbled beneath us we would not have been able to create such a piece of art. I think that is the answer to life’s biggest puzzle. Finding beauty in the ashes. Choosing to see that the heartache we endured was meant for our highest good. Choosing each day to wake up and to continue trusting and having faith. Understanding that life was never meant to stay the same. Change is bound to come. Some change gently arrives and then other times, it violently crashes into us swallowing us whole into the waves of grief and loss. During tumultuous moments we need to remember that they are just that. Moments. Sure they can last years, but when the shift happens and our hearts have expanded we will sit down with a cup of coffee and take a deep breath. And with that out breath comes the acknowledgment that we survived. We made it. We are renewed. We are whole. We are changed. We are grateful. And we laugh. A hearty, full laugh. Why? Because we had the audacity to question our strength.

Much love,

MC