“Lauren isn’t family,” my partner’s kiddo would sometimes say of me. It was a statement rooted in the backdrop of heteronormativity displayed in school, books and TV.
Her mom processed this with her: “What do you think family is?” Thinking hard, “kiddo” answered, “People who live … in the same state?” My partner reminded her of relatives who live out West. “Well, Lauren can’t be family because I don’t call her parents grandma and grandpa.”
I didn’t plan to have children, but I now live with one and have a significant impact on her life. And as many of us know, “family” doesn’t just happen because you live under one roof.
As a queer stepparent with no biological children, I’ve experienced uncertainty around roles and belonging within my family. There is no clear language for my role. I am not a parent in the traditional sense. It took multiple years of living with my partner and her child for me to accept “stepparent” as a convenient label to explain our relationship.
In my therapy office, I help people navigate disconnection and loneliness. I take pride in helping people work through the isolation they feel inside their marriages, families and communities. But for a long time, I found myself asking where — and how — I belonged in my own family.
There is confusion around belonging in many queer and blended families: “What are you to me and what do I call you?” My partner embraced this confusion as an opportunity to teach her kiddo about chosen family and the many other ways humans depend on one another for love, care and survival outside bloodlines. Our family constellation doesn’t have easy labels for this (like aunt, uncle, mom). We are known in this familial inner circle simply by our first names. This means for me that there is no mold to fit into and no script for how to fill this ambiguous role; rather my belonging becomes more of a practice than something that this kiddo, or anyone else, grants me.
Answering ‘Who are you?’
My job as a therapist informed me on what the rather limited research from heteronormative blended families says I’m not supposed to do as a stepparent, or “bonus adult” as I prefer. The general consensus among researchers recommends that stepparents do not take on a full “parenting role,” deferring to the authority and decision-making of the biological or primary parent. Instead stepparents are to focus on relationship-building and negotiating a role over time that works for the adult and child. In short, there is no clear language, no defined role, and constant negotiation internally and externally about what is working and what isn’t, all while supporting an environment suitable for a young, developing human to flourish.
Knowing what I’m generally not supposed to do doesn’t remove the challenge of figuring out just what I am supposed to be in this family system — and that uncertainty stirs a particular kind of discomfort. Being gay, being a part of a blended family, having an ambiguous gender presentation, this requires a risk of rejection that is closer to a guarantee than a risk. “You’re not part of the family” is a natural growing pain for a child, and our society’s obsession with determining family through bloodlines and heteronormative structures is a constant cultural discourse. More imaginative language around our relational and familial roles can create more belonging for those of us living outside the structures of the status quo. It can also allow us to be more expansive in our vision for the world we can collectively create.
In the chaos of school pick-up on a Friday afternoon I see a woman, who I later learn is the principal, hurrying towards me as I greet “kiddo.” “Who are you?” I have many answers to that question but “her stepmom” falls out of my mouth for convenience and simplicity. I can see her wheels turning, as my partner walks up and validates my presence there.
As a queer person, the question of “who are you?” is not a new one for me. I grew up not fitting into the labels and gender boxes offered in the 1990s, learning that I often came with a requirement to explain who I was. (And no, I would not take off my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates hat to put my hair in a pony tail, nor would I trade my baggy jeans and t-shirts for anything in the girls section at Boscov’s). “Stepmom” is not the first identity I would choose, but I understand the importance of these labels to legitimize my place at school pick-up. Without language to explain who we are, the burden of belonging falls entirely on us — perpetually explaining, or being questioned.
From rejection to community
While rejection has always been a principal part of my experience, being queer and part of a blended family has helped me rely less on others to define my belonging. It has taught me to reimagine patriarchal systems of hierarchy and control that have been normalized as a way to relate to children and each other. It has taught me to stay present and calm during moments of awkwardness and rupture, and to let relationships emerge from consistent effort, even when it feels like I may get nothing in return. It’s shown me, through experience, what it means to be a part of a little community that is messy and real.
The lack of examples and resources for queer stepparents highlighted the loneliness I felt in this challenging role. I searched for places that reflected my identity and experiences back to me, but I couldn’t find them. So, in keeping with the tradition of so many queer forebearers, I made something myself: Building Blended Bonds. This is a coaching program and community-building resource for other queer stepparents who don’t have children and are in a relationship with someone who does. The goal is to narrow that gap for queer stepparents and bonus adults, to help us feel less alone in our ambiguous yet vital roles in raising the next generation.
Queer stepparents are far from the only ones experiencing isolation from lack of representation and systems that don’t account for us. The loneliness epidemic in the backdrop of another rise of fascism has brought an urgency to our lack of connection and community. Many of us can see how desperately we need our communities, yet some of us (perhaps especially those of us holding more societal privilege) have grown unaccustomed to eating with neighbors or talking with the clerk at checkout. These events and micro-interactions matter for our sense of belonging and collective heartbeat. If stepparenting and the queer community have taught me anything, it’s that our communities cannot be sustained on convenience and comfort. Instead, real community-building may be asking us to be a bit more open to the sting of rejection and the patience, consistency, and repair that stepparenting has asked of me. The practice of remaining in discomfort without assuming something is “wrong,” and continuing to show up even in sustained ambiguity — this is what community building asks of us.
A commitment to staying
I don’t want to find my way alone, but we need honesty about what building and sustaining community asks of us: staying present through uncertainty, de-centering of self and a tolerance for the deep and prolonged discomfort that can come with relationship-building. The day-to-day realities of authentic community might not be so easily captured in a photo shared on social media. Inconvenience, hard work and relational ruptures and repairs are realities of a community built to last, but don’t tend to captivate an audience. Community, like queerness and stepparenting, may not be something we arrive at through certainty or ease, but something we build together by staying and returning, again and again. It requires showing up even when it doesn’t feel like enough, knowing that new structures are built by many of us with a shared vision, intention and determination for a more connected and liberated future.
Queer stepparenting has shown me the way presence and consistency in the midst of uncertainty and discomfort help to build and sustain this type of authentic community. I am this kiddo’s “bonus adult” — someone committed to staying and showing up in the ambiguity, challenges and gifts of blended family life. I am a co-collaborator in creating connection and belonging in our family and community, learning the patience of building relationships through the recurring cycles of stumbling and repair. There isn’t an easy label for this, nor is there a clear map. But this lack of expectation or certainty has also created the backdrop for expansive imagining of what our family and community can be.
Lauren H. Steele (she/her) is a trauma therapist and co-founder of Pittsburgh Center for Integrative Therapy. She recently founded Building Blended Bonds, an online program for queer stepparents and bonus adults to build community, share resources, and reimagine stepparenting through a queer and liberatory lens rooted in support, joy and freedom.
MOST READ STORIES
Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.
