Stepmom Epiphanies

Becoming a stepmom is not easy and frankly sucks a lot of the time (at first). Looking back now, it amazes me how much it helps to realize that I was not crazy at all (well, maybe sometimes). It helps to understand that I was moving through the seven stages of grief in my new role as a stepmom and second wife.

Unfortunately, being in Stage 1 (Shock) and Stage 2 (Denial) was nothing compared to the amount of pain I would cause in Stage 3 & 4 of the grief process. Don’t fret, my friend. While this was the most shameful part of the process for me, it does get better if you keep pushing forward.

Once the shock and denial wore off and I realized that my old life and sense of self had been completely replaced by this new, very difficult role, the flood came.

Actually—scratch that—the entire damn ocean of ANGER (Stage 3), with a sprinkle of BARGAINING (Stage 4) here and there.

I should preface this by saying that before becoming a stepmom and second wife, I was fundamentally not an angry person. I was Type A. Intense. High-strung. But never angry. I truly believed life was too short to hold onto anger. Plus, it takes way too much energy.

Fast forward to after we moved in together, and suddenly I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.

Who was this woman barking orders at the love of her life like he was a child?
Who was this person picking fights with those closest to her—friends, family, her kids, and her husband—on a daily basis?
Who was this woman terrified she would lose her shit in a way that would permanently traumatize her kids and immediately end her new marriage?
Who was this person keeping tabs on everything, consumed by insecurity, jealousy, anxiety, and feeling completely unhinged 90 percent of the time?

I WAS THAT WOMAN! I was angry. Vicious. Bitter. Resentful. I could hear myself saying things to the people I loved with an overflowing, almost uncontrollable rage—and I didn’t know how to stop it.

I was in hell.

My husband and I were fighting about everything. No one in our family seemed to be adjusting to the new normal, including extended family. The kids were acting out. And then, of course, came the worst fuel to the fire of our already struggling blended family:

THE EXES!

On top of everything else, the exes continued to make the disaster we were calling “home” even worse. It was all too much. I was angry at everyone and everything all the time.

And you know who I was angriest at?

Myself.

Everything started to reach a tipping point, leading into what was—for me—the most shameful part of this grieving process: Stage 4, Bargaining.

It was awful enough to see my husband and step kids hurting. But watching my two biological kids struggle, act out, and carry so much pain triggered my mama-bear instincts—and not in a healthy way.

During moments when the anger wasn’t completely blinding, I started bargaining my way out of the situation. Bargaining for myself. Bargaining for my kids. This even included looking at apartments, since I had sold my house, and mentally planning how I could move out in a single weekend while the kids were with their other parents.

It was ridiculous. It wasn’t emotionally, financially, or logistically feasible. But in those moments, it felt irresistible to at least entertain the idea, even briefly—despite knowing I would never actually do that to my kids, my husband, or his children.

I am human.

Then came the truly shameful, soul-crushing conversations with my husband about how everything felt like a mistake and how we couldn’t take it anymore. Yes, we went to dark places. We both said things we never should have said.

Being angry all the time and desperately searching for a “quick” way out of a situation you feel you or your children won’t survive is, unfortunately, very normal. I only caution you—if it’s not too late—to be careful how deep you go down the rabbit hole of anger and bargaining.

There were a few moments we came dangerously close to doing damage we would not have been able to undo. Damage to our marriage, and more importantly, to the emotional and mental well-being of our kids.

And thank God for my demanding job. If I hadn’t had somewhere to pour every ounce of my energy, I honestly don’t know what I might have said or done.

As I slowly emerged on the other side of this stage of grief, I had to learn something much harder than forgiveness of others: forgiveness of myself.

I can’t change what happened during those dark, stormy days. But I can be gentle with myself as I keep moving forward, still looking for the light.

Hang in there, my friend. Only three more stages of grief to go.