A Healthy Stepmother . . . on Peace

A Healthy Stepmother . . . on Peace

Where is the peace? Show me the peace.

I’m looking, always looking for peace. Finding ways to make things easier, better, smoother, less complicated, more obvious. All for peace.

Full of that desire and motivation, I took my husband’s hand and entered into my stepfamily.

Squish.

The sound of peace under the boot heels of the past, the familiar past up against the cold and unknown future.

img_5902One day, I came face-to-face with an image of peace. As if I was expecting some grandmother rocking by the fire and telling stories while she handed out cookies. I can count the people I know who live that way, on less than one hand. 

These days, I can show you bits and pieces of peace.

I’m building a new image of peace as I go.

A Healthy Stepmother Finds a Fostering Family

My neighbors have a new dog. They are fostering the dog for a couple of weeks to make sure the dog likes them, they like the dog, and the long-term future looks compatible.

We did a similar thing, taking our second dog on trial with the understanding that the first dog needed to give approval of the second dog.

Our first dog wasn’t sure she loved the idea, but her behavior immediately changed for the better. She relaxed. She followed the second dog, a bigger. more confident dog. As if she suddenly had a pack, she became more dog-like and less worried and less anxious. We thought that was a good sign and the match was solid enough, we adopted the second dog.

Not to compare stepmothers to dogs, or families to dog packs, but any time a new member comes into a group, there is a jockeying for attention and position and control. Anyone who’s lived through that time of adjustment knows it can be a wild ride that usually ends in all parties feeling disenfranchised.

DSCN4390But, I feel optimistic. Culturally, we are living in a time of post-entitlement era, post-individualism, and post-divorce-is-bad era. We’ve come through the sacrifice-everything-for-the-children era and it seems like we might be headed for the more reasoned every-person-matters and everyone’s-needs-can-be-met period.

Which means

  • we could be headed for a time when second families are valued as much as first families
  • we could be headed for a time when we understand that social pressures can support or destroy marriage, whether a first family or a second family
  • we could be headed for a time when we understand that to keep negating and putting down and actively destroying second families is to squander human resources that could be used to better our communities
  • we might more actively and consciously make space for new family members, including stepmothers
  • we might have regular conversation and share feedback, pointedly discussing each family member’s position and feelings, and work toward civil and respectful human packs
  • we might consider our family groups as human packs, letting go of the pressure to be a perfect family

I get confused watching ex-spouses and divorced families where the expectations and old habits get dragged along as if they were a favorite blanket, never holding up, in danger of being lost, and vulnerable to being destroyed. Then, worse, in the middle of the clinging to those expectations along comes a future partner for one or both of the ex-spouses.

We know a new life partner will come about, for one or both of the divorced couple. That is a normal part of our collective human experience. Thus, stepmothers and stepfathers are part of our normal human experience.

Therefore, a day might come when foster dogs and stepmothers are both welcomed with anticipation and curiosity, with an expected adjustment period. A day might come when it won’t matter that stepfamily adjustment is longer than the two weeks or two months we give a dog to adjust. Even if it takes two years (these days it takes seven to twelve years for stepfamily integration, and a certain number of stepfamilies never make it), the key will be that we’ve created a new cultural expectation.

When we get to this possible future cultural acceptance of stepmother adjustment and when it’s no longer a big deal, we will know we have reached cultural maturity, something we have only dreamed of to this point.

I hope I’m alive to see that day.

A Healthy Stepmother . . . When I Grow Up 

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Karen. She enjoyed drawing faces in the peanut butter on her morning toast and merrily skipped to school on time. Karen loved school. She loved learning. She loved listening to stories told to the class by her teacher.

One week in school, they studied families and family constellations. Some children had a man and a woman as parents. Some kids had two women as parents, or two men. Some had one parent. Some had four parents, because the mother and father had divorced and remarried and there were two homes and two sets of parents, and four sets of grandparents, or more. The parents in the four parent sets were sometimes combinations of a man and a woman, two women, two men, and so on. Some parents adopted children and lived in one of these kinds of families.

A Healthy Stepmother . . . when I grow up

Lily Tucker-Pritchett, of Modern Family, TV show, click photo to read her bio.

Karen lived with two daddies and she loved them with all her heart. She listened with fascination as the teacher described all the types of families and read stories that described the lives and the ways the parents made sure the children were growing and learning and feeling safe and eating well and sleeping enough. It was clearly a big job being a parent, with the making sure a family was cared for and cared about.

On the day they learned about the four parent families, Karen skipped home from school making up a song under her breath. She had almost worked out the words by the time she reached her front door and rang the bell.

The door swung opened and Daddy smiled, “Karen, I’m so happy to see you. Oh, Scruffy, calm down now.”

Daddy reached down and soothed the excited dog, while  Scruffy jumped in circles.

Karen laughed and petted Scruffy and smiled her Karen smile. She was the happiest child on her street and well-known for loving people and pets and plants and other animals. Horses too, lots of horses.

“I’ve made you a special after-school snack today. Do you remember we have that special program at school this evening, the international night?” Daddy looked over his shoulder as he went to the kitchen to get the snack and bring it to the dining room.

“So, we’ll have a good snack now and then eat at the international celebration. What did you study in school with Mrs. Chapman today?

“Today, we learned all about three and four-parent families. You remember last week we learned about two-mommy families and two-daddy families, like ours? Well, this week we learned about father-stepmother and mother-stepfather families. Only sometimes both the parents aren’t remarried so it’s a father-stepmother and mother family, or a father and mother-stepfather family.”

“I wonder why they call them that?” Daddy wondered aloud.

“What do you mean, isn’t that what they are always called? Karen was puzzled.

Daddy laughed, “Ohhhh no. Not that long ago there were battles over who was parenting the children. There were nasty battles that cost hundreds of thousands and millions in courts and took up time for people who weren’t even involved in the marriage. It was completely inappropriate. So, after a mini-revolution, things changed. Do you know anyone in school from a four-parent family?

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Karen thought about it. “I think Tommy is from one. And, Christa.”

“Sounds like you know someone from every type of family.”

“My favorite person in all the families is the stepmother. I want to be one when I grow up.” Karen whispered, conspiratorially.

“You do? What do you like about stepmothers?” Daddy asked, keeping his astonishment to himself.

They talked on in this way and Karen told Daddy all about the stepmother in the story the teacher read. Even though she already had children of her own, she had so much love in her heart she was willing to take on someone else’s children. Not to replace the mommy, they had a mommy, but to help the daddy so he wasn’t lonely. Even though not all parents were man-woman couples, everyone agreed having two parents in a house to raise children was easier than one.

Karen kept talking and Daddy kept asking and they were still talking when Papa came home. Papa pulled the car into the driveway and Daddy let Scruffy out to go greet him, a daily ritual. Once the car was parked and turned off, Daddy opened the door and motioned Scruffy out. Scruffy raced around and around the car, barking with happiness, and racing around again. Finally, after three times around the car, always three times, he stopped by the driver door and sat on his haunches with his front legs up in the air. He begged for Papa to open the door. Papa did and Scruffy wagged and wagged and walked inside the house heeling alongside his second favorite human.

Papa lifted Karen and swung her up in the air. He hugged her close and she hugged him so tight. Together, they all went to the International Celebration at the school and there were lots and lots of parents and children there, all kinds of families.

Not much more was said about wanting to be a stepmother until one day a few weeks later, Karen came home from school, crying. She never cried after school. She was always so happy to be home, nothing bothered her.

Daddy opened the door when Karen rang the bell and opened his arms when he saw her crying. She ran into them and he hugged her, not asking any questions. Daddy remained quiet, just hugging and waiting. Finally, Karen’s sobs slowed down and spaces grew longer between them. Then she looked up.

“Sally told me I can’t be a stepmother.” She looked like she might start crying again. “She said you can’t be a stepmother first, you have to have children first. Or be married and then divorced first.”

“Oh she did, huh?” Daddy asked, knitting his brows together. He waited.

“Yeah, she told me it was a stupid idea and her parents had said people who got married more than once were losers.”

Daddy listened for a long time. His heart felt heavy every time he heard of the things some parents told their kids. This was one of those times.

“Well, I tell you what, I’ll walk to school with you tomorrow and we can see if the teacher knows anything or thinks we should do anything.”

“Daddy, why would we do that?”

“Oh, first, it’s not true that you can’t be a stepmother without being married before or having children. There are lots of women who marry a man or woman who already has children, even if they don’t have children of their own.”

“Really?” Karen looked hopeful.

“Yes, in fact, that’s why I don’t understand why Sally was making such a big deal about being a stepmother.” Daddy shook his head.

They had a nice evening and then went to bed early, they were all so tired. The next morning, Daddy and Karen walked to school together and talked to the teacher about Karen’s conversation with Sally.

Daddy started, “Mrs. Chapman, I hear you’re studying types of parents in families. It’s so exciting to see you including the various combinations of families, not just the stereotypical man and woman. I know for us, it’s not that, with two men.” He smiled and paused.

“It’s so great to see all the good support you give Karen with her homework, even though we don’t have much yet in third grade.” Mrs. Chapman stopped what she was doing and came around her desk.

“Thank you, we do support everything Karen does. She’s so bright and a very eager learner.” Daddy never bored of hearing appreciation for the home studying.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Elliot.”

“Well, maybe Karen told you, well, wait, I should ask. Karen, are you okay if I describe your dream when you grow up?” Daddy looked at Karen. “And, it’s not a problem if you don’t want me to say.”

“Yes, I want to hear what Mrs. Chapman thinks.”

“So, Karen wants to be a stepmother when she grows up. She’s been fascinated by the unit you are studying on family and the parent-combinations. She comes home and tells me every day what the story was.”

“Anyway, it seems Sally told Karen she can’t be a stepmother unless she’s been divorced or has children of her own already. Do you know why she might have said that?” Daddy waited to see what Mrs. Chapman might think.

“Hmmm, that’s interesting. Part of the unit is about stepmothers and I make a point to tell the children not every stepmother has her own children. More and more women are marrying men and they don’t have children from before.” Mrs. Chapman pondered the question and thought about what she knew about Sally.

“You know, maybe I’ll just ask her at the morning break today. I really appreciate you bringing this to my attention.” And then, Mrs. Chapman turned to Karen. “You can be anything you want to be, Karen. Don’t let anyone else’s thinking determine what you will do. It is your life and you get to make your own decisions.”

Daddy and Karen walked slowly out of the classroom and Daddy bent down for a hug and a kiss goodbye.

“Are you okay, Kare?” He looked into her eyes and asked with his.

“Yeah, I feel better, Daddy. Thank you so much. You are such a good talker. I feel so much better.” Karen turned to go back to class.

“And, Daddy, I still want to be a stepmother some day.”

A Healthy Stepmother . . . ends the finite game.

Years ago, a friend gave me a small book titled Finite and Infinite Games, by James P. Carse. The book left a big impression on me and garnered a place on my bookshelf all these years. When I needed it the other day, there is was, unfolding the wisdom for me at exactly the time I needed it. Or, so I thought.

In fact, I wish I had remembered this book a decade ago when I began my life as a stepmother because when I opened the pages of the book again, the words leaped out of the page and into my stepmother consciousness and here I am, rushing to share with you.

Briefly, a few of the concepts of a finite game. The main purpose of a finite game is winning. Finite means it has an end. The rules are well-defined and serve the purpose of defining a winner and a loser and how you’ll know when the game has ended. These rules are externally defined and cannot change as the game progresses. You can also not play alone. You need an opponent. Think divorce court, settlements, child custody battles, and on and on. There is definitely that part of living in a stepfamily that involves living within a finite game.

On the other end of the spectrum is the infinite game. In an infinite game, the goal is not winning. In fact, infinite means the game goes on forever. The goal is continuing to play. Thus, rules serve to keep the play going. Rules get changed, get this . . . to prevent someone from winning. That’s where I had to stop reading and walk the dogs and let it soak in. That’s the part that made me think of our stepfamilies. Could there be a game with rules that accommodated and changed to keep everyone playing and keep someone from winning?

Finite and Infinite Games: A Vision of Life as Play and Possibility, James P. Carse

Finite and Infinite Games: A Vision of Life as Play and Possibility, James P. Carse

Life is the biggest infinite game there is and we get to choose whether we are going to play it like it’s a finite game, with a winner and a loser. Personally, I think the winner-loser mentality is the best way to increase blood pressure, heart rate, anxiety, and depression. Constantly comparing ourselves to someone else. Constantly jockeying for the best seat at the table. Constantly putting others down so they don’t appear better, in case we perceive ourselves as losing. Ugh. I have no time for it.

It’s true, you can’t waltz into the other house and say, hey, snap out of it, let’s all live with some respect. But, we can take ourselves away from the finite game and the game of winning and losing. You see, in the finite game, there must be an opponent. The game cannot be played when there is no opponent. Some might argue there could be a game called Who Can Give the Silent Treatment the Longest game, which sort of looks like there isn’t a finite game. But, that’s a finite game if you engage in the nastiness of it all. If your heart and mind get wrapped up in knots each time you think of that other person, yep, you’re playing a finite game, complete with winner-loser. If you’re practicing healthy boundaries (ala Karla McLaren) and you feel neutral when you hear this person’s name and don’t go off in a 30-minute tirade each time you think of him/her, then it’s likely you’ve taken yourself out of the game. In that moment, there is no finite game.

I don’t know if the game of life automatically becomes an infinite game when we stop playing the finite game. What I do know is that as soon as I laid down the worry of being enough, doing enough, what he or she was or wasn’t doing, and a whole ton of other stuff, the game felt different. Yes, it was like that. It was immediate. It felt like one moment a battle raged inside me and the next moment, when I focused on a different game, voila, there was no more winning and losing. I continue paying attention to boundaries focusing on the infinite game.

No, life isn’t perfect. But it’s better. Much better.

So, what is the game I’m playing? The infinite game I’m playing. Well, beside the overarching LIFE game, there is the hugely important Marriage to My Fabulous Guy game, the Growing and Maturing as a Human game, and the Who Can I Be When the Criticism Falls Off Me game.

I expect there are a few other games in my stepfamily future as we all mature and age up. As an infinite game teammate, I’m okay with that.

A Healthy Stepmother . . . and the Eyes of Witness

Some days you wake up and the topic you wanted to explore takes too many words to describe. On those days, you just let your fingers fly and silence your thoughts. Whatever comes of it, well, it is what it is.

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EYES

by Kim Cottrell, 2014

Deep pools opening into a soul
Widening in surprise
Narrowing in concentration
Darkening in love or in heart-to-heart moments
Oh, the freedom in connecting with the eyes
Between those who share trust
Building understanding and shared commitment.

Not so with those who guards their eyes
Who horde their most casual gaze
Defining the boundaries of this and that
Withholding and averting eyes
Safety in hiding, subtly excluding
No you can’t see into me
No you can’t have that piece of me
That soul that resides in me is for this other person
This other person that I love more
Skillfully maneuvered, masterfully executed
Averted gaze becomes the castle wall.

Sadly, the walled off soul ends up walled off from self
Never knowing the freedom
Of expansive spirit and connected gazes
When many eyes, familiar and unfamiliar
Eyes of worry, eyes of care
Meet and become personal, become known.

Exactly the reason to avert eyes, avoiding
Not looking means never having to consider another.

Thus, if you seek adventure
Take your curious eyes with you
Seek out the eyes looking back
The eyes willing to be seen
Eyes willing to share
Open your eyes to these
And feel the door opening into the next room.

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And, this must be why we love our dogs and cats. They walk right up to us and look at us, full on into our eyes, down into those places we don’t even want to admit. We might shake ourselves, but we let them look in there.

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A Healthy Stepmother and the Eyes of Witness

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On Sunday, my husband and I took my dad to have a sandwich at the tiny pub down the road. We were eating when two women walked in and began sharing a few tribulations with the bartender.

Not meaning to eavesdrop, I couldn’t help but overhear the bartender say that the single, most difficult thing she’s ever done in her life was be a stepmother. It took me less than two seconds to blurt out a Hear Ye! I found so much angst in stepmothering I had to blog about it. We connected for a few minutes before the conversation turned to other things.

What about that instant recognition? We’re so relieved to meet another who’s been through the fire. In the moment of saying Hear Ye, I witnessed for those women and they didn’t need to say a word, nor did I. We simply looked into one another’s eyes, and we knew.

When I helped my dad get in the car, the three women waved at me and nodded goodbye. Maybe it’s like my brother and his Harley friends. Or, my husband camping with his Westfalia van friends. Once you’ve walked a path others have walked, you’re in, few questions asked.

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A Healthy Stepmother . . . and the Sunglasses of Connection

Once upon a time, there was a 10-year-married couple and their two children, Ivan, 8, and Hazel, 5. The family lived in an average house in the middle of an average town near an average river. They lived an average life-like most families. Both parents worked because money was necessary to pay the mortgage and put food on the table.

Sadly, one day they received a visit from the Divorce Harpie, a very damning omen since over 70% of the married couples visited by the Divorce Harpie ended their marriages within a year. One never knew the Divorce Harpie had come. He came in the middle of the night, sneering his way into their average house, bored with his own life and entertained by messing around in other’s lives. The Divorce Harpie loved watching the chaos and mayhem that came after one in the couple determined they needed to end the marriage. In fact, he always chose the woman of the couple to infect with discontent, and he always made sure the man of the couple never suspected a thing. In fact, it was worse than that. He erased all concerns and history from the man’s mind so he had no memory of the discontent in the marriage. When his wife asked for a divorce, it was always out of the blue. 

On the night the Divorce Harpie visited, the woman was up late working on the last of the Christmas cards so they could be mailed in the morning. The cruelty of the timing was lost on everyone, except the Divorce Harpie. He delighted in making sure the holidays were filled with conflict and sorrow. 

Sure enough, his visit produced the results he was looking for. His spell worked so well, not even the Fairy of Reconciliation could reclaim the marriage with her incredible skill at reconnecting hearts. The woman awoke the day after Christmas and when her husband came down for his morning coffee, she told him she wanted a divorce. 

The world stopped spinning for a few moments.

The Angel of Anxiety fluttered and flitted about, unsure whether to process the news, but doing her job. No one spoke, no one breathed, for a full 60 seconds. Finally, everyone exhaled and looked around, thinking it odd they couldn’t see very clearly. In the time it took them to let the news sink in, the Angel of Anxiety had outfitted everyone in the family with a pair of sunglasses. Each pair of sunglasses had smoky lenses, dark enough to impair vision and make it seem like perpetual dusk. 

Time went by and the divorce proceeded. The kids went to live with their dad, not because their mother didn’t want them, but because their father was more persuasive about why they should remain with him. He argued that children needed a father and there was plenty of evidence that showed when a father was present in the home the children had fewer educational issues. The smoky glasses gave him some cover for his story and reduced the number of questions about his plans for the future. He argued that he worked from home and was available in case the kids had difficulty in school. He also claimed to be the more stable of the two parents. 

The judges listened and ruled that the mother of the children needed to pay support payments for as long as the children were in high school and beyond. If they wanted to go to college, the mother was expected to pay because her job brought in more compensation. 

The kids lived with the dad and visited the mom. The dad tried to be neutral about the kids’ relationship with their mother but he resented that she made more money than he did. He resented that she went on trips here and there while he was home with the kids, forgetting that he had insisted the kids live with him and ignoring that she would take the kids any time she asked. She had consented to the kids living with him and hadn’t argued for half-time physical custody because she believed kids needed some consistency and it was better if they had one place to call home, like their dogs who relied on structure. Her concession had been that if he was going to take the kids that he be consistent and available for them and not change the plan every week. 

This plan worked out to varying degrees of success for a year and then they hit a speed bump. The Angel of Anxiety had a brother, The Lord of Depression, who visited the father one night when he was up late working on his latest sculpture wondering how he was going to buy groceries because he had spent all the money on clothes for the kids. Begrudgingly, he admitted to himself he had bought them more expensive clothes than they could afford, but he felt justified because they needed to keep up appearances for the neighborhood they lived in. 

Life went on in this push-me/pull-me kind of tug of war between the parents. Each time the anxiety got greater, one parent or another increased the smokiness of the sunglass lenses. One day, the father changed the tint to a green color and every time he said something the children agreed with him that their mother was mean and overbearing. Then, the mother changed the tint in the sunglasses to a purple color that caused the children to believe that her family, the mother’s side, was the only family  worth paying attention to. 

English: Tea shades

English: Tea shades (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tensions escalated. Ivan began shop-lifting in response to the tension and got caught. He spent the summer in juvenile detention. Hazel became depressed and wouldn’t come out of her room. She didn’t want to get caught up in the war between parents so it was easier to opt out. Even the love bestowed on her when she acted in ways her parents approved felt tainted. 

This pattern went on for years, growing more destructive as time went on. The alienation each child felt toward the mother one week, toward the father the next week, took a toll. 

Eventually, both children graduated from high school and moved away to another city to attend college. In college, they gradually lost the tint in the sunglasses and began to view the world through the lens of many others, often others they respected who had no vested interest in the outcome of their lives. The relief was palpable. Each of the children grew strong, resilient, and capable. They had never felt this strength before. Free from the pressure to behave a certain way, free from the strain of emotions within their divorced family, they blossomed and grew and matured. 

Holidays came and went and at first they didn’t go home for the ritual Thanksgiving or Christmas. Finally, in his junior year, Ivan decided to venture home and agreed with Hazel to meet up in their hometown. They seemed to have awakened one day with amnesia for their parents’ struggles. 

They traveled to their hometown and one of them stayed with their mother and one of them stayed with the father. By this time, each of the parents was doing fine, but with some residual resentment from years past. At the same time, they were also stronger and less needy. However, they hadn’t been around the children for a couple of years and each was eager to make his or her case justifying past behaviors. 

The first night passed with everyone on their best behavior. 

The second day came and the mother began darkening the tint on her son’s sunglasses. The father began darkening the tint on his daughter’s sunglasses. It began slowly, gradually, so gradually the children had little awareness they were not seeing with their own eyes. 

By day three, tensions were mounting again and Ivan and Hazel began arguing with one another about which parent was right and which one was wrong. On day four, they each flew back to college, angry with their sibling. 

Back on campus, as soon as each stepped through the door of the dormitory, the tinting in the glasses dropped away and they each grabbed the phone and called the other. 

Hazel began, “Did you notice how we couldn’t really see clearly? Do you think it’s been that way for a long time?” 

Ivan agreed, “Yeah, I don’t really remember a time when I didn’t see either purple or green. How did all that begin?” 

They ended the phone call agreeing their parents were being manipulative and they needed to find a way to end it. Or, not see them again. It just wasn’t worth the hassle and heartache of being twisted and torn one way and another. And, worse, they were pitted against one another. And even worse, it wasn’t just one of the parents, it was both of them. There was no way to have authentic relationships and now they each understood what those might look like. 

Summer vacation came and went and they didn’t go home despite many requests from the parents. Finally, they insisted the parents fly out and meet them, together, in Hazel’s town. As soon as the parents stepped off the plane, their children handed them clear sunglasses, the normal kind you buy in the store, not the kind issued by the Divorce Harpie. 

Immediately, the mother gasped. She could see what she had been doing trying to get them to love her family more, all in the name of love. She could see it wasn’t love. The father put his new glasses on slower, but with some curiosity after watching his ex-wife. He inhaled sharply. The clarity of his children’s innocence and vulnerability caused him pain to realize how his sarcasm and anxiety had caused them pain. 

They made a pact, then and there, each member of the family would carry normal sunglasses in a stash in their traveling case and when someone began with the criticism, superiority, bashing the other, or creating a negative story line about the other parent or any of the other kids and family members, they would be handed a fresh pair of glasses. They would acknowledge the legacy from the past and the way they couldn’t see clearly with the other glasses. They would understand what those things Anxiety and Depression looked like and offer a hand to the others. 

They would see the world with clarity and know the meaning of love, kindness, compassion, community, and connection. They would do the best they could to hand those things down to the next generation. 

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A Healthy Stepmother . . . Lives Life on the Edge

Remember a time in your life when you made your own decisions? Remember having your decisions respected by others? Remember when another’s behavior didn’t impact your life quite as significantly as it does now? And, remember when you were in charge of what happened in your home? You know, the days before your marriage. 

That time before your marriage was a time you lived with a leadership role in your own life. Then, you said I do and just-like-that the roles and the rules changed. You went to sleep one day in charge of what happened to you and woke the next day with three or four or five other somebodies figuring into the equation of how your time was spent, including whether you lived under the same roof with someone who resented your presence. 

Recent events in my family of origin have left me questioning my roles within any group. As a kid, my place was always in the middle, trying to make everything okay for everyone. I was the Omega in the pack of siblings, with the others heaping on huge helpings of teasing or criticism or opinion. But lately, I’ve discovered another place to live. I’ve found a place on the edge where I’m not leading the decision-making, but am remaining true to myself. I’m no longer automatically caretaking others, but remaining engaged by observing, listening, and supporting when asked to help.  

Scenes of urban life in Byzantium. Left illumi...

Scenes of urban life in Byzantium. Left illumination is a scene of marriage. The right illumination depicts a conversation among family members. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I first learned this living on the edge business from adjusting my role within my stepfamily. When I let go of insisting on inclusion in certain conversations, I immediately relaxed. When I let go of thinking I needed to be involved in every event, there was time for my other interests, which fed my spirit and washed away the resentment and the feeling of being out of control. 

At first, the edge of the circle seemed like a precarious place, precisely because it wasn’t familiar. The edge of the circle held new variables and new perspectives. Being on the edge involved not being in the know about every little thing. It involved letting go of the planning and processing or mediating between the other parties. Over time, I became more comfortable in my lawn chair on the edge of the circle and participated from that place. In many ways, it was a relief, since I was no more waiting on everyone like a garden party hostess.  

It’s worth remembering, no one in a family is ever truly outside the group. Even in estranged families, where someone is excluded, or shunned and sent away, the place that person took up is still there, waiting to be reclaimed.  

In the same way, a stepmother is never outside the group but she can think she is. When her familiar roles aren’t available and others don’t make space for her, she can feel like an alien. In those moments, she has a few options. She can run another out of the position she thinks she belongs in, she can win others over and gain her position back, or she can adapt and realize that most stepmothers wear more than one hat anyway. 

A healthy stepmother is resilient. She is an expert at finding second, third, and fourth choices in sticky situations. She might take things personally in the early years of her marriage, but she quickly develops a new perspective that allows her to begin practicing all the roles a stepmother can take in the extended stepfamily. And, over time, she understands, it truly isn’t about her. 

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