I am a stepson. My parents divorced when I was 10 years old, and I don’t remember what it was like for them to be married. (Of course I have memories of all of us being together, etc., but I’m talking about what it felt like walking around day to day.)

I think that in terms of difficulty, step-x relationships are at the outer limit of societally acceptable scenarios. You have to cross over into incest, or molestation, or something similarly fucked up to get more complicated. Step-x relationships suck, even when they’re going well. They’re all an emotionally healthy person wants, and unambiguously too much for anyone the least bit wobbly, gnome sane?

I didn’t particularly like my stepmother growing up. I still don’t, really. I think of her far more as my dad’s wife than anything. But I’ll tell you this, just based on my limited exposure to you: you’ve got ten times the self-awareness she’ll ever have. You have the ability to get above this and see its practicalities, even if you can’t feel them right away.

And I’m telling you that you’re doing all you can do when you love him, and it would behoove you to find the serenity in that. You move with copious swagger. You’ve evaluated a great many of life’s dilemmas and decided you have the correct answer. Congratulations; that’s impossible for millions.

You need to carry that swagger into the relationship with your stepson. Either it will work out or it won’t, but if the latter, you can’t do a fucking thing about it. All you can do is put yourself out there the best way you know how, and release yourself from the stocks if it turns out that isn’t good enough.

I wish you peace.

((((((hugs)))))) to all of y’all, and hang in there.

My biological parents were (are) abusive (though I don’t see them any more, and haven’t for almost ten blissful years, I know they’re still the same). My mother - the woman who is rightfully my mother - rescued me from them when I was 14. She took me into her life and her heart; she showed me that NOT all families behave the way mine did, and she convinced me (no easy task, I might add) that I didn’t DESERVE to be treated the way I had been all my life. She literally saved my life - at one point, the only thing that kept me from swallowing a bottle full of Valium was that I knew Mom would be disappointed and hurt.

Don’t discount the important part you have in Monkey Boy’s life. You are his mother - perhaps more than the woman who gave birth to him - because you think of him before you think of yourself. You may not have a whole lot of control over how this all plays out, but you can be the rock, the beacon, the one safe place in all the world for Monkey Boy to land. As someone who’s been there, let me tell you that there may be no more important thing in the world.

Love.

Chili