I’m Just The Stepmom

I’m tired of taking the high road, making the tough calls, putting my family’s needs second. I’m tired of catering to an overgrown child with no sense of responsibility – one who can’t keep her promises when the possibility of a party is in the cards. I’m tired of aching for her child, of stepping in and knowing that no matter how much I love that baby girl, Mommy will always win out in the end. I don’t want accolades. I don’t want applause. I want that little girl to be more important than booze and boys and music festivals. I want that little girl to know that her mommy chose her, and continues to choose her, no matter how difficult or boring and responsible that choice may end up being.

But I’m just the stepmom. While I love her with the same fierceness that I love my own daughter, it will never be enough. So I will always go the extra mile. I will change my set in stone plans to cater to the whims of a 20-something party girl, I will plan a family picnic on our anniversary, and I will spend my summer weekends making sure that child learns to read. Why? Because when I chose her daddy, I chose her. For better or for worse, she is my daughter by circumstance, and I will make sure she knows that every day I choose her again.

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Untitled – January 5th, 2014

Your hand reached into my chest long before I noticed your grip on my heart. I’ve been hurt so many times before; I never wanted to trust you. Yet, somehow, that beautiful smile and those honest eyes made me believe. When I told you my darkest secrets, you held me close and whispered in my ear that the worst was over and that I would be okay. And I believed you. When I finally gathered my courage and told you that I love you, you said it back, then kissed me and told me you’d been waiting for me to say it. You never gave me any reason to doubt you, yet the back of my mind always prickled with a sense of caution in regards to her. One cold January day, my intuition lead me to a place I didn’t want to go. It was then that I noticed how your fingers had encased my heart, how the very essence of you was coursing through my veins. I cannot unsee what I have seen. I do not know if you will pull when called out; if you will rip my heart out like so many have before. Scar tissue does feel pain, you know. But unlike the others, you have become a part of me. Though you may move on, I will never truly be able to be rid of you. Every time I feel throbbing in the empty hole where my heart once was, I will think of you. Every time you cross my mind, I will weep as only one who has lost a love like ours can. One day, the pain will become nothing but a dull roar, a manageable yet chronic ache that I will be able to cope with. But you will never be gone. Your soul is forged with mine, and I will never be free of that chain.

On Love and Loss

“December 24th and we’re through again.
This time for good I know because I didn’t
throw you out — and anyway we waved.

No shoes. No angry doors.
We folded clothes and went
our separate ways.

You left behind that flannel shirt
of yours I liked but remembered to take
your toothbrush. Where are you tonight?

Richard, it’s Christmas Ever again
and old ghost come back home.
I’m sitting by the Christmas tree
wondering where did we go wrong.

Okay, we didn’t work, and all
memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.
But sometimes there were good times.
Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep
beside me and never dreamed afraid.

There should be stars for great wars
like ours. There ought to be awards
and plenty of champagne for the survivors.

After all the years of degradations,
the several holidays of failure,
there should be something
to commemorate the pain.

Someday we’ll forget that great Brazil disaster.
Till then, Richard, I wish you well.
I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water,
and women kinder than I treated you.
I forget the reason, but I loved you once,
remember?

Maybe in this season, drunk
and sentimental, I’m willing to admit
a part of me, crazed and kamikaze,
ripe for anarchy, loves still.”

“One Last Poem for Richard” by Sandra Cisneros

 

It’s true, I admit it. Boyfriend and I are done. Have been for awhile, actually. While the Titanic sunk beneath me, I stood on the deck praying for a miracle, all the while knowing that deliverance would not arrive.

Everything was perfect, and then it wasn’t. Looking back, I can’t pinpoint the precise moment where it all started to unravel. Maybe it was the first fight. Maybe it was the second. Maybe it was when I stopped buying his groceries and cleaning his house because I only had the time and money to take care of myself. Maybe it was all of these things and maybe it was none of them. My perfect faerietale turned into something I didn’t want. My prince became an ogre… and I wasn’t about to stand for it.

I could do a lot of finger-pointing at his issues with his ex, or his questionable nights out with random girls, or his hidden sexist agenda that appeared five months in. But the truth of the matter is – I miss him.

I called it off. Yes, I’m the bad guy there. It hurts to know that someone you love is not right for you, was not right for you from day one and will never be right for you. It hurts to know that you, once again, gave your whole heart to someone who wasn’t able to treat it the way it deserves. It hurts to know he’s already moved on.

But now… now I need to live my life for me. I need to take care of myself. I need to mourn. And I need to make sure that the next time I give my heart, he’s playing for keeps.