Anonymous

I'm writing this for my family, the people in my life not tied by blood, but by love.

Sometimes I notice my 20 yo stepson watching me with his baby and wonder; does he think I'm bitter? I hope not.

It's been 10 years since I met my now-husband and his 3 kids (then aged 7, 10 and 11). It's been a ride.

At the beginning, it was hell. There were times when I wondered if my love for this man was enough to sustain everything else that was going on - this wasn't an amicable co-parenting situation, not by anyone's standards. We battled in court and fought for our relationship with the children, and we got it, with many bumps and slips along the way. Two of my stepchildren lived with us for at least some of their adolescence, and how grateful I am that we were able to give them that. But I'd like my home to be mine now, I want my safety and my sanctuary. It's close. The youngest is on a driving lesson as I write, and she's so grown up it hurts sometimes. Soon, the kids will be adults and our home will be just the two of us for the first time, over a decade in.

It feels like we did everything backwards. In the early days, logistics ruled and time with the children was rigid and non-negotiable. My husband was painted as a second class father by the biological mother and this still stings. But he never was. We fought and cried and argued and drank too much and talked. And slowly, slowly, we found our groove. By then, though, the kids were becoming teenagers and all that entails. Even without the extra trauma of their parents' messy divorce affecting their young brains, it was hard.

During all the chaos, we tried to have a baby of our own. We didn't. I couldn't. I grieved, hard, and hid too much of myself from my family. The kids grew and every day there was another reminder that I'd never be a mum.

I found community, people who understood, and I started to heal.

And then life imploded when my dad died in 2021. It came from nowhere and put me on my knees. I never got to say goodbye, I never saw him at all. I've always been a daddy's girl, he was the only man that loved me unconditionally. Until my ready-made family came along, that is, and it was with their love and support that I dragged myself through the first year of grief. I changed jobs, we bought a house, we got a dog. Time went on. It always will.

Not being a "real" mum is still a huge part of who I am, but there's so much more. Life is calmer now. It's as though losing dad showed me a different version of the world where the small stuff never actually mattered. And slowly, painfully, I'm healing from that, too. The childless community is where I turned once I was able to lift my head above the agony. I don't have kids to distract me from my grief. I dont have mum friends who recognise in me their own struggles and share their wisdom. What I do have is a group of others, all over the world, who see me and care whether I'm ok.

Thats why I've written this for WCW and for all the other childless step-parents at the beginning of their roads, when it looks like the only thing coming your way is destruction. It gets better.

Talk to the people you love, they're the ones who'll hold you up during the toughest times, or bring you snacks so you don't have to get up at all.

I have no idea what the future holds for me, my husband, my stepkids & grandson, or anyone else in my life. It will, almost certainly, be messy and full of love.

Photo by Matt Duncan on Unsplash