It wasn’t always like this. Lord, it wasn’t. The road to the relationship I have with Ashley today was anything but easy. Ashley is my husband’s ex-wife and the mother of my stepchildren, and when I first entered their lives, our connection was defined by animosity.
I understood that Ashley had every right to be protective of her children she is their mother, after all. But I also knew I didn’t want to take her place. I wasn’t their mommy; I was just Deanna, not even their dad’s girlfriend yet.
I was simply a friend, someone learning to navigate the complicated terrain of loving a man with a past and children who had two mothers in their lives. Could I handle the challenges that came with that? I wasn’t convinced I could.
Our story began online. I was a 34-year-old, never-married teacher in central Kansas, and I had a habit of dating the wrong men, so when Brent reached out, I assumed he was just another passing distraction.
He was recently divorced, living in western Kansas, with two children under the age of five. Yet the more we talked, the more similarities we discovered down to our hometowns, our college experiences, even being in the same building on the same floor on 9/11. It all seemed too perfect, and I knew there had to be a catch: his “volatile” ex-wife.
Meeting Ashley for the first time was… tense. “Met” might even be too generous a word. Our first encounter nearly ended in a full-blown argument, and for months afterward, our interactions were riddled with passive-aggressive texts, heated phone calls, and constant friction.
Each of us believed we were taking the high road, while simultaneously feeling resentful that the other wasn’t. Anxiety and nausea accompanied even brief exchanges, and sometimes it felt impossible to see past the bitterness that had taken root in our hearts.
I would often tell Brent, “I can’t do this anymore!” and yet, we kept going, primarily for the kids, though I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time.
For nearly three years, we struggled to coexist. There were moments of regression, but slowly we learned a vital lesson: speaking ill of one another in front of the children only caused harm. Our son, wise beyond his years, would remind us, “Mommy and Deanna, I love you both, and it hurts me when you say bad things.”
Those words stung, and they marked the turning point. The bitterness that had once consumed me gradually began to loosen its grip, and through prayer, reflection, and a willingness to forgive, I started releasing my anger toward Ashley.
She, too, began to soften, realizing that our children wanted only happiness and harmony between the adults in their lives.
Over time, our relationship transformed. We matured, grew, and learned to function as a united team, not just for the children, but for ourselves. Now, six years after we first met, we buy gifts for one another for birthdays, holidays, and Mother’s Day.
We attend each other’s weddings, celebrate birthdays, and coordinate family events together. Our blended family shares milestones, laughter, and everyday moments, and while we don’t always agree on everything, we work together to find solutions.
The labels mom, stepmom, dad, stepdad don’t matter. We are a family, stitched together by love, mutual respect, and the shared desire to give our children stability and joy. When I asked Ashley if I could write our story, she agreed wholeheartedly. She wanted honesty, and I wanted to honor that.
Looking back now, I realize how far we’ve come. It wasn’t always like this, but it will always be like this from now on. We’ve built something rare: a family that functions not despite challenges, but because we chose compassion, patience, and forgiveness. If we can do this, anyone can. Miracles do happen and sometimes, all you have to do is ask for one.
