But I was still so new at it that I felt as if I was playing house, faking it. He’d been moody all day, and when I entered his room with the little-boy toys all over, he was lying in bed with a book in front of his face. “Hey, buddy, you all ready for bed?” I asked. He wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t talk to me. His face was hidden behind the pages. “Did you have fun today at the park?” I continued. But he still didn’t answer.
Finally, I read the cover of the book he was holding up. Dinosaurs Divorce. Instantly, I felt my body flush with old memories of my own parents’ divorce, pain long since healed over. I wondered if I had become the target for his sadness at his parents’ breakup. I couldn’t bring myself to reach over and move the book aside. I didn’t reach out and stroke his little shoulder and ask him if he wanted to talk. Instead, I bolted. I said good night as I dodged trucks and teddy bears on the floor. I fled without looking back.
I called my stepmother to ask for her advice. She was 30 when she and my father were married and she became an instant part-time stepmom. “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “That was my biggest mistake.” I understood what she meant. In order to care for my stepchildren, I had to get past my own ego and try to see the world through their eyes. I had to understand that I am threatening not because of who I am but because of what I stand for in their eyes. It’s impersonal. It’s symbolic.
As Allison struggled through the first seven years with her stepchildren, she worked hard to be consistent. “I had to be the adult and remember that sometimes their reactions are coming through a huge filter of hurt. I couldn’t be tied to the outcome. I went at them consistently with kindness and no attachment to their reaction, and eventually they came around.
But I couldn’t give up. You can’t give up.” And don’t forget all of the wonderful things about children. Their imaginations. Their exuberance and energy. You get to be a part of their future, so what kind of impact do you want to have?