Tag Archives: Step Mother

Unknown Mommy

17 Wednesday Apr 2019

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I raise a coffee mug to all my unknown mommies. Oh let’s be real, my coffee mug has wine in it, don’t get me confused with a different kind of  broken woman. This one is for my unknown mommies. Yes, you may be known as mommy to one, two, three, or 16 children (bless your heart if it is 16!). But this is for my mommies that were mommies that lost. Mommies that don’t talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that DO talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that want to talk, but don’t know how.

Here’s to my silent heroes who suffer every birthday, every baby announcement, every adoption commercial, every damn gender reveal with silent tears caught quietly in the sleeve of their shirts. I salute you. I hear you. I see you.

Here’s to my “step” mommies that have lost and yet bear the weight, judgement, and unknowing scorn of the “real” mommies you share your child with.

I recently found out about a silent mommy at a funeral. It was at her funeral that I found out this woman was meeting TWO of her children in heaven. TWO! I know another woman who has had the courage to speak out and share her love, her hopes, her dreams for her child and demand the world acknowledge her baby with love and respect. Yet another woman who shares her love and sadness with only a couple of souls she can connect to in a beautiful way.  I see power in all of these women. I feel jealous of this power sometimes, to be honest. I didn’t realize I was an unknown mommy until this past Christmas when I blurted out my sorrow in an off-handed way after a couple of Christmas morning cocktails.

I want to honor my child. I want to honor and respect that I am an unknown mommy. I want to shout to the world that, “yes I am a step mom, but dammit I am a MOM too!” I don’t know how to start that conversation. I don’t know how to tell people two years later that I lost my only child and I have no hopes of another. I don’t know how to explain how adrift I’ve been. How lost and hopeless my heart remains. How I fill my silence with things, experiences, drinks, and pets! People don’t know how to deal with that. Well,  most people. So let me educate you on the best responses I’ve gotten to the statement ” I was pregnant, lost my child, and am now incapable of having children”

  • Silent tearful hug
  • “Talk to me” followed by silence
  • “I love you”
  • “There is literally NOTHING you can ever say that will make me love you less” said while desperately holding me tightly
  • Literally jump into my lap wrap your arms around me and tell me  “you are amazing and I love everything about you”
  • “What were your dreams”
  • “do you want to talk more?” …..and when met with “no”. …..”Do you want a glass of wine and a fire lit?”
  • Show up to my house with sushi, old movies, and zero questions
  • Bring it up, so I don’t have to
  • Let me bring it up when I want to
  • Understand that I don’t know how to “get over it” and I may never
  • “I understand now”

This life is so hard, even when we aren’t broken. We can actually help each other. We can ask the names of our unknown children. We can stop asking couples when they will have babies. We can start raising women up and start talking about the moments our biology failed us entirely. We can simply be there, silently, without judgement or advice.

All of my love to my unknown mommies–outspoken or silent. You are special and unique, and your baby is loved and honored in this world.

Oliver Jaymes ❤

Stepmom’s Promise.

18 Monday Jun 2018

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I’ve read a few stories of men who marry women with children lately. I’ve thought, how beautiful that he made it special for her daughter. They often have pictures of him proposing to the child as well as the mom. These stories are incredible and wonderful, and should always be celebrated. We have so many single mothers and children whose dads aren’t in their lives, that shining a spotlight on those men who “step in when he stepped out” should be a priority.

And what of those women who “stepped in with her” to raise his child? I married my soulmate. We push each other, test one another, and always come back to talking through “us”. 67% of second marriages with children end in divorce in the US. 67%. I can tell you firsthand how and why those 67% numbers add up. It’s the failure to communicate, the assumption of responsibility, the laziness, and cattiness that is found on all sides. It’s the selfish perspective, the burning need to be right every time. It’s the foolish mistakes and the gross misjudgment. It’s the lies. It’s the secrets. It’s the money. It’s the “rights”.

And at the end of all those battles are the behaviors of the child. The child who learned she should lie to you to protect a parent. Who learned to bury their feelings because she watched you bury yours too. The child that starts crying because she must “tell you the truth now” about how she broke her toy, but she’s crying because she doesn’t want you to be upset. The child that has seen you upset too many times. The child who won’t sleep through the night anymore because things have changed at her other home.

67%.

It’s the books you order on amazon (2 copies of course). The articles you comb the internet for and print out to read at 2AM when everyone is asleep and the dishes are done and the floors are cleaned and the laundry is folded. It’s the multiple therapists you call and interview, even though you have no authority in this realm, and you know it isn’t up to you if she goes to a good “out of network” therapist, or even if she goes at all. It’s morning self-pep talks and 5 minutes of meditation you do to steal yourself against the infuriating and undermining surprises to come that day. It’s the midday prayers to God asking to help you be a more patient and loving stepmom. It’s the long phone calls to your sisters seeking the “other perspective” to help you love those who hurt you, despite them hurting you. It’s the lunch breaks spent running to hopefully fight your own demons.

It’s being a mediator and mentor, a therapist and punching bag. It’s realizing that you aren’t here for the adults. You never committed to protecting them. It’s understanding and accepting when you must excuse yourself from their battles. Excuse yourself from being taken for granted. Excuse yourself from all their burden that they should be shouldering. It’s reminding yourself what you promised, and being ok with only meeting that promise.

A year ago, I stepped in, forever. A year ago, I promised to be the best mom I know how to be for you. I promised you won’t always like what I have to tell you, but I will always love and protect you with my whole heart and being. I promised that to me, you are mine and God has planned for us to be together forever.

I promise these again today. You are mine.

67%.

67% get caught up on the wrong sides of arguments. 67% push themselves to exhaustion doing the work of others. 67% fall apart because they are drained of all their energy and creativity and no one is replenishing that well. 67% allow others to destroy everything beautiful about them. 67% try too hard in the wrong places.

I am your stepmom. Not theirs.soph and kate

Photo Credit: https://bryannewfield.com/

 

 

Why Trust the Future We Created?

14 Tuesday Jul 2015

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Well it has been quite a while since I have had time to even try to write in this highly therapeutic journal. I have been struggling as usual. Work. Home. Friends. Everything. We recently moved to a new home, which was a chaotic and depressing nightmare, but now we are settled in somewhat. By settled I mean, we’ve unpacked, hung pictures on the walls, put dresses on hangers and stuffed animals on the bed. There’s a nightlight in the corner on the off-chance that we sleep at home more than once this summer. It’s summer, and you can guarantee 2 things in summer; construction and a full calendar!

Tonight is our nieces first big girl sleep over birthday party. We have all been excited for this for a while now. On our side, we have been hesitant to get too invested and excited, as if anyone remembers last year, we were in the exact. same. situation. And last year, we were all excited and ultimately disappointed when she wasn’t allowed to go because, and I quote, “Oh, HER family, so no one really important to Peanut.” Tuesdays, are not our nights. BUT, Peanut always spends Tuesdays overnight at her grandparents house, an arrangement we agreed to about 6 months after it was happening and we were finally “notified”. As agreed by all 3 parties (grandparents included), Peanut gets to spend the night at her best friend’s house tonight. She is so excited. She picked out a gift, wrapped her birthday present, and talked all night about what they were going to do and “You’re not going to stay are you?”(to us)

In keeping with general expectations, Peanut is no longer allowed to go to her first big girl sleep over party. I’m heart-broken for her. I’m heart-broken for my niece. I am angry beyond words. The statement, “I put my daughter first in everything” is a lie. When you take something away from her, from another little girl, and a family, because you are angry, because everyone didn’t bow down instantly to your insane demands, you are not putting her first. You are, as you always have, putting yourself first and trying to paint over that this beautiful picture of a loving mother. Your paint is water, and your canvas tissue paper. How can you punish a little girl, because your irrational emotional brain can’t move on? How do you hurt “your whole world” because you’re still angry your ex doesn’t love you anymore? Where in your mind does this cruel behavior and punishment of a child for the wrongs done to you 5 years ago compute to rational, acceptable, appropriate justice?

How do we shield her from all of this? How do we combat the ever-present rotation of boyfriends? The misguided lessons? The warped view of the world and how it works? The new belief that all boys are bad? All boys lie to you and trick you? That you can live a positive and successful happy life by taking and demanding and throwing a fit until others comply? How do we fight this?

To her credit, my beautiful smart little Peanut tries every day to be a good person. She tries to learn, speak properly, apologizes too much for her age. She doesn’t understand empathy, but she shows it. She doesn’t recognize when she is behaving rudely, but she corrects it. She gets too rough with her puppy, but accepts our direction to be loving and changes her tone with him. She questions people’s behavior that she sees and listens to reason, but doesn’t realize she acts similar too. She’s so little, and so sassy. She believes in us and she believes in her mother. She fights with her best friend, and makes up instantly. She understands this world in the way we create it for her. She trusts us, she trusts her mother. Why would you ever allow her pain because of your grown-up issues? Why would we not try to learn, to speak properly to one another, and to apologize too much? Why would we not show empathy, and try to understand it? Why would we not recognize when we are behaving rudely, and correct it? Why would we not be loving when we are too rough? Why do we question other people’s behavior and not our own? Why can’t we be little and sassy? Why can’t we believe in us and believe in her mother? Why can’t we fight with our best friend and instantly make up? Why can’t we understand this world that we created for her? When do we trust ourselves, will we ever be able to trust her?

Burying pain with kindness

06 Wednesday May 2015

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Let me start by wishing all of you Mommy’s out there a happy Mother’s day! I hope those of you who struggle regularly with the general lack of acceptance of you as a “real” mother, have someone out there this weekend who will call, or write, or text you “Happy Mother’s Day!” In case you do not, let me be the first to honor you, all that you do, all of your heartache, all of your sacrifice, all of your tears of joy and pain; let me be the first to honor you, and wish you a beautiful, blessed Mother’s Day.

I have been crushed through my core in the past. I have been hurt in ways that even my anger couldn’t conjure a cursing riddled with my experiences against another person. I’ve fought and clawed my way back from pain that I shouldn’t have known. Because of my fight for me, I struggle with believing in others. I often struggle with believing in humanity as a good and kind body, capable of honesty and value and positive impact. My career dampens my faith in others ever more, showing me daily the cruel, selfish, and self-serving side of our futures. Trust is a priceless commodity for me, and it takes years to acquire it.

Quite expectedly, it takes moments to shatter what trust you may have stored in your cache of me. I have been building, and working, and fighting for trust to surround me. I have limited my circle to very few, count maybe two hands (including my family). I recently welcomed a few into my circle, believing, having faith that I could trust in them. Believing that they supported me, supported us, what we are trying so desperately to do. I am heart-broken at the loss. I searched frantically for a text-book response to my hurt. Searching for a way to put my heart back together. Angry at how easily I’ve allowed yet another human being to get close enough to crush me. Shocked at my naivety that maybe they wouldn’t. I can’t go back into that black hole. I can’t come back from that darkness again. I never want to be surrounded by that kind of sad emptiness. I can respond differently. I can be stronger. I can bury my pain with kindness, even though you would say they don’t deserve my kindness.

I went out for a bottle of wine. And came back with supplies to make homemade Mother’s Day presents. One for each Mommy in her life. The grandma’s included. She is so excited to be making gifts. So ecstatic to pick out paper to wrap them in. So joyful to have something to give to those she loves on this blessed day to honor Mothers.  So beautiful as her eyes light up in understanding as she points to herself whispering “My Mommy” when I say, “And who is the best Mommy in the world that we should make the most special gift for?” Such accepting, beautiful, wonder and fascination in “our” little secret. No, these are not my Mothers, these women have managed to level a pain against me that I don’t fully understand, can’t fully process beyond my very rare tears. No, these Mothers are wonder and beauty and loving and kind to her. So in my pain, the only thing I can do to continue forward, is to repay in kindness and honor who they are in her life with love.mother-429158_640