THE KALEIDOSCOPE EFFECT
I stood at the altar next to my husband-to-be and said, “I do,” not fully comprehending that I was also saying “I do” to two ex-wives and three stepchildren, the youngest of which was 5 years old. Although I was 31, I knew little about being a wife and even less about being a stepmother. But I loved Bill and willingly accepted the circumstances, confident I’d figure it out along the way.
Days after our honeymoon, my husband’s second wife called, insisting Brené, the youngest, spend part of her summer with us. “We can do that,” Bill said without hesitation.
Bam! Just like that, the honeymoon was over. My wedding day confidence nose-dived, and my stomach shifted uneasily as I suddenly faced the reality of an ex-wife’s demands on our lives.
“You okay with this, Sweetheart?” Bill asked after the fact.
“Sure,” I said cheerfully, keeping the frustration and disappointment from my voice. “I want you to have a relationship with your daughter.” I readied our spare bedroom for Brené, shoving aside my feelings of resentment towards Bill’s ex-wife while contemplating how to establish a relationship with Brené.
The next day, Bill and I picked up Brené. She was an energetic, petite little girl complete with blonde pigtails and was as bubbly as a flute of pink champagne. My heart melted as she placed her tiny hand in mine, allowing me to escort her to our car. During her visit, Brené and I spent lots of time together, feeding ducks at the park, making cupcakes for her daddy, and giggling while watching kiddie movies. She was the daughter I couldn’t conceive, and my heart was so full of love for her, I thought it would explode. Despite that love, I reminded myself that Brené wasn’t my daughter, hoping she’d accept me as a mother figure in her life.
During her following visits, Brené acted lovingly and was comfortable in my company, but by Christmas her attitude and behavior towards me shifted. “You can’t tell me what to do!” she shrieked, her childhood lips and chin trembling.
I froze momentarily, trying to decipher the fear on her face. “Brené,” I said softly, regaining my composure, “don’t you want to go to the Christmas party?”
“No!” she replied, fiercely shaking her head. “You can’t make me. Mommy says so.” She stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
“Let me talk with her,” Bill said. “She’s probably just tired.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, emerging moments later cradling a teary-eyed Brené. “We’re not going to the Christmas party,” he said curtly. “It seems as if Shannon has filled Brené’s head with the notion that you’re like the evil stepmother in Cinderella. Now she’s afraid of you.”
“What? Why would Shannon do such a thing?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I’ll talk with her,” Bill answered, his eyes blazing with anger.
The following day, Bill confronted Shannon. “Why did you tell Brené that Sara’s like the evil stepmother in Cinderella? What an awful thing to say!”
“That’s what Sara gets for stealing my daughter from me!”
“Sara doesn’t want to steal Brené from you.”
“Yes she does!” Shannon shouted, her face reddening. “You just don’t see her for the wicked person she is.”
“What?” His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “Why would you think such a dreadful thing?”
“Well, all I know is that every time Brené visits you, all she talks about is ‘Sara and I did this. Sara and I did that.’ Sara can’t have her own children, so she wants mine. No one can be Brené’s mother but me.”
“You’re crazy,” Bill snapped back, putting Shannon on the defensive.
Hoping to diffuse the situation I turned toward Shannon. “You make a valid point. Perhaps I was overzealous, but I certainly wasn’t ill-intentioned. I just wanted Brené to feel welcome in our home. I never intended to infringe on your relationship with Brené. I apologize.”
“I don’t believe you, not for a second. You’re evil!” Shannon’s lips twisted with scorn. “No one gets to be Brené’s mother but me. No one! I’ll see to that! Now both of you get out of my house!”
As we scurried toward the front door, Brené stopped us, “Daddy, when will I see you and Sara again?”
Bill collected himself and knelt down, looking directly into Brené’s eyes. “That’s up to your mother. She’ll call us when you’re ready to visit.”
“I’ll be ready very soon!” Delight rang in her voice.
I choked back the tears, feeling as if I was somehow responsible for Shannon’s outrage. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” Bill assured me. “Try not to fret about it. We’ll work with the situation as best we can.”
Shannon eventually called, and Brené visited with us regularly throughout her childhood and teen years. Not wanting to be further misconstrued, I spent little time alone with Brené. But the evil stepmother label was firmly planted in Brené’s mind, and any hopes I had of having a relationship with her had been vanquished. “You’ve always been and always will be the evil stepmother,” were the words that frequently flew from Brené’s mouth. Even now, some 35 years later, those same hurtful words fly from her mouth when I don’t meet her expectations or demands.
For years I blamed Shannon for the shattered relationship between Brené and me, harboring disdain and contempt toward her for villainizing and diminishing me. I saw Shannon as the enemy, and I was her helpless victim. The dark side of me wanted to lash out at her and exact some form of revenge, making it impossible for Brené to see her father. But I just couldn’t be that ruthless. Being vengeful would’ve hurt Bill’s relationship with his daughter and only worsened the situation.
I decided to step back and look at the situation in a different light. Shannon was playing an illogical story inside her head, one which she truly believed. With that false narrative, I was the villain she feared would destroy her mother-daughter relationship, and she had no option but to villainize and diminish me in order to protect that relationship. She creatively used her fear to place a wedge between Brené and me while at the same time striking out at me and her ex-husband. Oddly, that same fear became the heart of their mother-daughter dynamic. By adulthood, Brené had too much vested interest in the story she’d been fed that she couldn’t let go of the evil stepmother label for fear of losing her relationship with her mother.
Although I couldn’t change or influence the situation, I understood it better. With that understanding, my perspective shifted in much the same way patterns shift in a kaleidoscope when it’s held to the light and the cylinder’s turned. Something new was created in me—a feeling of compassion and forgiveness for Shannon and Brené. The shift from feeling like an angry victim to being a compassionate and forgiving person was profound. Shannon and Brené were no longer my enemy, only frightened, fragile, and flawed women. More importantly, I realized that we’re all a kaleidoscope of complicated intricacies—thousands of different facets of light and dark yearning to be understood.
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