From the very beginning, I loved the idea of being a stepmom. Honestly, it didn’t scare me off at all. The fact that my husband was already a dad actually made me like him more. I thought it was attractive, the way he cared for his daughter. I’d watch him and think, wow, he’s going to be an amazing dad to our kids one day.
I was almost 31 when we got together, so I knew chances were high the man I’d marry might already have children. And because I’d spent over 10 years working as a nanny, taking care of more than 50 kids from all different backgrounds, I think God had already been preparing me for this. I’d learned how to love kids like they were mine, even though they weren’t. So when I first saw Billie my bonus daughter on FaceTime, I felt that same fierce love come rushing in. She was smart, funny, and those kind eyes… they got me right away.
But let me be honest the idea of being a stepmom is one thing. Living it is something else.
Billie lived in another country, spoke another language, and came from a culture that wasn’t mine. On top of that, she’d had her dad all to herself for almost ten years. And I hadn’t even met her in person before Kim and I got married special circumstances meant she couldn’t come to the wedding.
I’ll never forget the first time we actually met. I had just moved to Belgium to start my new life with Kim. We went to her school to pick her up. My stomach was in knots. When she walked out, it hit me—I was stepping into something big. I thought back to my wedding day, just seven weeks earlier, when I’d written vows for her too. She hadn’t been there, but Kim had read them to her later in Dutch.
As she walked toward us, I felt this mix of pride and fear. Pride because I got to help raise her, fear because I kept asking myself, how do I do this? How do I raise a girl I can’t even talk to? But I didn’t let that stop me. The moment I married her dad, I became part of her world too.
At first, it was hard. She didn’t know English, and I’m someone who never stops talking. I tell stories, I joke, I use way too many words. Suddenly, I had none. So I leaned into action instead. We baked cookies, took walks with my dog, built forts, crafted Harry Potter wands, and had Twilight marathons. She’d stay with us every few days, and Kim made sure she and I always had some time just the two of us. Slowly, we built our own language.
But being a stepmom has this rhythm sometimes you connect deeply, and then she’d go back to her mom’s and return distant, like starting over. It hurt. Kim would remind me not to take it personally. It was tough on her too.
Then came Mason, our son. Billie had always said she didn’t want siblings, but when he was born in March 2020 right at the start of the pandemic she stepped up in ways that made us so proud. Suddenly, she wasn’t the only focus anymore. She had to share her dad, and me, but she did it with grace.
That year Billie lived with us full-time. I was a new wife, a stepmom, and now also a mom to a newborn all while the world was shut down. It stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. There were nights I’d lie awake worrying: How do I support her? How do I help her with school in a language I barely know? Am I enough?
And that’s the thing about stepmotherhood it’s messy. You’re in, but not fully. You love deeply, but you don’t always get the role or voice of a parent. Some days, it feels like you’re on the sidelines. But I never stopped showing up.
Now Billie’s 13. She’s taller than me. We see her half the time, and we’ve had ups and downs. We don’t share the same religion, or style, or opinions on chores. But we do share the same love for her dad, her baby brother, and holidays (we go over the top decorating together). We’ve created this little blend of English, Dutch, and inside jokes that only we understand.
Will our relationship keep changing? Yes. But I’ll always hold space for her in my heart. She’s part of me now. Being a stepmom isn’t easy. It takes love, patience, sacrifice. But I know I was meant to do this. I wouldn’t trade it or her for anything.
