Stepmom Epiphanies

When I met my husband, after a difficult divorce and raising two kids on my own, he felt like a breath of fresh air.

Everything between us just clicked.

Spending time together, talking about work, going to music festivals, traveling—it all felt easy. We were vulnerable with each other, sharing things we had never shared with anyone, not even our exes. We explored the kind of partners we wanted to be, loved each other’s kids, planned our future together, built a house, talked about money, and even aligned on parenting styles. When challenges came up—especially around our kids and exes—it felt manageable. Not easy, but definitely something we could handle together.

Marriage, blending families, and living together felt like the next logical step. It even seemed like the more responsible option. Being apart all the time left us grumpy, torn between our kids and the constant juggling of work, parenting, and maintaining two separate homes.

So, we did it. We got engaged, married, moved in together, sold my house, and started building a new one big enough for everyone.

And we were prepared. We went to therapy to talk through potential issues, dealt with unresolved conflicts with our exes, and worked on keeping our communication open. Most importantly, we focused on helping our four kids transition into this new blended family.

We even put the kids in therapy to help them process the changes since our divorces and to give them tools to cope. We sat with them, cried with them, and reassured them that, in time, things would work out, and we’d all be happier for it.

We had our books, our therapy blogs… I had my lists (not him—he hates lists)… We did everything the experts and therapists recommended, and more. And we had a passionate, unshakable love neither of us had ever experienced before.

So no matter what, we’d get through it together, right? And live happily ever after, right?

Absolutely not.

I knew it would be hard, but when everything started unraveling almost immediately—including my new marriage—I wasn’t just shocked. I was devastated.

My world fell apart, and I felt helpless to stop it without hurting everyone even more during this already painful transition.

I spent months sitting in my car at least once a day, often more, just to cry where no one could hear me. I sobbed, shook, and hyperventilated in confusion, sadness, and anger, not understanding where things went wrong. I questioned daily whether I had made the biggest, most selfish mistake of my life. If we were truly meant to be, why wasn’t this working? I expected growing pains, but not a daily disaster.

This was the beginning of the first two stages of grief—shock and denial—for this overconfident stepmom and second wife.

It was the start of a new chapter, one where I had to face the reality that many aspects of my old life weren’t going to transition into this new one as seamlessly as I thought. I was in denial about the transformation I was undergoing—becoming a version of myself no book, therapist, or mantra could have prepared me for. And that transformation was something all six of us would have to painfully navigate together, in a small house.

I was in denial about just how hard blending families would be, how wrong I was about so much, and how I was about to face one of the toughest years of my life.

So much for the honeymoon.

Welcome to being a stepmom. Unfortunately, it gets worse before it gets better. The seven stages of grief (yes, seven!) are an apt way to describe becoming a stepmom and second wife. But there is hope. If you stick with it and have a supportive partner, things can and will improve. You just might have to take the longer, harder road to get there.