In the May 2015 edition of Stepmom Magazine, there’s an article entitled The Big Chill: Stepmoms and Stepdaughters- Why Your Relationship Isn’t As Close As You’d Like It to Be, By Trisha LaDogna.
This article resonated with me because my stepdaughter’s and my relationship was challenging our first few years. When I read this part from the article, I felt a new understanding of my earlier difficulties with my stepdaughter.
“Girls, in general, just aren’t as accepting of forming new relationships with outsiders as boys are. As the ultimate outsider in the stepfamily, this places a stepmother at a significant disadvantage when it comes to developing a positive relationship with her stepdaughter(s).” Furthermore, “Dad holds one of the keys necessary to help his child accept that her parents are not going to get back together. He should spend one-on-one time with his daughter and calmly reiterate that he knows it hurts her that her parents are divorced.”
The article reminded me of this story I wrote in my book, “Stepping into a New Role, Stories from Stepmoms”:
There were times I was the queen of stepmoms, flying on my magic carpet. Then, suddenly, I was the clueless stepmom, with the carpet pulled out from under me, plummeting to the ground, falling flat on my face. This was especially true with ten-year-old Jessie. My husband and I had fifty percent custody of his two children, Jessie and Aiden, and for the first few years of my relationship with Jessie, she ran hot and cold with me; one minute loving and wanting to be near me and the next cold and distant, running away from me. My husband was baffled because he told me that she would repeatedly ask him when I would be home, seemingly excited to see me. Then, when I’d get home, she would run away, barely mumbling a hello. When we tucked her in at night, I would tell her I loved her, and she would mumble an “I love you” back, muffled, behind her pillow.
To make her behavior even more puzzling, she was especially distant after bonding moments. One night Jessie’s brother thought it would be fun to watch Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, so we all gathered around the computer to watch it on You Tube. Well, that good idea turned out to be a bad idea. Jessie couldn’t sleep that night. She had terrifying nightmares, filled with dancing zombies. Her dad and I tried to comfort her with reading stories aloud, all three of us cuddled up on her bed. But, she still couldn’t sleep, and at 1:00 a.m., she appeared in my bedroom doorway, frightened and teary-eyed. I climbed out of bed and walked her back to her room. I lay down with her and stayed with her for quite awhile, rubbing her back and comforting her. She asked me to stay with her until she fell asleep. When she was peacefully asleep, I slipped off back to my bed.
The next day, I expected our bonding to continue, but she withdrew once again. As the days progressed, she grew increasingly remote. My husband talked to her about this at bedtime. He asked, “Do you think it’s not okay to be close to both Shawn and your mom?” She immediately wrapped her arms around her tucked up legs and began to cry and tremble. He said, “It’s okay to love both your mom and Shawn. You have enough love in your heart for lots of people.” As she buried her head in her crossed arms, she claimed, “It’s not that. I’m just still afraid of the monsters from the video.”
A few nights later, Jess waved her horse whip for horseback riding as a pretend magic wand, painting her dad with handsome features and his favorite colors. Then she painted me with strange colors and spots. I guided her to colors I liked, and she’d pick others, ones I didn’t like. Frustrated, I said to her, “No matter how ugly you paint me, I will always love you.” I kissed the top of her head, shot her father a look, so he’d know he needed to talk to Jess, and walked out. I felt tired, sad, and frustrated. I knew I, too, needed to talk to her about her confusing moods, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Sometimes the words came so easily and other times, the words were simply not there.
That night, Jess told her dad she didn’t understand the divorce. She just knew it was something sad because her brother had cried at the time. She thought her mom and dad would someday get back together. Maybe she was afraid that if she allowed herself to love me, her mom would never come back. Maybe that was why she didn’t want to get too attached to me. Her dad made it clear that he and her mom were not going to get back together, and he told her I was here to stay. She cried about this to her dad —good hard sobs. I believe everything happens exactly when it’s supposed to— Jessie was finally ready to understand the truth about her parents divorce. I was glad this all came out for her because expressing emotions was not easy; she tended to keep her feelings bottled up inside.
Saturday afternoon, Jess and I took my dog, Ivy, for a walk, and I reminded her that I was once in her shoes. “Do you remember me telling you awhile back that my parents divorced when I was little? I was five, the same age you were when your parents separated.” She looked up at me and nodded, her blue eyes filling with tears. She shyly shared, “I want you and my stepdad to still be in my life, but I want my mom and dad back together, too.” She hung her head as she walked, then said dejectedly, “I know that’s impossible, though.” I explained how feelings are not always reasonable and they don’t always make sense, but that’s okay because they are our feelings, which means they are important no matter how they sound.
I told her it’s important to mourn the loss of her hope. I said, “Go ahead and feel sad, and when you’re ready, think of all the blessings you have in your life and all you have to be grateful for.” I continued with, “But, remember you don’t have to tell me you love me just because I say it to you.” I didn’t need her to say it back until she felt ready to, out loud and clear, not mumbled under her breath.
I explained, “You know, Jess, most kids don’t “learn” to feel love for someone. Most of the people they love have been a part of their lives since birth, like your aunts and uncles and grandparents. So, it’s totally understandable if you don’t feel like you love me yet. I’m okay with that.” I told her that learning to love someone is a new experience, often not encountered until experiencing a romantic relationship.
Having someone new step into a role typically associated with love, such as that of a parent, must seem strange for a ten-year-old. I believe Jess understood this concept on some level because that night when I said “I love you”, she didn’t mumble or muffle “I love you”; she simply didn’t say it back. The second night I was delighted to hear a loud, clear “I love you.” I told her how nice it was to hear and kissed her again. The next night, she said it muffled, and I reminded her that I didn’t want her to feel she had to say it, it was okay not to. It took awhile, but over time she began saying it confidently and clearly every night.
It seemed the talks Jessie’s father and I had with her created a space that allowed her to open up to a relationship with me. She wanted to spend more time with me, choosing to ride with me in the car, and sitting next to me in restaurants. She also wanted me to tuck her in at night, not just her father. She began asking me to tuck her in along with her dad. Often at night, she would tell her dad she needed one more hug before he turned out her light. She had never included me in this request. I tried not to be hurt. I told myself it was just a daughter needing a hug from her daddy.
However, one night Jessie specifically requested a second hug from us both. She said, “I’m cold. I need a big hug to make me warm.” Her dad piled himself on top of her with a big hug, and then she said, with her eyes on me, from underneath his squish, “I need a hug from one more person to get warm.” I threw myself on top of the both of them, and we all giggled as we gasped for breath. I was, once again, the queen of stepmoms, flying on my magic carpet.