When The Girlfriend Moves In

When I took the kids to Texas at the beginning of the summer, my daughter was telling family and friends that daddy’s girlfriend is moving in. She wasn’t telling me. I already knew. Grant and I had talked it to death. The entire family unit has been in therapy together, and separately, for years now. And we’re all doing this to the best of our ability, the “right way.”

But as I watched June share this news with family, I couldn’t help but catch her doing something I haven’t stopped thinking about.

She was watching their faces. Gauging the room. Reading the adults around her to figure out how she was supposed to feel about it. She’s seven. That’s what you do when you are seven. You don’t have your own reaction yet, so you borrow everyone else’s. Thankfully, my family had positive reactions. But here’s what stopped me cold: I’m 43, and I had been doing the exact same thing.

(There is an audio version of this at the bottom of the post)

When I sit alone with all of this change and newness, and it’s just me and my own heart, most days I feel really good about it. I honestly think at this point it’s great for the kids. She loves them. It’s nice for them to have a warm female figure around their dad’s house and I honestly like her. Listen, we don’t have to be best friends for me to like her.

Don’t get me wrong: this last year has been one of the hardest years of my life. I’ve gone through extreme waves of guilt, grief, frustration and anger. I have snap reactions to my ex over small requests like taking his girlfriend to dinner on a Sunday with the kids. I can’t help but let the mama bear in me fully take over at times, and it has been a year of growing pains in many ways. It’s also been a year of growth. I look back now feeling very proud of the resilience I have built.

I think one of the hardest parts is navigating how to manage the opinions and words of others, and not letting outside friends and family influence me off holding my ground. It’s only when I start talking to other people that it starts to feel like it’s supposed to be hard. It’s definitely not always easy. But it doesn’t have to feel so hard, and I’m starting to think the hard part was never really mine.

Let me explain what I mean. When people find out, there’s a look. You know the one. The head tilts, the voice drops half an octave, and someone asks, “But how are you really?” with a hand on my arm like they’re checking me for a pulse. They’re not being unkind. They’re being generous. They’re handing me a script.

And the script is very clear about how this is supposed to go. A new woman is moving into my children’s home. I’m supposed to feel replaced. Territorial. Quietly devastated behind a brave face. Even if this is all something I chose, it’s still a whole new role written for me here, and everyone keeps offering me their take on what this should look and feel like. Even though deep down I feel okay about it, when I see and hear other people’s reaction, it really tips me off my center.