Sarah Graham
The role of a stepmother is synonymous with the word ‘wicked’. From Snow White to Hansel and Gretel, the Brothers Grimm contributed to this negative stereotype by transforming the evil biological mothers in their fairy tales into stepmothers. It is challenging to find positive representations of stepmothers in literature and fairy tales; however,we have to look as far as Icelandic folklore to find a different perspective.In that remote tradition, there are stories of stepmothers who act as powerful protectors, rescuing their stepchildren from curses,such as in the tale of Hild the Good Stepmother.
Of course, experiences will vary, but as a stepmother myself, I have often struggled to find my place in a role for which society provides no clear guidance. I didn’t seek this role out or even want it. In fact, if I had known my husband had children, I most likely would have ended the relationship before it even started. I’m not proud to admit this, but it is the truth. I have nothing against the children themselves; my issue lay in the fact that I did not want to take on this responsibility. In fact, up to that point I had intentionally avoided relationships with men who had children.
This response stems from my own childhood; raised by my father, alongside my older sister, in a unique single-parent family situation—we were just babies when our mother left. I watched my father navigate a series of unsuccessful relationships. For the most part, women who came onto the scene felt like total strangers…because they never stayed long enough for any meaningful connection to grow. There was only one woman who I grew to love; I was around seven when she came into our lives, but again, my dad was unable to sustain that relationship. After that heartbreak, any new arrival was met with suspicion and guardedness. I grew up understanding that any woman joining our established unit was just another stranger bound to leave.
When I eventually found myself in that role, I assumed I knew what was coming. I was mistaken, at least initially. My husband's daughter, whom I will call Samantha, seemed to take a liking to me right away. I liked her too, but I didn’t want or particularly need a close relationship with her. In my mind, her mother was the important figure in her life, the person who provided maternal care and had earned that place long before I arrived.
But it proved to be complex. Samantha had a difficult relationship with her mother. They never bonded from the beginning, leaving Samantha yearning for maternal love and approval. It was a mismatch from the start: a stepdaughter longing for belonging and a stepmother who had lost her own mother, both struggling to fill the significant emotional voids in their lives, each uniquely carrying their own ‘mother hunger’.
It feels impossible to write about being a stepmother without addressing the biological mother, because a stepmother cannot succeed in a vacuum. Instead, you find yourself tethered to the grace and maturity of the biological parents – or, as I quickly learned from Samantha’s mother, the distinct lack of it.
I met my husband’s ex-wife at their son’s wedding. She had left my husband for another man, yet this other man sat with her at the top table, right next to my husband – a seating arrangement that meant navigating an emotional minefield. She stared straight a head as if we weren’t even there, yet making her presence tangible. She came across as intimidating and cold. I had certainly received warnings about her, but I am naturally sceptical until I see things for myself. I leaned over to introduce myself, not wanting to spend the next few hours together in silence, as there was little likelihood that she and my husband were going to speak.
Quite frankly, interacting with her was emotionally exhausting, made all the more jarring because we were surrounded by such a beautiful occasion. My husband was deeply uneasy, and his anxiety was contagious. When he got up to go to the loo, his chair slipped and fell right off the stage we were seated on. It was almost comical, except that none of us was laughing.
Left alone, I looked for a way to connect.“Your children are lovely,” I said. My words provided her with the ammunition. Fully aware that my husband underwent a vasectomy (while they were married), she asked me, “Don’t you want children?” It was one of those comments that can be delivered with a smile and still draw blood. At the time, I felt frozen inside, trapped by her question. She had used her intimate knowledge of our marriage as a weapon. It felt like covert cruelty disguised as casual conversation. She knew something deeply personal about my marriage and found a way to bring it up publicly. A cruel comment echoes. Perhaps she meant nothing by it. Perhaps she did. Regardless, I know what it felt like.
Her daughter had a loving, close relationship with her dad at the time that we met. He did all that he could to make me feel included and welcomed into their relationship. As a teenager, she spent quite a bit of time with us. She came on holiday with us, would visit, and almost moved in with us at one point. But the visits became fewer, until they eventually stopped altogether. I knew my husband felt devastated by her pulling away from us, and I felt partly responsible. If only I’d been better able to connect with her and be the stepmother she wanted. I could have had the daughter I never had and finally been the mum I never got to be.
For years now, my stepdaughter has had no contact with us – a devastating reality that many blended families face but few openly discuss.When someone decides, for whatever reason, they don’t want contact, it can be deeply unsettling, confusing and painful. You both blame and doubt yourself. I felt deeply sad for my husband and angry at the same time. Her behaviour felt deliberately cruel. I’ve held suspicions about what caused this rupture between Samantha and us. I have experienced first hand the effects of antagonistic parents and their ability to manipulate and alienate.
I have lived through the exhausting reality of her mother’s behaviours – enduring a wall of complete blank ignorance and hostility aimed at both me and my husband, especially during family occasions. At a christening for example, she was walking out of a church pew, and I stepped towards her to say hello. Instead of acknowledging me, she simply stared over my head and walked past as if I didn’t exist. It was totally humiliating and embarrassing, but it also showed her true character. When a parent weaponises silence and ignorance in that way, it is hard not to see the ripple effects in a child’s alienation.
When you come from a dysfunctional family yourself, you can be particularly sensitive to these dynamics. I recognised behaviours I had seen before: control, exclusion, making one person feel responsible for another person's emotions, creating uncertainty and then denying anything had happened.Whether I was right about every interpretation, I will never know. But I know what the atmosphere felt like. And I know the effect it had on me.
Being a step-grandmother has turned out to be a completely different story. My stepson’s wife is a kind, intelligent, empathetic human being who truly has the children’s best interests at heart. This time, there was no battle for territory. Still, it wasn’t easy for me. I knew that meeting their baby so soon after my miscarriage would be painful—yet another joyful situation where I instead carried a heartbreaking mixture of joy and hidden devastation. Of course, I had thoughts of ‘this really should have been me’. They took pictures of me holding the baby with no one aware, but my husband, that I was completely bereft.
At the grand old age of forty-one—still young enough to be a mother- I became a step-grandmother. Leaving their home, I cried in the car, both sad and ashamed that I couldn’t feel more joyful, for my husband’s sake at least.
My stepson and his wife have completely welcomed me into their two children’s lives, who simply call me Grandma. They love me, and I have come to love them as well. Although this role has raised some questions for me: Does the fact that I’m not biologically related to them make me less significant? Am I really their grandmother if we don’t share a blood connection? My husband has always allayed my concerns, continually pointing out how much they love me. It honestly feels like we share a special bond—one that doesn’t need biology to define it.
I am still deeply touched by our relationship and feel so grateful to have a daughter-in-law who is mature and empathetic. After reading an article I wrote for Therapy Today about my experiences of childlessness, she reached out to me. She told me the piece was harrowing, and she gently acknowledged how difficult it must have been for me when her first child was born. Most healing of all, she reaffirmed that her children are my grandchildren—that I am, without exception, their grandmother.
We have shared many happy occasions together, including holidays and a special caravan trip with just the children and our dog, Jack—it was so lovely. They visit and stay with us from time to time, and we both love having them in our lives. Becoming a stepmother was certainly challenging, but becoming a step-grandmother changed everything and has turned out to be a deeply rewarding experience. Although I am childless, not by choice, I wholeheartedly embrace the opportunity to engage with my step-grandchildren. This connection has enriched my life in unexpected ways—it is a gift I have grown to cherish.
