I haven't wanted to write in a while. I have six to seven posts half-written, but I can't find the motivation to finish them and hit publish. I am not sure why. Or maybe I am...
Two to three weeks ago my step-diva (bonus boo #2 who will be referred to as BB2)"stumbled" upon my blog. In truth, she has been hunting it down from the minute she heard I was writing one. When I (mistakenly, UGH) told her what the blog was about she became even more determined to discover what I was writing. And like any technologically savvy post-millennial, she finally found it.
She loved it! She was beaming when she told me she had found and read it. And she walked around saying, "I'm a diva! I'm a diva," which is what any diva would do and my public acknowledgment of this only fed her ego more. She was bragging to her father about my blog and the part she played in it. But her father, awesome man that he is, noticed my crestfallen face.
My Safe Place
I was so terrified—no, mortified—that she had read it. Perhaps I should have been happy that she wanted to read it, even more relieved that she loved it. But I wasn't. I instantly felt shame and fear. What if her mom read it? What if BB2 kept reading it? Would this blog no longer be my safe place? I need it to be my safe place.
BB2 had quickly moved on to her next topic, but I was still panicking. I mentioned my concerns to my husband in a whisper. And he circled back with BB2 to ensure that I had the right to write whatever I wanted here. And true to her teenage self she said, "That's fine. I don't care. I am going to forget about it in an hour." And that's probably true... she probably has. But I haven't and I still feel silly. As an adult woman, I feel silly.
And isn't silliness part of the mantel of step-parenting? You just feel... ridiculous a good part of the time. Silly when you introduce yourselves to other people, presenting as a family unit, but knowing you aren't really one in its truest sense. Silly when you can't really discipline because its not quite your place. Silly when you are trying to connect and they just reject you because of whatever they've got going on. Silly that even though you are in your mid-thirties you're emotionally back in high school again, trying to be cool and fit in, trying to be liked. Silly to feel insecure.
Still Here, but Just Barely
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I guess to say I am still here. Writing this is better than writing nothing. Being honest and transparent is better than appearing perfect. No, I am still here and I have a lot I want to say about being a stepmom and I want to say it in it's rawest and truest form, regardless of who reads this, even if its my step daughter. I am still here to say that I am not immune to the harsh reality of being in a blended family. Many tell me that I make it look effortless and we seem like we are doing so well. And I just want to say to those of you who see me on the outside and think I got stepmomming down like it ain't no thang: trust me, it's a thang and I don't got this. I haven't posted because I don't got this. Because sometimes being a stepmom rubs me so raw, I am left completely debilitated, mentally a blank slate. But today at least I am writing about it, because I can't only write when I feel like it; I need to exercise my authorship when I don't feel like it too. Perhaps there is something healing for me in pushing this out there to the world.
So, all this said, know that I still plan to write. I still plan to share my heart of hearts on all things stepmom and blended family. Know that I am still here for now, but just barely. xo.
p.s. I wrote this last week when I was facing the reality that I didn't want to write, but knew I should. Since having written this post, I am finding the motivation again. Thanks for riding the roller coaster with me!