I have two children with my ex-husband. “Clyde” is 10 and “Danielle” is 8. Though the marriage didn’t work out, my ex is a good guy, and we co-parent well, with split custody and no fights over it. However, two years ago, he remarried, and his wife brought her daughter from a previous relationship, “Monica,” age 8, into the picture. My kids adore Monica. To them, she’s a sister, full stop. Even using the term “step” to refer to her makes them bristle. And that’s great, right? Certainly better than them being stuck with another kid they can’t stand. But it’s causing me all sorts of problems that I don’t know how to navigate.
I can’t take Danielle shopping for clothes anymore because she insists she needs Monica along so they can coordinate their outfits. Clyde won’t answer calls on weekdays anymore because he has two younger sisters now who he wants to help with their homework. And neither Clyde nor Monica want to come to my place anymore when it’s time to do the handover. Or rather, they’re fine with being with me, but they don’t want to leave Monica behind. Clyde in particular has been wondering aloud if he can stay more often with his father and his new wife, and it breaks my heart. My kids have repeatedly asked if Monica can just come over with them, and I haven’t even really considered it, because I just don’t want her. I’m sure she’s a nice enough child, but even if her parents would be OK with it (and I haven’t checked), I just don’t want to be raising a child who isn’t mine. But the situation is making my own children miserable, which in turn is making me miserable. How do I sort this out?
—Getting Sucked In
Dear Getting,
I’m going to tell you what I would do, and why. But I want to preface this by saying that I think I do understand where you’re coming from, and that I am not without sympathy. It’s hard to share your children with an ex’s second wife—i.e., your kids’ stepmother—no matter how well you and the ex are managing shared custody. Even though you haven’t mentioned this, I believe it plays a part in how you feel about the daughter of your kids’ stepmom. And I am not without sympathy for your reluctance to “raise a child who isn’t” your own.
But no one is asking you to raise her. What your own two kids are asking you to do is include her in your family. This would be very generous of you, yes. Is it too much to ask (assuming her parents would be OK if she spent some time at your house with her two siblings)? I don’t think so. Take a few minutes to think about not only how your kids feel when they leave their sister behind to spend time (I’m guessing custody is 50/50?) at your house, but about how 8-year-old Monica feels, left alone at her mom and stepdad’s? You’re right: She’s not your child. But that doesn’t mean it’s OK to write off her feelings. And, I’ll add, please do not refer to her as your kids’ stepsister. That’s not how they think of her, and thank goodness. Since she and Danielle were 6 years old, and Clyde was 8 (and, I’m guessing, well before this, since your ex and his wife didn’t get married as soon as they met), Monica has been a part of their lives. If you’re resentful about this—which I imagine the kids may pick up on, even if you haven’t said it outright—you are putting your still quite young kids in the position of choosing between their mother and their sister. Don’t do that. Even if you “win,” they will never forgive you for it.
What I would do, first, is talk to Monica’s mom and your ex (and, if Monica’s dad is in the picture, ask her mom to talk to him or put you in touch). The adults need a confab. What’s best for the kids?—that’s the subject and the priority. See if you all can come up with something that works for everyone. Possibilities include everything from letting Monica come over for playdates (and homework sessions?) and/or inviting her to join you for outings when you have Clyde and Danielle, to having her all-out join them, as your kids have requested, when they’re with you. And everything in between. Maybe she joins them half the time—i.e., every other time they’re with you—or for half the time they’re with you; or any other arrangement you’re up for trying, for the sake of the kids.
I confess that my inclination would be—if the other parents are willing—to see the three kids as a unit, siblings who love each other and don’t want to be apart, and have all three of them with me during the periods I had custody. I’m guessing their resistance is about something deeper than “it’s more fun when we’re together,” since all three of these kids have experienced the dissolution of a family; they have created their own little sibling family that they are reluctant to regularly break apart, no matter how temporarily. I’d think of Monica as my bonus kid. I’d think: I have plenty of love to spread around, and any child who wants some of it is welcome to it.
If you can bring yourself to see it this way, the bonus for you is not only the joy you’ll be able to take in your kids’ happiness, and the discovery that your heart is infinitely expandable, but also that the bitter feelings you’ve been nurturing toward this little girl will dissipate. And when bitterness, resentfulness, frustration, and—wild guess here—anger begin to evaporate, you will feel lighter, happier, and better all around. Even though you’re sharing your kids with others. Even though you have to set another place at the table.
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Dear Care and Feeding,
Even though I don’t share my parents’ politics, I always felt that we shared important values. They’re Christian and brought us up with the Golden Rule. My mom is the churchgoer more than my dad, but when I was growing up we donated together at the church food pantry and did summer volunteer projects through the church for Habitat for Humanity as a family. My dad owned a small business and was a George Bush Republican, more concerned about taxes than social issues. He was generous with his neighbors and in the community.
They stayed home for the 2016 election—they hated Clinton but felt that Trump wasn’t presidential—but by 2020 both of them, especially my dad, had fully bought into conspiracy theories, COVID misinformation, and outright racism. I know the national conversation had changed, but also they both retired during that time, started watching more TV, and had a new pastor who was much more right wing. I tried countering info, exposing them to other ideas, and reminded them about love thy neighbor. Nothing worked. My sister cut them off; my brother started drifting closer, buying into the same noxious stuff. I kept everything shallow, kept my visits short, and hoped they’d snap out of it.
They have not. This election, the whole thing has spun fully out of control. My parents are both buying weird online supplements and rations for a projected race war. I feel like the parents I grew up with are dead, and my brother is dying too. I don’t know where or how to grieve. My husband and I have agreed that they should no longer have access to our kids. My grief seems like an extreme reaction, and everyone I know says to just cut them out of my life altogether, but they’re aging, and they will die for real one of these days. I am just so sad. I miss the parents I grew up with so much. I wish my husband and our kids could meet those people. Is there anything I can do?
—Grieving the Living
Dear Grieving,
I am sorry for your loss. I don’t think your grief is extreme—I think it’s completely understandable. The parents you had growing up—the people they were, or who you thought they were (I have no idea which)—are gone. Your husband and kids will never be able to meet them.
Your situation involves a drastic change in your parents, I know. They are virtually unrecognizable to you now. But it may help to ease your pain about this one aspect of what’s happening to be reminded that none of us gets to introduce our spouse and children to the parents we had when we were children. Everybody changes over the years. Our own perceptions of our loved ones do too. I understand why you’re keeping the people your parents have become (or revealed themselves to be) away from your children. I also understand why this makes you so sad. Anyone who dismisses your struggle, who blithely advises that you “just” cut your parents out of your life—who says this is easy, obvious, or has to be done no matter how you feel—is trying hard for their own sake to avoid the messy, complicated, deep and heartbreaking nature of human relationships. Especially those between children and parents.
You do not have to excise your parents from your life. You may eventually decide that you want to, or need to, for your own sake. You may feel torn: You don’t know the people they’ve become; you can’t abide the people they’ve become. But you remember and love the people they were, and that is keeping you from doing what “everybody” says you should. Screw everybody. They’re not the boss of you. You are. You may be holding on to the tiniest glimmer of hope that hangs by the slenderest of threads. You may simply be living by that Golden Rule, refusing to abandon them, as you see it, even though they have become unhinged. You may not want to cut them off simply because you love them, no matter what they say, think, or do. And while there is nothing you can do to drag them back to reality, and nothing you can do short of time-travel to arrange a meeting between your kids and their grandparents when they were the parents you remember them being, what you can do is what your heart tells you to do. Whatever that is.
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Dear Care and Feeding,
I’m 15, and although I have ADHD and anxiety, I have a pretty good social circle—not a ton of friends, but my best friends and I are close. My problem is that there are two things about me that new people notice right away. Anytime somebody meets me (or even just sees me!) for the first time, they will say something about one or both of these things, and it really bothers me. The trouble is my strong prescription glasses and that I have a deep scar running down my leg from a childhood accident and subsequent surgeries. Other kids, teens, adults, old people, waiters at restaurants, and people in line at the grocery store will comment or make a joke about one of these things. I’m sick of it. The stuff about my scar stops in the fall, when I wear pants or leggings (I suppose I could cover up in summer too, but how is that fair? Why shouldn’t I be able to wear what I want to wear?), but the stuff about my glasses I don’t know what to do about. I’ve tried contacts but I hated them. Is there any way to stop people from commenting on how I look? Or to redirect them at least to talk about something I’ve actually worked on, like my hair, or made a choice about, like my clothes/shoes?
—Fed Up with People
Dear Fed Up,
I’m fed up too. I wish everyone would stop once and for all making comments or asking questions about other people’s bodies. It’s rude. It’s gross. It’s wrong.
But people being what they are, they just keep on keepin’ on. You can’t get them to stop: There is no one-and-done thing you can say or do to keep people you don’t know, or hardly know, or have just met, to keep their mouths shut. (I’ll even begrudgingly give some of them the benefit of the doubt and speculate that perhaps they mean no harm—they somehow never learned, never even heard, that talking about people’s bodies does not fall into the category of polite conversation.) The trick here is for you to work on ways to deal with and respond to this stupidity, lack of manners, cluelessness, or meanness and cruelty.
My personal favorite response is a cold stare and silence—or a slow, silent nod. Not everyone can pull this off, though (it takes chutzpah). Another thing I’ve enjoyed saying over the years, which you might try when someone remarks on or questions you about your scar, is, “It’s so kind/nice/sweet of you to take an interest!” I like to say it earnestly, and with a smile. This tends to confuse people—especially when they press, repeating their question as if I hadn’t heard it. Then I say, “Oh, yes, it is so kind of you” until they get tired and drop it. Perhaps, when it comes to those pointless comments about your glasses, you might just say, “Yup” or “I know, right?” But you can also simply speak the plain truth: “I don’t like to talk about that,” or “I’d rather not talk about that” or—if you want to take this to the limit—“It pains me to talk about that.” Anyone who is boorish enough to pursue the topic after that should be walked away from.
But whatever you decide to say, making a plan for how to handle these intrusions, and then dealing with them in the moment with your prepared rejoinder will start to work magic on your internal response to this nonsense. I suppose we could call it faking it till you make it—or working from the outside in. Whatever you call it, you’ll feel stronger and better every time you take the power away from these folks who have no business getting up in your business. Eventually, the things insensitive strangers and new acquaintances say won’t bother you at all.
—Michelle
More Advice From Slate
My mom is on a fixed and limited income, so to help her cover expenses my husband and I supplement her income in exchange for childcare. Our kid gets to spend time with his grandmother while we work, and she gets compensated financially. We have a clear schedule that we all agreed on (five hours/weekday). In exchange, we cover a large portion of her expenses. If my husband and I had to pay for alternative childcare, we couldn’t also afford to supplement her income, so we are offering the best solution we can. However, there seems to be some resentment at times on both sides.
