What people don’t tell you when you get married a second time, after the trauma of divorce and the strange exciting terror that is dating in middle age, when you finally find your sea legs again and you can soar on the wind like the wings of eagles because you found the Most Amazing Person, is how hard it is. It’s not hard like “we are newlyweds and living in a cheap-ass apartment and eating ramen noodles.” That was bliss. It’s like push a truck up a hill, go against all of your bodily instincts, and want to drive off in a minivan in the middle of the night hard.
But in life, the hard things are the most valuable.
But why? The person you meet is lovely. You fell in love with them, of course they have great qualities. They listen to you! They treat you with respect! They bring you coffee in bed! They are sexy and funny with beautiful eyes! These romanticized notions are real to you, as much as they make your best friend want to vomit, and feel like a cold glass of water when you are parched for moisture. I get it. Love is a fabulous drug.
What you don’t see when you wear the lace-covered wedding gown with sex in your eyes is that the person comes with bags they carry with them. Ex-spouses, hurting children, parenting styles that conflict with your own, misplaced loyalties, and perhaps even a lack of emotional intelligence they have masked over time. They set all those bags down and you’re like “Um, what, kind sir, are those? They were invisible to me before. Can you put them in a storage room or something?”
Nope.
“Under the stairs where I can’t see them?”
Nope.
“Can you at least pare those down into a small Tupperware container that I can FREAKING LABEL AND PUT IN A SLIDING DRAWER?”
Nope.
And news flash, honey. You don’t travel without an oversized invisible suitcase of your own. You will both carry around your baggage on dates, holidays, everywhere. The stupid bags will be in the same bed with you. You cannot escape them. I hope they are at least Burberry.
So if you both are carrying heavy bags, and there are children running around screaming, whether outwardly or inwardly, whether they are five years old or twenty, it’s no surprise that there are no arms left to hold. It cannot be a shock that seventy-percent of second marriages fail. Part of your money may be going to what you believe is an undeserving ex-spouse. There may be problematic ex in-laws. The ex him/herself may not be a sweet, warm, and loving person or you’d likely still be married to them. You don’t want your second spouse to discipline your kids, and yet you feel you should be able to “set some boundaries around here,” and two families are thrown under one roof, only the two consenting adults with gold rings on their fingers being the ones who agreed to this situation in the first place. Sometimes, a kid snaps.
Sometimes, the one who snaps is you.
But that won’t happen to me! My spouse’s children are so nice! Everyone is so kind, respectful, and interesting. Can you imagine the large family photo on the beach in Florida, where everyone is in white and there’s a sarong whipping in the wind? You have stars in your eyes that somehow all the kids will just line right up to get a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf. “Wow, thanks,” these imaginary kids say to you and you smile at them with pride.
That is a fake family that lives inside of movies. But it’s okay to not be them. Trust me, your meatloaf is better than that woman can make ANY DAY AND EVEN ON TUESDAY.
So me break it to you, dear future second marriage participants. You are not one family. You are two families, living under one roof. You are not a mother to your spouse’s kids, and he is not a parent to yours. I understand from a Biblical perspective, it’s hard to grasp that second marriages have different priorities. There is no longer a head of the household, there are two heads of an overall house that must make decisions on what is best for his/her own children, and the two heads have to form joint house rules that works for all with some level of mutual respect, time blocking for each other and individual bio family time, a certain amount of time for joint family time, lots of acceptance and yes, forgiveness, and a hearty budget for marriage counseling and individual therapy. A punching bag, garden, tons of close friends, and wine cellar are also helpful, but not mandatory. Prayer is a necessity.
And if you are ever in the situation where you are pitted between your new spouse, the bonds of which are relatively new, and the deeply-rooted bond between a child and a parent, let me tell you who wins, hands down, every time. The latter. There is no bond stronger than that of parent and child. If you don’t believe me, test out this theory. You’ll be pulling out your credit card to pay the retainer for a divorce attorney.
If you disagree with me on this or want to pull out your Bible and shame me with it, begone. I simply don’t have the energy to deal with you.
If you are like me, you read all the step-parenting books you could possibly buy on Amazon because you’re a smart dedicated human being who reads things. You wanted this to work. You had long chats with God. You considered this the redemption you so desperately sought. The books all say in a nauseating rhythm that “blending takes time” and “it’s more like a crock pot than a frying pan” and that it will get better in time if you show patience and humility and grace and a bunch of other bullshit.
If I were to offer one bit of helpful advice, it would be to back off completely from children you did not birth. They are not your kids, and you are not responsible for them. You either have your own biological children or you don’t, and with those little bundles of joy you get total control, but no matter how hard you strain and cause a hernia or pray or put on your magical parenting hat and lay out platters of cookies made from golden nuggets and joy, you’ll never be the parent of your step kids. Start with that. Be respectful, and demand a basic level of respect in return. That’s all you get, zippo, nothing else, and it’s something you can rightfully demand in your own home.
Regarding all the rest, they have to come to you. They have to want your influence, help, advice, muffins, and candor. If they don’t, you have to accept that and move on, even if you do make the very best cinnamon rolls this side of the Mississippi. And like all kids, it changes with time. They may need you one day and push you away the next. You have to be very resilient, learning when to lean in and when to back off, always backing off when called for. Don’t keep walking into their world and poking holes in their invisible bullet holes. Protect yourself. Be brave enough to stand up for yourself, and walk away when you have to. Because being kind to yourself is simply being kind.
And when you get a small victory, cherish it. I have a glass that says Happy Mother’s Day my stepson had etched and gave to me. A card my stepdaughter hand wrote thanking me for my consistency and optimism. I look at those every single day. It matters.
I’ve been through the fire and I’m coming out on the other side, stronger. But it’s different than what I imagined. So learn from my mistakes. Let your step kids have time with their bio parent without jealousy. Have alone time with your own biological children with gusto. Have some joint times, within reason, but if a kid wants to disengage, let them. And find times to rekindle the joy of your own marriage, as it is separate and unrelated to the children altogether.
REPEAT.
The last few years have left me at times elated and at peace, but other times baffled, angry, and numb. I never thought I’d learn the lessons I did, but I’ve grown from them. And it turns out we stayed married, which I credit to God and a story I read about in the Bible regarding Ruth and a dozen other personal reasons. You can do it, but it takes a lot of strength. At the end of the day, you’ve got coffee in bed and those beautiful eyes, and a partner that you can truly say you walked through the trenches with. Both of you have to be forgiving people, and let things go. And hopefully, if you play your cards right, this person will still be by your side when the children leave, and the kids who you did not birth will actually start to like you, and you will catch them saying “yeah, she’s my stepmom, and she’s pretty great.” And you’ll cry and fall on the chair and say “oh my God I did something right for a change.”
The goal is to simply be a pot on the stove with meat that falls part it’s so tender, peering into another pot, saying “that looks delicious, maybe we can be together on a plate?” And the flavors blend so well, like osso buco spread across a creamy polenta. You’ll scoop it all up into one bite and it will complement each other, and you’ll close your eyes and smile as you chew.
