The Woman I Swore I'd Never Love

Stepmothers! Stepmonsters Who Become Stepmoms…  August 16, 2015

The word "stepmother" alone carries mystery. For every soul who has one or is one there’s a unique story behind it. This is mine: how I acquired a stepmother... and how she acquired her first (step) daughter me.

My parents divorced when I was 7 years old.

Their time together is mostly a blur. I remember my mom always being sad, and my dad always working trying to provide. From age 7 to 12, I lived out of a suitcase one week with my mom, the next with my dad. It was exhausting. Just when I’d settle in, it was time to leave again. And the contrast between their homes couldn’t have been more different.

My mom was strong and independent. She left the marriage to find herself and show me how to be bold, brave, and unbreakable. Her life was ruled by structure, goals, and expectations.

My dad? He cared for me in softer ways he cooked, cleaned, worked hard, and loved me with a goofiness that made me feel safe. But the back-and-forth schedule left me unsettled, even when we tried longer visits.

At 13, I moved in with my dad full time. He made me laugh, let me make my own mistakes, and celebrated the weird and wild road I took to find myself. He was my hero. Still is. Then came the girlfriends. My dad had been single for a while and started dating again while I had found my first boyfriend. It was a weird balance, but it worked for a while. I’d accidentally meet his “dates” when I’d stop home unexpectedly. Cue the floozies. Barely dressed, fidgety, obviously embarrassed. I’d shoot them dirty looks like “Get out of my house.” My dad worked at our family nightclub, and I had zero respect for the barflies I felt were trying to steal him.

At that time, I was focused on music. I’d always loved to sing from my toddler record player to Madonna-style dance moves in front of the mirror. My dad signed me up with a vocal coach, but I hated it. One night, while he was cooking, my dad had that look. Goofy grin, weird energy. “I met someone,” he said. “She sings. She’s beautiful. She can be your new vocal coach.” I was curious… until he said, “She sings Tejano.”  I laughed, “I don’t even speak Spanish!”

Still, I was skeptical. After everything his relationship with my mom and a disaster girlfriend after I didn’t trust women around him. I didn’t want to lose my dad.

Her name was Cathy Chavez. She sang at our nightclub with big names like Emilio, Selena, and Mazz. That weekend, he said, “You’ll meet her.” So naturally, I panicked. That Friday, my boyfriend gave me my first hickey. I tried hiding it embarrassed and ashamed. A few days later, I met Cathy. She seemed nice. I watched her closely, pretending I wasn’t. After a day out, we dropped her off, and later that night, my dad snapped. “What’s on your neck?!” Busted. I was mortified. And all I could think was, that bitch told him. I was furious. If she was really concerned, she should’ve come to me, I vented to my aunt. But my dad? He kept seeing her.

At some point, I was hospitalized for depression. My dad panicked and tried to reunite with my mom hoping it might “fix” things. It didn’t. And everyone was left with trust issues. When Cathy came back around, I overheard her upset, venting about my mom. I exploded. She didn’t know my mom only my dad’s version. And no matter what, she was my mom. I stormed outside, crying and angry. Cathy followed. She apologized. I saw sincerity in her eyes but I didn’t want it. At school, I vented to anyone who’d listen about how awful she was. If my dad picked her up, I’d claim my seat next to him so she couldn’t. When she asked to sit by him, I said no. She turned around and walked back into her house. I was glad. But then I saw my dad’s face defeated, devastated and it gutted me. I slid over. He was being torn between two women he loved deeply: her and me. He kept promising me he wouldn’t marry her until I was grown. He wanted me to try to see what he saw. But I couldn’t. I didn’t trust her. I didn’t want to.

I threw myself into high school life friends, my boyfriend, music. But when graduation came around, wedding plans were in full swing. May: I graduate. June: I turn 18. August: they’re getting married. I was furious. Four years later and we still didn’t like each other why would that ever change? I ran away.

Me, My dad, Cathy and my grandparents

I left my long-time boyfriend my one steady support and dove into a dangerous new world. I surrounded myself with gangs, violence, and chaos. I replaced my family with broken people, because I felt broken too. That’s when I met Victor. We started dating… and then he died by suicide in July.

I moved in with people doing drugs, drinking, partying. I wore black bandanas and ran with gang members. I didn’t belong there but I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere else. The week of my dad’s wedding, I was arrested for burglary and possession of weapons. Someone had shoved a gun into my purse. My dad bailed me out. He was livid. He yelled the entire ride home. And then at my grandmother’s, he looked me in the eye and asked softly, “Why?” I told him the truth: Because you’re marrying her. And then he broke down. “Michele… I’ve been alone a long time. I just want someone to share life with. Someone good. Someone real. I promised I’d wait until you were grown. Cathy’s not like the others. I swear.” He said, “If you can’t give me your blessing, I won’t do it. You’re my daughter.” We both cried. I gave him my blessing. And I sobbed through the entire wedding.

Mark 1:14 — "The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news."

To change your heart, you must completely re-orient your perspective. It wasn’t until four years later, when my baby brother Daniel was born, that something changed. I walked into the hospital room… and there was Cathy, holding my newborn brother. I didn’t look at her. I looked at him. My little brother.

So innocent. So perfect. He looked like me. Like my dad. Like us. And then… I looked at her. And I didn’t see an enemy. I saw a woman filled with peace. I saw love. And I thought, How could I not love the woman who brought this baby into the world? That was the moment. The miracle. My heart changed.

My story changed. Now?

My little brother Daniel, Me, and my daughter Marisa

I see her love my children with that same fierce motherly spirit.

She has my dad’s humor. She’s blunt, honest, and real just like me. She doesn’t fake her hellos. And if she gives you one, it’s because you earned it. She brings out the best in my dad.

She’s stood by me through adulthood,

always trying to understand me, always helping my dad understand me too. I didn’t lose a hero when my dad got married. I gained one. It didn’t happen overnight. It took maturity. Growth. Grace. And choosing to stop looking for what was wrong and start appreciating all that was right.

A stepmother isn’t always easy to love.

But love is always the answer. And when you truly love someone, you want the people they love to be happy too. So Cathy… Thank you for loving him. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for becoming so much more than just a “stepmother.”