When My Mother Met My Stepfather, I Questioned Love

When my mother met my stepfather, they were very much in love.

A few months into their relationship I asked her whether she loved him or me the most. This question came out of a child’s naivety and innocence but also fear and uncertainty. We were sitting in the car together, the three of us, driving back from his place to ours. I think I knew my mother’s new boyfriend was here to stay. This question could have been a warning sign, or at least something to be concerned about. I had just lost my biological father, and I was afraid to lose my mother to this man. I don’t think anybody was concerned at that moment. My stepfather assured me that my mother would always love me more than him. He was still the good guy back then, they were in love, he answered for her when she remained silent. She still hasn’t answered my question, and she doesn’t have to anymore. She has decided, by remaining silent once again. I haven’t heard from my mother in seven weeks. That is the longest time in my life we haven’t talked. At first, I was relieved, her constant calls and texts felt like a cage I was forced to return to every two days, or sometimes several times a day. A few months ago, I stopped answering her calls. I had to prepare myself mentally to be able to talk to her. I would usually text her and lie about being busy at the moment and schedule for the next day. I tried to be honest with her and tell her that her calls, out of the blue, were putting me under a lot of pressure and I would feel better if I was under the control of when we were talking. All my mother heard was that I was intentionally rejecting her calls and texts. Unable to feel empathetic, she reacted like a teenager, texted me 20 question and exclamation marks and telling me that she would NEVER ignore my calls. It is very ironic, actually, because she has been ignoring all my calls, my calls for help when feeling completely desperate, my calls for understanding and acceptance, my calls for attention. She ignored all of them. And now she has given up on me; she has chosen him over me.

I had to prepare myself mentally to be able to talk to her. I would usually text her and lie about being busy at the moment.

Last August, my biological father died. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in 13 years, he existed only as a ghost from my past that would haunt me every now and then. It was another out of the blue call. I didn’t answer and texted her to ask what was up. She replied “I need to talk to you.” I had the same feeling as a few weeks before when she called to tell me my grandfather had died. I called her and she told me that a letter had arrived at my grandmother’s house and she started reading it to me. It was from the funeral home, addressed to me, informing me about my father’s death and asking to pay the bills for his burial. I stopped breathing and I couldn’t think, but her voice kept on going. There was no “I’m sorry for your loss” or “How are you feeling? Can I do anything for you?” For the next hour, she kept on complaining about how bad her marriage was, what an asshole he was, how hard it all was for her. I played along and acted as if I didn’t care that my father had died even though I knew I missed my chance to talk to him again, that I would never see him again and could never ask him if he had ever loved me. I could never find out if we had anything in common. Maybe he had been feeling just as lonely as I was? Maybe he had missed me? After we hung up I started crying bitter tears. I looked into the mirror and tried to find something in my face that was my father, but I felt as if a part of me had just died. I was so far apart from my mother as never before. I was mourning my father, mourning the idea of him, and the fact that so many questions will remain unanswered forever.

I played along and acted as if I didn’t care that my father had died even though I knew I missed my chance to talk to him again, that I would never see him again and could never ask him if he had ever loved me.

I cried because the only father I had left was my stepfather. She had no idea of all of this, she has never asked me how I was feeling about his death. She would only pressure me into finding out if I have inherited money from him (even though I am adopted) and would therefore have excuses to call me. To this day, I feel completely overwhelmed with all of this, and I am receiving letters about my heritage which I am unable to answer. I feel like I have spent more time with my dead father than when he was still alive. He was my father; I am his daughter. I wish I could have been there for him. I know he never cared for me; I know he was an alcoholic. I know he doesn’t deserve my love. His absence has caused me pain and feelings of anxiety that I will never be able to cast off. But his ghost will always stay with me, and in a way that I can’t really explain, he also makes me stronger.

He was my father; I am his daughter. I wish I could have been there for him.

I decided that I will not let my mother be a part of my life any longer. She wasn’t interested anyway and I wouldn’t feel bad about that anymore. I didn’t want to pretend I’m tough any longer, but I figured that with her, I always have to. I can never be my true self when I am near her, but there is nothing I am more desperate for than finally being my true self. I am the daughter that mourns her father’s death, I am the daughter who doesn’t want to talk to her mother, who hates her mother for staying in that marriage. I am a woman who has been in therapy for three years and who doesn’t want to hide it. I am a student, a teacher, a babysitter, a musician, a friend, a dancer, a bookworm, a clown. I am broken, but I am also loved. I can be none of these things when I am talking to my mother. She makes me feel small and ashamed for what happened to me. She blames me for my feelings, as if I am feeling a certain way to hurt her. It might be the hardest thing I will ever have to do in my life but I will finally accept her silence. It is her decision, her life and her marriage. It is time for me to leave it all behind.