I was responding to a forum post from a lovely man with a blended family.
He was desperate because his second wife after nine years together had started to become a real control freak.
Maybe it just hit her that the years of togetherness had never really smoothed out the blending like she’d hoped. Maybe she was hoping for whipped, or frappe?
I think sometimes us step-moms hold on to a secret hope that the Evil-Ex will one day simply disappear and all matters of parenting will be mine! (Insert evil laugh here)
When there are children and an ex-wife in the picture there is a constant reminder of my “place” on the periphery.
I will never have final say on what school they will attend or sports they play, or even all the clothes they wear or values they acquire.
I got into a huge fight with DDILF one day because I wanted to clean the shit-show that was the childrens bedroom. DDILF got so territorial about it (probably because he didn’t want me to have ammunition for a future fights) that I became utterly indignant. My inner child reared her bitchy little head; dug in her heals and threw down a massive tantrum. “I am the woman” she said (just to clarify- She said it, I didnt) “This is my home and domain and if I want to help the children make their room livable that should be my prerogative! Why can’t you at least give me that??”
Now the irony in all of this is that I hate cleaning thus my grown up self-actualised self was left to question the motive of my inner child’s massive tantrum.
And so I realised that the “that” in that statement really meant that I desperately wanted DDILF to relinquish some control to me. I wanted to clean the rooms and yes, use it against him at some future date when I might be feeling unappreciated or powerless…. wait…sorry… I just choked on some crow… gross.
Step-parenting can be so ambiguous that our efforts to stake out our turf and define ourselves and our place in our family’s lives can become an exercise in utter frustration. I am learning that I can try to pin myself up against the glass and resist the blender, or I can let go and roll around in the sweet sticky mess...Whatever the case may be, I do know that there is no room in here for a bitchy inner child and her tantrums.