Is the sacrifice and reward proportionate?
Well, if that ain’t the mother of all questions! And we can ask it about many things in life. For now, it’s going to be a question of stepparenting. Is the sacrifice of being a stepparent proportionate to the reward of being a stepparent? Eeeeeeeeeppppppp… taboo!!
Last year my eldest stepchild, Madi, graduated from high school. She had been at the same school since Prep and has the most beautiful group of tight-knit friends. She’s smart, she applies herself, and as we stood in the local park watching her shine in her formal dress, familiar feelings emerged from my tummy to my heart to my head: this is awkward. This is still awkward.
Madi’s formal was the first of the major milestones that required her mum (bio mum) to stand in the same patches of earth as Mal and I. To want time with the very same person in the same park surrounded by lots of onlookers. One of those onlookers being our littlest love, 2-year-old Mykenzie, who was completely stunned by her big sister being a princess and all the princesses in the park.
I did that thing that empaths do. I visualised being in Madi’s (uncomfortably high) shoes. Not just in this moment, but in years to come. I knew that casting aside my awkwardness was important for Madi’s future memories. Standing away so as not to be an imposition is as uncomfortable for a 17-year-old as pushing to the front of the pack to be seen is. So, I measured the middle ground. Waiting for a break in bio mum being present, and with Mal and Mykenzie, I exchanged pleasantries with Madi. I told her how genuinely stunning she looked. I asked her how the build-up of the day had been – ‘cos hair and make-up and all the things formal preparation asks for is a painstakingly big deal. Then I asked if I could take some photos with her. Her and her Dad. Then plus me. But before I could get the photos, Mykenzie barrelled into Madi’s arms and Madi lifted her up and asked for photos with her.
It was a moment. It was a moment that said Madi wasn’t wanting awkward. She wanted a cuddle and a photo with her little sister. Then she asked Mal and me to get in for photos too. We had the photos and graciously stepped away as Madi’s friends began to pile up in front of us and we became chief photographers to a pile of endorphin-fuelled young women.
The masses transitioned from the photos in the park to the local events space for the formalities of the evening. We found our seat, designated in the very back corner of the venue with another stepcouple who were really great company on a big night that could’ve been awkward; instead, it was fun. And unexpectedly emotional.
Ok, that’s probably an oxymoron: “unexpectedly emotional”. My husband often tells me that “empathy without boundaries is self-harm”. He’s right, and I know it. I wear other people’s shoes a lot; too often, and my heart pays the price. I could’ve known that Madi’s formal and graduation would have an impact on my heart. I think I was too focussed on not wanting it to be awkward.
I was wearing bio mum’s shoes that day. Her only girl was graduating. The first of her children she had shared her heart with. Her first born. Then I was thinking about my husband. He had his first child graduating and his youngest hadn’t yet started school. His daughter was ready to enter the realm of life after structured schooling and in his eyes he still saw her as his tiny princess. Then I was thinking about my own formal and graduation. My recall of formal was all fond memory. I remembered the day of preparations, my friends. Crying. A lot. The end of an era, the closure of a chapter, the uncertainty and anticipation, the promise. My separated parents and my stepdad being together. Getting photos with them all. The party. Schoolies. Oh no, Madi was going to Schoolies tomorrow. Is she ready for Schoolies? Snap. Back to reality (I can hear the 30-somethings singing Eminem).
Anyway, in the back corner of the formal venue, graduates all seated together at tables at the front, one by one the graduates began to cross the stage. Well, it washed over me like a tsunami.
That young little girl I’d first met, now standing in such graceful beauty on stage (still wearing shoes at this point). The moments of sweet, pure and innocent love she had shown and shared with me over the years. The joy of having her with me the night before our wedding and standing beside me on our wedding day. The acceleration that is so apparent in the transition throughout school years into graduation.
It's so easy to focus on all the challenges. There have been plenty. There will be more.
It’s so easy to focus on the parts of not being her bio mum. Moving out of the way for the “right” person to be in place.
It’s so easy to focus on life BC (before children). The freedom. Discretionary income. Social ease.
It’s so easy to focus on what I’m not for my stepkids. And what they’re not for/of me.
But none of that takes into account the “extra” that life has and is because of my stepkids.
I am my husband’s wife, and he is their dad. That’s what the make-up of our team looks like and the kids are part of the team
The selflessness that comes with learning to stepparent is a journey of self-awareness and growth I couldn’t have done without the kids
They make me a better person – in every possible way
I could mask my empathy until the kids came into my life. For people who have met me since I became a stepmum, they’d never know that I bottled empathy and cried watching Kleenex ads at home in silence and solitude. I now feel free to express emotion and be me. So you could say they freed me
I am someone else to them. I’m not a replacement. I’m an extra. I wasn’t there before and I am now. All the people that were there before are still there. That’s a cool realisation to sit in and help shape the role of a stepparent
The chapters of life I wrote BC are still awesome chapters to be revered and celebrated. I tell the kids about my travel and it inspires a love for travel in them too. Those chapters shaped my readiness for this chapter (if you can ever really be ready for this)
I am part of life, including the most significant life events, for 5 hearts I didn’t internally grow. That is an immense honour, far outweighing any awkward
There is a sense of under-appreciation that comes with being a bonus parent. You’re in at 100% and your stepkids may not be in at all, other than that they have to be in your presence from time to time, whatever the care arrangements in your situation might be. Or maybe they’re running you into the dizzying spiral of the push-pull; holding you close one minute and whip-lashing you a great distance away the next.
Every bone of compassion in my body knows that being a stepkid isn’t easy. Kids don’t choose this situation and it’s likely they aren’t holding onto the skills needed to navigate it. But to have the ability to positively influence the lives of the next generation, in such proximity, is a great privilege. A great responsibility. With the greatest of rewards.