I Just Learned the Ugly Truth About Who My Stepmom Really Is. I’m Shattered.

Care and Feeding Photo illustration by Slate. Photo by Getty Images Plus. Sign up for the Slatest to get the most insightful analysis, criticism, and advice out there, delivered to your inbox daily. Care and Feeding is Slate’s parenting advice column. Have a question for Care and Feeding? Submit it here. Dear Care and Feeding, My stepmom is … a lot. She can be kind when she gets her way, but otherwise, she tends to make questionable choices, make enemies easily, and is very judgmental. She is extremely insecure and is likely (undiagnosed) narcissistic and bipolar. She and my dad have two adult kids together. My stepmom worships her son, and she has always been unkind to her daughter. She constantly pitted those kids against each other; as a result, she and her daughter have always had a tumultuous relationship, and her daughter went no-contact with her years ago. Growing up, I lived with my mom, so there was a lot I wasn’t privy to, but I saw and overheard things. My stepmom did a good job of painting her daughter as the villain in their conflicts, and I’m ashamed to say that I bought into it. Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, when I received an email from my stepmom saying that her daughter had filed a restraining order against her, and asked that I submit a statement in support of her. Over the years, I’ve tried to stay out of things that aren’t my business, but the door is open now, and I can’t go back. I’ve talked with my (half) siblings and learned a lot about what has been going on. My head is spinning with all this new information about abuse and lies to and about my sister. It’s also brought up a lot of anger and sadness—sadness for my sister and what she’s had to endure; anger at my stepmom for her actions; anger at my dad for letting this happen. I’m also angry and sad for myself. I’m sad for the relationship I thought I had with my father and stepmother, and I’m angry because I feel like they used me and my family to fill the void that my sister left when she went no-contact with them. I was finally feeling like I mattered to my dad, and even that doesn’t feel real anymore. And I feel guilt because I didn’t believe my sister, and I didn’t trust my instincts when it came to my stepmom. There was always something about her that made me a little uneasy, and I ignored it because I couldn’t pinpoint it, and I suppose because I didn’t want it to be true. I am working through a lot of feelings, and I don’t know if I can have anything to do with that set of parents anymore. Is cutting them off too drastic? Is it better to keep them at arms’ length? —Angry Sister Dear Sister, Cutting them off is too drastic if it feels too drastic to you. I can only guess you’re asking that question because it does. (People who are unambivalent about estranging themselves from family members generally don’t ask this question!) And honestly, I can’t tell if your second question is an extension of the first (i.e., cutting them off equals keeping them at arms’ length, and you’re wondering whether that would be better than sticking with the unhappy status quo) or an alternative to the first (“arms’ length” being a less drastic option than complete estrangement). To me, there is a significant difference between putting some space between yourself and them and cutting them out of your life, and the former is certainly the route I’d take. It keeps the door open a crack while giving you some breathing room as you continue to process what you’ve learned and what you feel. The question you should ask yourself is this one: Do you want a door to remain unlocked—do you want to have some (limited, cautious) contact with them while you try to make sense of your relationship with them—and try to make sense of them? I do think it’s possible to keep them on the margins of your life during this period—to talk infrequently or not at all (let’s say limiting contact to infrequent texts or emails), to skip family gatherings with them or limit them to, say, one a year. But only if you want to. The answer to that question is the one that matters. Please keep questions short (<150 words), and don‘t submit the same question to multiple columns. We are unable to edit or remove questions after publication. Use pseudonyms to maintain anonymity. Your submission may be used in other Slate advice columns and may be edited for publication. Dear Care and Feeding, My entire extended family and I live in a rural, predominantly white Midwestern community. Up until this summer, my son, “Leo,” his wife, “Samara,” and their daughter, “Zara,” lived in the area too. Leo is white and Samara is half Black. Samara is very proud of her African roots. Zara has her father’s looks, and if you didn’t know who her mom was, you would never guess that she has Black ancestry. Zara attended the local public school from preschool until the last school year, when she was in 6th grade. As far as I know, she had a great group of friends. Samara never mentioned or even implied that she wasn’t welcomed in the community. She was involved in many community/school groups. A few weeks ago, Leo and Samara moved several hours away to a larger metropolitan area. From what I have been told, Samara felt that our area wasn’t diverse enough, and that Zara needed to associate with other children of her heritage. Zara is in her first week of school. She called me crying last night. In addition to everything she’s dealing with as an almost 13-year-old in a new school, her mom has decided to style her hair in cornrows, dress her in Black clothing styles, etc. Zara says the Black girls in her new school are making fun of her because she doesn’t look Black and accusing her of “cultural appropriation.” Other kids ignore her because of the way she dresses (she doesn’t fit in with them). Along with the pressure of going from a place with 80 people and where everybody knows everybody to one with close to 1,000 students who are all strangers, this is proving too much for her. Zara begged me, in between sobs, to let her move in with me and my husband so she can be with her lifelong friends again and go to the school she knows and loves. I called my son to tell him about what was happening and Zara’s request. He handed the phone to Samara, who told me Zara will get used to the school—end of discussion. My heart is breaking for my granddaughter. Is there anything I can do other than just be a shoulder for her to cry on? —Daughter-in-Law Wants My Granddaughter to Be Something She Isn’t Dear Isn’t, There are indeed several things you can do for your granddaughter: You can let her vent while you listen quietly, because everyone needs someone to vent to, but you can also make sure not to fan the flames of her current unhappiness. You can assure her that her mother loves her and made this change for her sake, and that although she’s having a rocky adjustment period (they just got there! She has just started school!), she needs to give it a chance. And you can stop undermining her mother, not only because it’s wrong to do so but because the dynamic you attempted to create (or continue?) with her father is an unhealthy, even destructive one, and the last thing Zara needs is conflict between the adults she loves and counts on. More to the point, though: Your daughter-in-law spent years living in an environment that—at best—felt unnatural to her, uncomfortable, and not in her daughter’s best interests. Your assertions about how perfect things were for Zara and her mom when they lived close to you, in a virtually all-white area, and about Zara being white-passing (which is what your description of her appearance boils down to) make it clear that you don’t understand her mother’s point of view at all. It’s past time for you to make an effort to do so. I don’t know why your son’s mixed-race family lived for so long in a “rural, predominantly white Midwestern community”—that is, I don’t know if Samara agreed reluctantly to do this, if Leo felt pressure to remain near you, or if this was an enthusiastic choice (if perhaps it felt right, and good, to live close to Leo’s family while Zara was young) that Samara and Leo now either regret or simply feel has outlived its usefulness—but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Zara’s parents have now decided to live somewhere more diverse. I want you to take the time and effort to understand that choice. And if some of Samara’s actions seem drastic (if, for example, she is forcing Zara to wear her hair in cornrows, or dictating her clothing choices), this is still not for you to judge. The role of a grandparent is not to police their grandchildren’s parenting. (The exception, as should go without saying, is when there is abuse. What you describe is not abusive—I hope you know that.) I would also like you to recognize the “casual” racism—unintentional, even unconscious, as I’m certain it is—in your account of Zara’s experience at her new school, in which you refer to what you clearly mean as “the children who are white” as “other kids,” with its whiff of regular kids, as opposed to those who are Black. It’s important to acknowledge this because it underpins your point of view about the move and bolsters the unfortunate argument that because Zara looks white, it would have been better for her if her parents had kept the status quo. Because not only is that not true, but it is also none of your business and not for you to decide. Ever Gotten a Call From Human Resources? Laura Helmuth and Doree Shafrir want to hear about it—and help you navigate your problems at work. Does your colleague constantly bug you after hours? Has an ill-advised work romance gone awry? Ask us your question here! Dear Care and Feeding, I’m a woman in my early 30s who doesn’t really know what to do with kids, and it’s reaching the point where it’s kind of embarrassing. I am an only child and didn’t grow up with any cousins or other children in my family, so I never dealt with babies/toddlers/children younger than me in my immediate sphere. I even remember a moment in 6th grade when we were supposed to tutor 2nd graders in math, and I floundered because I didn’t know how to speak to 7/8-year-olds (and I was 11!). This wasn’t really a problem in my teen, college, and early professional years, because none of my friends had children, but it’s becoming an issue now that we’re getting older. I live in fear of being asked to hold a baby because I just don’t know how. I’ve always been terrible at baby talk, so I tend to just talk to kids as if they were mini adults (without saying anything inappropriate, obviously), and that seems to go over well enough with the kids themselves, but sometimes the adults tease me about it. When they make fun of me, I end up feeling really self-conscious, which I hate. I don’t currently want kids, but I know that if I ever did have my own baby, I would feel fine figuring things out as I go because it would be my kid. It would probably also be fine if one of my closest friends had a baby, because I could be upfront about not knowing what to do and asking for advice and patience. It’s that gray area of people I’m friendly with but not super-close to who bring their kids around that I don’t know what to do about. I wish they wouldn’t! I don’t dislike their kids, but being around them triggers a weird imposter syndrome feeling that I don’t know how to shake. I’m not even sure what my question is, but any advice would be appreciated. —Little Kids Make Me Nervous Dear Nervous, Personally, I think it’s exactly right to talk to children—and even babies—the same way you talk to adults. I myself never employ baby talk with a human child (I will confess to using it with pets at least part of the time). To each their own, of course (and plenty of people speak in baby talk to their adult partners—that’s how much they like using it), but to me baby talk feels condescending. And the fact is, children do seem to enjoy and appreciate being spoken to as equals. So I’d keep this up. If their parents or other adults who are around “make fun” of you for it, shoot back a confused look and say, “I’m sorry—is it weird/embarrassing/disturbing/ rude/creepy [whatever vibe you’re picking up from them] for me to speak respectfully to your kid?” Or—if this seems too aggressive to you (I’m from New York City, and even after countless years in the Midwest, I am apparently still pretty aggressive in my conversational style)—you might just shrug and say, “I don’t do baby talk.” If they are aggressive enough to demand an explanation, it’s fair to say, “I just don’t” and leave it at that. But I think the advice you need more than this is the assurance that the feeling that everyone else knows something, or is naturally good at something, that one doesn’t/isn’t is virtually universal. There’s nothing wrong with, or weird about, not feeling entirely comfortable around babies and children when you’ve had no previous experience. (It sounds like you’re getting that experience now. Don’t avoid these situations! Learn from them. Every child you’re introduced to offers a new opportunity to practice and get a little bit more comfortable.) And even if after interacting with 100 babies and children, you still don’t feel as at ease as you believe others do and as you wish you did, well, that’s OK. Nobody’s perfect (and nobody is supposed to be). Sometimes all the practice in the world doesn’t make you good at something. That’s not the problem. The problem is feeling bad about it, and you don’t have to. You certainly don’t have to let others try to make you feel bad about it. Meanwhile, keep this in mind: While children are not mini-adults, they are small humans—not another species. Because all of us were once small humans too, we understand them better than we sometimes think we do—if only we let ourselves remember that we were once in their shoes, and one day they will be in ours. In other words: You have more in common with these kids than you suppose. To come full circle, that’s why not using baby talk is perfectly OK, no matter what your acquaintances say. —Michelle More Advice From Slate I was recently asked by a friend to watch her 10-year-old child. I declined because I had a work commitment that day. But I didn’t tell her the truth. Honestly, I don’t want to watch them. They’re not well-behaved when we’re together. They don’t respect boundaries that are set by their parent or myself. They refuse to leave my pets alone, demand access to the TV, and act bratty when they don’t get their way… Advice Family Kids Parenting