Letter to my step-daughter

Well, this sure isn't an easy one to write, but it's been on my mind a long time. Here goes: 

Granted, it may be as many as 20 years since we've seen each other, and technically, you're not my step-daughter now. It's been more years than that since your dad and I split and you and I only saw each other a few times after that.

But that doesn't mean I haven't thought of you often. I have. You played a significant role in my life. You're 30-something now. Older than I was when we last saw each other.

So much water under that proverbial bridge.

You were eight when we met at the beach house in White Rock. Sandcastle weekend. Your dad and I reconnected the year before, and by then we were pretty enamored with each other. We'd met and dated briefly a few years earlier; we liked each other, but the distance was too much the first time around.

To be clear, there's more I could say than can or should be included in a blog post like this, but this feels like a necessary step.

It seemed like destiny.

When your dad and I got married, I was happy you were my step-daughter. I didn't have children, and you were funny, creative, sweet and smart. You lived with your mom but we liked spending time together, even though it wasn't often.

A lot happened during the years our lives were interconnected. But I want you to know that, despite all that proverbial water, you were family and I cared deeply for you. I still do, although to say I know you, or even know much about you, would be untrue. But I knew you during a formative time.

I'm glad we reconnected, even if just on Facebook (thanks for the friend request!). I'm sorry it was your loss that made it possible, but when I heard, I set aside previous hesitations to contact you, because I know what it's like to lose a mom too soon.

I was close to your age when I lost my mom. We were both too young to say goodbye; their lives were short. But I don't think the similarities stopped there. My relationship with my mom was complicated, despite how much we loved each other. That's why I sent a note to you...  I think yours was, too. And it tugged my heartstrings.

But even that isn't why I'm writing this.

There's this thing about completion...  

...about things unfinished. And I've felt unfinished with you. Early on, I felt sad, guilty, confused, concerned. Reconnecting brought some of that back up. I'm fortunate to have a life I'm truly grateful for, but there are things I've wanted to say, and never forgot.

The last time we saw each other was a year or two after you moved back to your mom's. You were living in Kamloops, so I drove up to visit you. You were busy with friends, though, as any self respecting 16-year-old would be, so we didn't have much time together. Instead I tagged along with your mom to the local bar, and left early the next day. I didn't try to contact you after that. I learned you moved back to your dad's after a couple years, and finished high school in the city. Reaching out really didn't make sense then.

That said, the point of this is...


...this post is about us, and that last year together.

Frankly, there were a lot of "shouldn't be's" during that year you lived with us. By then, you were 14 and looking for trouble--that's why you came to live with us. Ideally, you wouldn't find trouble, and trouble wouldn't find you, under the guidance of me and your dad.

Hindsight being that rear-view mirror, I saw later that it was pretty much a no-win for both you and me. Your dad was largely absent, working 16-hour days at least part of that year. I landed the role of stand-in guardian, rule-setter, school conduit, curfew enforcer, wicked step-mom, the bitch from hell... a few choice words you didn't shy away from saying. As the adult, I won't deny some of the accusations were earned; that's part of a parent's job, but... I wasn't your parent, and I overstepped (more on that later). You were rebellious, indignant and misbehaved, asserting your independence, no matter the conversations about honesty and consequences.

When you moved back to your mom's after the school year ended, our marriage went from bad to worse. While I would never say or believe you caused our break up, I'm certain that disastrous year, including my behavior, hastened it.

Those first years on my own required some intense soul searching on my part. I loved your dad. I thought we'd grow old together, together for life. I was devastated when I learned that wasn't to be; even on our last day together, he said he still loved me and we were family.

But neither of us had healthy role models for how to be in a relationship, nor how to parent. So I have a confession of sorts, and this wouldn't be worth writing if I wasn't completely honest...

First, I'm sorry. 

There were times I didn't show up as a skilled adult. I don't fault myself, but I'll own it.

So... 

At 14, terrible things happened to me. I wasn't fully aware of it then, but that history colored my experience with you. You were so grown up, or wanted to be, but you were still a kid. I was a child at 14, but I would have been really pissed off had anyone said that to me. You would have been, too. But your presence in such close proximity made me see my 14-year-old self as the child I was, not yet capable of adult decisions, nor the experience to understand consequences, and very much in need of boundaries and protection.

I'm not proud of my teenage self. Yet I have come to understand why I made the choices I did. Sometimes I'm sad about that. Unsupervised, I was a party girl, desperately looking for love and acceptance, afraid to say no, unaware that was even an option. I found myself in some precarious situations, some of which I couldn't get out of, some which caused me harm. There wasn't much I wouldn't do or try as I unconsciously sought that connection and affection. My friends were my family; you said the same of yours.

So, part of me wanted to protect you. Another part was scared--for you and for me. You reminded me of me. Except, by the time you hit your teens, the drugs were scarier, the consequences greater, and men and boys still dangerous. A lot of my friends didn't make it out; I was lucky. I didn't want anything bad to happen to you, or to me, or to us.

I wanted you to have a better experience. 

For much of our time together, I can say unequivocally I tried to be fair. Tried to tie actions with consequences. Tried to help you have a better life and give you tools and resources you weren't getting elsewhere. Tools and resources I hadn't had either, but in hindsight knew they'd have made a difference.

But it shouldn't have been me. 
That wasn't my job. 

Nothing worked. I felt threatened by your behavior and scared I could lose what I thought I had, and my actions reflected that. My early years were hard, but after many painful lessons, and a lot of self-reflection and conscious effort to do differently, I grew and changed. I felt like with your dad, I finally had something good.

I was afraid of losing that. 

After you went home, you got in trouble with your mom within a week, and your dad brought you back. I think that may have been my last straw. My coping skills disintegrated. My fear got the best of me. That year was a terrible time for all of us. I won't sugarcoat it; it challenged me on practically every level. That year -- and you -- left an imprint. I think I did a lot right, but I admit to being ashamed of my own behavior at times. Overall, I felt like I'd failed us both. I don't blame either of us. And I don't regret it. That year, our divorce, and what happened both before and after taught me more about myself, and relationships, that I couldn't learn any other way. I'm grateful for that.

But I've wondered about you. I have hoped for all things good for you. I'm sure you're still funny, creative and smart. From the outside looking in, you have a good life. And you got there on your own, with all the life lessons you gained along your journey.

Through it all, that's all I really wanted for you.