I wholeheartedly view my stepsons as my own children. When I began dating their father, they were just 8 and 12. Over the past decade, we’ve navigated a shared custody arrangement that had them spending one week with us and the next with their mother. Throughout their formative years, I’ve been there for school carpools, lunch preparations, and even held back on crafting those Pinterest-worthy projects when the guidelines clearly stated they should be student-driven. I sacrificed workdays to care for them when they were under the weather, took them to guitar lessons, baseball practices, and organized birthday celebrations. In every sense, I was their mother.
And I still am. I acknowledge their biological mother, who plays an essential role in their lives, and I am not here to replace her. She is 100% their mom. My relationship with the boys exists alongside hers, not in opposition to it.
When I married their father, I anticipated that his ex-wife might voice her thoughts about my role as a stepmom. What I didn’t foresee was the reactions from others around us. One day, while picking up homework for Henry—who was sick with the flu—the school receptionist asked, “Whose mom are you?” I replied, “I’m Henry’s.” Just then, the principal interrupted, declaring, “She’s Henry’s stepmother, not his mother.” It struck me as odd; I hadn’t intended to assert myself as his mom; I simply answered the question posed.
The boys and I had one brief conversation about what they wanted to call me. Henry decided he had too many people with “J” names in his life and suggested I be called “Pmessica.” Given its similarity to PMS, I found it oddly fitting, as I can certainly relate.
Today, as the boys are now 20 and 24, they still refer to me as Pmessica. Friends, family, and even their peers know me by that name. I introduce myself as their stepmother, and depending on the context, they might refer to me as their stepmom or even mom.
At Little League games, when Henry’s friends queried, “Are you Henry’s mom?” I would confidently respond, “Yes, I’m Henry’s stepmom, and his mom is right over there.” Children grasped this duality effortlessly and only paused to ask if I could open their drinks. Why can’t adults seem to comprehend this?
Interestingly, I find that people don’t generally mind my involvement with the boys; they commend my affection for them. However, the moment I claim the title of “mother,” it becomes a discussion point. It’s all about semantics to many; “mother” denotes one role, while “stepmother” suggests a lesser status.
If I had walked into the school with a pet and called myself its mom, no one would bat an eye. Yet, labeling myself as a mother to my stepson sparked a defensive reaction. I recognize that being a stepmother is different from being a biological mother, just as fatherhood differs from motherhood, but at the end of the day, we are all parents. For those of us deeply involved in our stepchildren’s lives, stepparenting is, indeed, a form of parenting.
This belief even cost me a pilot deal for a television show. During a pitch about our blended family, I stated, “stepparenting is parenting.” The reaction from a female executive, also a mother, was immediate—she became visibly uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact for the remainder of our discussion. While another network eventually picked up our show, they insisted on including a scene featuring the boys’ biological mother, fearing that audiences would view her negatively if she didn’t appear in a significant role.
I decided to leave the project after filming the pilot. A male executive with no parenting experience later expressed his disapproval of my challenge to the note regarding the mother’s presence on screen. I found it quite patronizing that he assumed viewers would think less of their mom for trusting me to care for her children.
Recently, my husband and I welcomed our youngest son, Luke, into our family through adoption. Although I am not his biological mother, no one contests my role when I call him my son. My responsibilities for him differ from those I had for my older stepsons, yet my love for all three boys is unwavering. They are my children, and regardless of what title you use for me, I am their mother.
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In summary, love knows no labels. Whether as a stepmother or a mother, my commitment to my children remains the same. Embracing our unique family structure has been a rewarding journey, and my identity as their mom is one I cherish deeply.
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