In 2001, at the age of 29, I married far too quickly. I’ve mentioned this before, but it was a train wreck before we even really got going. Filled with mistrust and lies, I married anyway, despite my gut feeling that this was not something I should do. I’ve since learned to heavily lean into the gut feeling, for good or bad. I now know this gut feeling was the Holy Spirit holding up many red flags. So many flags!

Months earlier, I had broken off an engagement, also due to lies and mistrust (seems to be the going trend in the choosing of guys), and married on the rebound. I’ll own it. I was in my 20s and not smart. I was feeling “behind” in terms of marrying, as most of my friends were married by this time. These are the WORST reasons to get married, but I did it anyway. Completely ignored my gut feelings and marched down that aisle.

I married a man with 3 children, ages 12, 11, and 8. Their story isn’t mine to tell, but I can say these little gems didn’t live anywhere near us or even in our state. Shortly after we married, I insisted we move two states away to be near the kids. I couldn’t understand how a father would live so far from his children. While this should have been a red flag, the excuses seemed plausible. Being a “remote” parent is sometimes unavoidable; in this case, debatable.

Five months into marriage and a move, I was immediately launched into a step-parenting scene that I was not prepared for. Gen-X raised by Boomer parents, I parented in the only way I knew, and that was the way I was raised. Authoritarian was the way to go, or so I thought, which is a whole other story.

We had a split custody deal. Three weekends a month and every Wednesday. I didn’t have enough emotional maturity at the time to consider how, after several years of these kids having no split custody arrangement due to their dad living so far away (and not knowing me), how difficult this could have been for them.

Their dad wasn’t super involved in decision-making or their care. The majority of it fell on me, and as the years progressed, feelings of resentment grew as I was parenting alone. There was no clarity in roles, and in reflection, my feelings about this were multi-layered and best left for a therapist.

When the “Little Kids” came along. The youngest of the oldest “Big Kids” was 12 years old. By the time the youngest of my Little Kids came along, the oldest Big Kid was 20 years old. If your math is mathing, that’s a lot of years between kids. Blending a family comes with its own challenges; however, for me, there were thankfully few. The Bigs love the Littles. The Littles love the Bigs. The differences I see now are how the Bigs and the Littles were parented so differently. The experiences the Bigs had are not the same as the Littles.

In 2017, after 15 plus years of marriage, on the brink of divorce, one of my considerations was my step-children. While it wouldn’t have stopped me from leaving their dad, I was terrified that I would lose them. The thought of them choosing sides was not outside the realm of possibilities, and those three phone calls were some of the most difficult I’ve ever made. One of my former sisters-in-law said to me, “In 2 years, you’ll lose those kids (the Bigs) and it will be your doing.”

Thankfully, gratefully, that did not come to fruition. All my Big Kids are now in their 30s. My relationships with them are completely separate from those of their dad. As time has gone on, I’ve had to unpack and apologize for some things from their younger years, as most parents do, or should.

This is a big anniversary year with the Big Kids. Twenty-five years of them being patient with me while I figured out parenting, loved me through leaving their dad, and loving me still as their step-mom/mom/not even legally their mom…mom.