Stepped Mother
Sitting here watching the movie Stepmom starring Susan Sarandon and Julia Roberts and the tears began to fall. I think about my own mom's short battle with cancer and all the experiences I wish she was here to share with me as I figure out this journey called motherhood.
Two months and a day after finding out we were pregnant with Kayelle, we received the call that my mother was no longer with us. Just a day earlier my mother and I were on the phone discussing her plans to move into our apartment building so she could be closer to us and help with the baby. Her goal was to be our full-time babysitter and when Kayelle was old enough our home school teacher.
Watching Susan and Julia's characters conflict over the relationships each wanted to have with the children reminded me of some of the contention I encountered over the years as a stepmother of six. After eighteen years, I had hoped the pain of those circumstances would have disappeared. However, ever-so-often I am reminded.
I watched the movie thinking how selfish Susan's character was. Julia didn't want to replace her. She wanted her own relationship, for what it was worth, with the children of the man she loved. She could never fill their mother's shoes. Nor did she want to, but she realized that Susan was going to leave them one day and Julia would never be good enough.
Keith and I agreed that I would delay developing a relationship with his sons, Anthony and Elijah, from his previous marriage as to not make their transition during the divorce more difficult. I thought it was a great idea. Especially since we didn't know how serious or not things would get between us. It was about a year before I spent any time with his sons, although I had started a relationship with his oldest daughter from a previous relationship. At that point, Keith and I realized our own relationship was headed in a positive direction and we began to spend more time with our respective families as a couple.
I remember the first punch in the face like it happened yesterday. Keith mentioned to me his son was having his first communion and asked if I wanted to go. Of course, I appreciated the invitation and looked forward to attending. At this point Keith and I were spending significant time together with the boys. I had developed a good relationship with them and thought it would be nice to be there to show my support to them and the family. A few days before the communion we were sitting in the living room of my in-laws' house. The discussion of the communion came up and it was suggested, by a family member, I not attend so that Keith's ex-wife did not feel uncomfortable. I passively agreed, but I was also a little bit hurt. I never expressed it though. I allowed myself to believe because there were still some wounds that needed to heal between Keith and his ex, that it would be the honorable thing to do to accept my un-invitation.
I wish I could say that was the last time I had to endure the pain of being uninvited to a family event. I wish I could say my un-invitations or lack of invitations, for the most part, were rare in my eighteen years as a stepmother. Imagine watching and assisting in someone's growth, being proud of his/her milestones and accomplishments, wanting to celebrate them, and then being asked to not attend or better yet not receive an invitation at all: basketball games/tournaments, birthday parties, graduations, etc. Don't get me wrong. I have to say not all of these circumstances were because of Keith's ex-wife. Nevertheless, they were indeed because others, mostly the adults involved, believed my feelings were expendable.
What troubled me most is I continued to do what I needed to try to maintain healthy relationships. This meant often gift-shopping and having Keith deliver it for the special occasion. This meant pretending my feelings weren't hurt. This meant continuing to smile beyond the pain as people around me pretended that the events didn't even take place. I did it so my emotions didn't impact the children involved who were more than likely enduring enough.
I think about my biological father, who I reunited with in 2009. A few days after seeing him for the first time in thirty years, I had an event where I was being honored. I invited him and he attended. With the exception of the one time when he was ill, he attended every event I invited him to before he passed. Thankfully he, my mother, and my father who raised me were very cordial to each other. Never did anyone make him feel like he didn't belong. Never did anyone utter that they didn't feel comfortable with him being there. Never did anyone suggest that he should not attend. They treated him with respect. They treated him like family.
My father who raised me always said I was the level-headed one in the family. I was the person who all the other family members looked to to be just, rational, and sane. If there was anyone to do the right thing, everyone knew it was me. I was always expected to do the right thing. Even when those around me haphazardly stepped on my feelings. Up until a recent event, he reminded me I was always the one to turn the other cheek and he thanked me for "being the better person".
Sometimes, I don't want to be the better person. Sometimes, I don't want to turn the other cheek. Sometimes, I want to give someone the middle finger and a big fat F___ You!
Watching Susan and Julia's characters conflict over the relationships each wanted to have with the children reminded me of some of the contention I encountered over the years as a stepmother of six. After eighteen years, I had hoped the pain of those circumstances would have disappeared. However, ever-so-often I am reminded.
I watched the movie thinking how selfish Susan's character was. Julia didn't want to replace her. She wanted her own relationship, for what it was worth, with the children of the man she loved. She could never fill their mother's shoes. Nor did she want to, but she realized that Susan was going to leave them one day and Julia would never be good enough.
Keith and I agreed that I would delay developing a relationship with his sons, Anthony and Elijah, from his previous marriage as to not make their transition during the divorce more difficult. I thought it was a great idea. Especially since we didn't know how serious or not things would get between us. It was about a year before I spent any time with his sons, although I had started a relationship with his oldest daughter from a previous relationship. At that point, Keith and I realized our own relationship was headed in a positive direction and we began to spend more time with our respective families as a couple.
I remember the first punch in the face like it happened yesterday. Keith mentioned to me his son was having his first communion and asked if I wanted to go. Of course, I appreciated the invitation and looked forward to attending. At this point Keith and I were spending significant time together with the boys. I had developed a good relationship with them and thought it would be nice to be there to show my support to them and the family. A few days before the communion we were sitting in the living room of my in-laws' house. The discussion of the communion came up and it was suggested, by a family member, I not attend so that Keith's ex-wife did not feel uncomfortable. I passively agreed, but I was also a little bit hurt. I never expressed it though. I allowed myself to believe because there were still some wounds that needed to heal between Keith and his ex, that it would be the honorable thing to do to accept my un-invitation.
I wish I could say that was the last time I had to endure the pain of being uninvited to a family event. I wish I could say my un-invitations or lack of invitations, for the most part, were rare in my eighteen years as a stepmother. Imagine watching and assisting in someone's growth, being proud of his/her milestones and accomplishments, wanting to celebrate them, and then being asked to not attend or better yet not receive an invitation at all: basketball games/tournaments, birthday parties, graduations, etc. Don't get me wrong. I have to say not all of these circumstances were because of Keith's ex-wife. Nevertheless, they were indeed because others, mostly the adults involved, believed my feelings were expendable.
What troubled me most is I continued to do what I needed to try to maintain healthy relationships. This meant often gift-shopping and having Keith deliver it for the special occasion. This meant pretending my feelings weren't hurt. This meant continuing to smile beyond the pain as people around me pretended that the events didn't even take place. I did it so my emotions didn't impact the children involved who were more than likely enduring enough.
I think about my biological father, who I reunited with in 2009. A few days after seeing him for the first time in thirty years, I had an event where I was being honored. I invited him and he attended. With the exception of the one time when he was ill, he attended every event I invited him to before he passed. Thankfully he, my mother, and my father who raised me were very cordial to each other. Never did anyone make him feel like he didn't belong. Never did anyone utter that they didn't feel comfortable with him being there. Never did anyone suggest that he should not attend. They treated him with respect. They treated him like family.
My father who raised me always said I was the level-headed one in the family. I was the person who all the other family members looked to to be just, rational, and sane. If there was anyone to do the right thing, everyone knew it was me. I was always expected to do the right thing. Even when those around me haphazardly stepped on my feelings. Up until a recent event, he reminded me I was always the one to turn the other cheek and he thanked me for "being the better person".
Sometimes, I don't want to be the better person. Sometimes, I don't want to turn the other cheek. Sometimes, I want to give someone the middle finger and a big fat F___ You!
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