How I got here and other bizarre stories.

The "Other Mother" from Coraline

I have spent the majority of my life being the "other mother," both to my biological children and to my step-children. My therapist says I was, "the mother I was then, so I could be the mother I am now," but most of the time, I feel like I'm wavering between over-confidence and over-whelming guilt.

I first became a mother at 16 years old. I was a naive child ignorant of how the real world functioned. I grew up sheltered in the 80s by parents who had grown up in the 40s. To say there was a generation gap is to put it mildly. I can't describe in one go what my childhood was like, but I can give you the highlights. The rest will surface as needed when it pertains to the events in my life.


I've had three distinct "parenting" experiences. 

First, I was adopted when I was 2-years-old. I was the child of a single, teen-aged mother who, for numerous reasons recognized she could not take care of me. I was adopted by her older half-brother (same dad, different moms) and his wife. My mother was 17, her half-brother was 43. After the first year, they stopped talking to my mother and her identity was kept a secret from me. I had forgotten who she was by that point. Through my first decade, I believed my mother had abandoned me because she was a teenager who didn't want the responsibility. I later met my mother and we have developed a terrific relationship, however, my belief she didn't want me helped shape me as a child.

My adoptive parents provided for me and gave me love, but love looks different to some people. My adoptive mother believed everything was fine as long as it looked fine on the surface. I vividly remember her telling me, "Bad things don't happen in my family." 

Boy, was she delusional! 

She was also very free with her hands...or a fly-swatter...or a wooden spoon... or, well, you get the picture. I had a very real fear of my parents, a fear I sometimes (wistfully) wish my kids had for me. But the thought, "My parents are gonna kill me!" resonated with me. 

I remember such fun events as when my mother almost broke my nose because she hit me in the face while wearing a wrist brace. Or the time my father "spanked" me with a leather belt and I was covered in black-and-blue welts from the middle of my back to the middle of my thighs. Not every instance was this memorable, but you get the idea.

My father's contribution to my childhood involved coming to my bedroom at night to "teach me what boys would try to do to me" if I wasn't careful. In case you're wondering, I left home when I was 14-years-old.

My second parental experience began when I was 15 and discovered I was pregnant. I was madly in love with my son's father and we swore our relationship would last forever (doesn't everybody?). I turned 16 before my first child was born and I was convinced I knew enough about life to provide for him. A year later, I was pregnant again. This time, at 17, I gave birth to a baby who was 10 weeks premature with underdeveloped lungs. My first nervous breakdown occurred a few months later after we were finally allowed to bring him home from the hospital with an apnea monitor which went off anytime he fell asleep. At 17, I had a one-year-old, a sick infant, no sleep, money problems and my marriage was starting to fall apart. Skip ahead another two years and I was living out of my car, had lost my job and my apartment with everything in it, and my children were in the custody of my ex-husband and his mother. 

I spent most of the next decade flip-flopping between being an irresponsible 20-something trying to forget the mistakes of my (younger) youth and wanting to be a better everything -- mother, student, wife, employee. I swore I was good enough for everybody else. Too bad I didn't really believe it. I saw my boys sporadically, felt guilty for not being more involved and continued to avoid those feelings by avoiding them. I'm just now starting to work through some of that.

My third parenting experience began eight years ago when I met my current husband. (There were 3 in total. I'll fill you in later.) My husband was divorced with two children (a girl and a boy), one still in diapers, but his ex-wife had custody of them. Not because he was a bad father, but because the courts are predisposed to placing children with their mother unless it can be proven she can't handle it. It took 7 years for the courts to recognize what we knew all along. 

In 2010, our youngest child was born. She made five kids between us -- My two sons from my previous marriage, his two children from his previous marriage, and our newborn daughter together. We began raising our daughter full-time and his children on the weekends for visits. 

The details will emerge as I tell you our story, but in August 2014, my husband finally got full legal and physical custody of his children. They are amazing people with lots of potential and an entire collection of baggage. I love them dearly and refer to them as mine. They began living with us when child services removed them from their mother and placed them with us just before Christmas 2013. Their mother is an alcoholic with bi-polar disorder. Both children have ADHD. Our older daughter, 13 now, suffers from anxiety, depression and a sometimes overwhelming desire to cut herself. Our youngest son, now 10, was recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, a condition we are just beginning to learn about.

My husband has been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, often has panic attacks when he leaves the house, and has been on disability for almost two years. I have fibromyalgia and OCD and have been trying to work from home since our youngest daughter, who will be 5 in a couple days, was born. Money is more than tight. We gave up our car and walk or take public transportation everywhere. My husband is collecting a private disability income insurance while we try to get his Social Security Disability in place, but what's coming in isn't quite enough. He sells stuff on eBay for extra money. I recently started a business as a face-painter after being unable to keep up with my workload as an editor. I have a Bachelor's Degree in Business Management but have not been able to leave my family long enough to find work.

I tell you all this, not to garner sympathy or cry 'woe-is-me'. Instead, I want you to understand all the elements that shape who we are as a family. And what it's like to love and be loved in the modern family.