I sat there with my second cup of coffee on a quiet Sunday morning while nearly every muscle in my body ached. We’d spent more than 12 hours painting and pulling up old carpet the day before, and I was feeling the results. I stared out my big window, knowing that the days here in this lovely little house were coming to an end. 

I took another sip of hot coffee, as if its warmth would provide some clarity around the thoughts swirling in my mind. 

The kids were sending those little animoto videos from their dad’s phone as they were all still laying in bed at his house. I’d received a chicken bawking, and jokes about underwear from a unicorn. I realized that those videos were more like what my Sunday mornings would look like in the future. At least half of them. 

I’d be moving as someone who had lived alone for nearly three years, and never with children in the house. Most people begin with bringing a baby home from the hospital. The family all transitions together from immobile infantry to squawking chicken videos. 

I’d be skipping a few levels. I’d skip those transitional years and go straight from silent Sundays to squawking. This didn’t feel like a “cheat code” situation because those levels I missed were important ones. 

I’d like to pretend that I wasn’t afraid of the change. That I had the whole bonus-mom-even-though-I’ve-never-had-my-own-kids thing figured out. I’d love to paint a picture that included the four of us smiling on without any fear. Change of any kind is scary. Change when it involves the well-being of children is even more frightening. 

I was about to move again. Moving in itself is a bit of a trigger for me after 2018/2019. 

We were talking about marriage when we’d both been divorced. 

We were doing a small renovation on an old house. It was nothing compared to other renovations I’d done, but this time, two people’s opinions mattered. I wanted to put the microwave on top of the stand-alone dishwasher and he didn’t. HOW DOES ONE HANDLE THIS LEVEL OF CONFLICT?!

(That’s sarcasm for effect. Except not really.)

On top of all of the other changes and things to figure out, there were two kiddos that would come to inhabit my home. We’d had two great years as we were and the dynamics were changing. We’d have to learn to cohabitate, at the same time that I’d be adjusting to a new way of life altogether. 

I found myself lying awake at night, pondering how to be a mom figure to a pre-teen. All sorts of scenarios ran through my mind like, how do I handle a mouthy teenager? What if they don’t like having a new person in the house? What if they won’t sleep in their own rooms? Will I help with school dropoff or will their dad continue to do it? Which vegetables will they eat without complaint? Do I need to buy real pajamas to sleep in now? What age should they begin to help with chores? If I ask them to help with chores, does that make me an evil stepmom? Should I refer to myself as a bonus mom? Or do we all know that’s like “putting lipstick on a pig?” A bonus mom is still simply a stepmom. 

My mind ran wild as I prepared for the big transitions.

I’d love to have pretended that I am a go-with-the-flow goddess and I’m just not. I need to know where the flow is going, when we’re jumping in, and if there will be snacks. The snacks are important. I’m like sweet Betty White in those old Snickers commercials. 

For the most part, I understood that there would be bumps in the road and a learning curve, and that it would still be mostly ok. I knew that in a year or two, these early worries wouldn’t even be an issue. For a person with anxiety, this does not stop the parade of possibilities that goes through your mind. 

It wasn’t all doom and gloom. It wasn’t a montage of death and destruction. It was a parade of possibilities — both good and bad. For me, images of all options flooded my mind. I saw the potential good and the potential bad. I felt like I must be prepared for both. For the good, I needed to have my camera ready and maybe some craft supplies. For the bad, I needed to have my tender heart protected. I’m constantly working, both physically and mentally, to be ready for both. 

Of course, someone with an anxious mind DOES NOT need you to tell them not to worry. We want people to be understanding and supportive. Telling us to not worry, isn’t helpful. We already know that we shouldn’t worry. It’s just how our brains are wired. Don’t tell your anxiety-ridden friend not to worry. Don’t tell them to just pray about it. Don’t say that it’s all going to be ok or “what will be, will be.” We already know.

What you can say is that even though it’s hard and scary, it will be worth it. You can say that we’re doing a good job. You can remind us that we can do hard things, because we always have. Any combination of these things will work. 

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I will still worry. I worried so much that I didn’t sleep more than two hours on our first night all together in the new house. I still worry incessantly on the night before the kid’s come back to stay with us. What if this isn’t a “good weekend?” What if I don’t have enough food on hand? Have I reserved enough time off work to show up well for them while they’re here? Are their new pajamas clean? Do their socks still fit? 

Maybe eventually I’ll just roll from them not being here to them coming back without as much mental anguish.

Sometimes, I’m jealous of people with traditional families. I’m jealous of moms who bring babies home from hospitals and get to build relationships from the very beginning. I’m jealous of parents whose kids are with them full time. I’m jealous of the grace given to biological parents. I often feel like I get zero grace. I’m not awarded the same level of flexibility as a bio parent. Every misstep matters. I wear myself out trying to avoid them. My reasonable mind understands this difference in standards. My tender heart does not. 

Six months after getting remarried, moving again, changing my entire way of life, and becoming a stepmom — I feel much more at ease than I did when I was preparing for all of these changes initially. I sleep through the night most days and I don’t stare at the ceiling pondering the possibilities quite as much. 

When one considers the good and the bad as much as I do, it seems that reality usually tends to fall somewhere in the middle. Nothing in the last six months has been a cake walk. It also hasn’t been what nightmares are made of. 

Is it possible that the way to navigate these big life changes with an anxious mind is to simply buckle up and ride through it? No amount of overthinking or pre-planning will yield a clearly defined path. While we can consider all of the possibilities, we can’t truly know what to expect. We can’t be fully prepared. 

Instead, it seems that one must prepare for the trip, buckle up, and get on the road. I won’t tell you not to worry. I will tell you to try not to worry and as you do it anyway, rest assured that six months down the road, you’ll be navigating it all more gracefully than you would have imagined. I can’t give you the answers today, but I can give you
encouragement and hope. 

Even though it’s hard and scary, it will be worth it. You’re doing a good job. You can do hard things, because you always have. Buckle up and let’s go.