by Brandy Fee

Created on: May 05, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

There is no easy answer, no quick fix, no spell or magick that is going to help you to "get along" with your stepdaughter.

I am a stepdaughter to both a wonderful man and a stunning woman, and I am a stepmother to a beautiful stepdaughter. Neither has been easy.

When I met my husband, eight years ago, and then met his daughter, I knew immediately that I was in trouble. She was eight then, Daddy's girl to the bone, and spoiled rotten. She was hateful, spiteful, manipulative and angry. She was every stepmother's worst nightmare.

And then I laugh.

I was 13 when my second stepfather moved in. I was hateful, manipulative, spiteful and angry. I played him against my mother. I whined and cried, screamed and kicked. I was, after all, there first.

Maranda was there first. Her parents were freshly divorced. She lived with her Mommy, wanted her Daddy. And here I was, stuck right smack in the middle. I instantly became a secondary babysitter, a disciplinarian, arch enemy.

She sat between us, snatched his hand from mine, threw a fit when we kissed. She demanded his time and energy, and ALL of his love. She played us against eachother, caused fights, and basked in the unconditional love her father gave her, knowing he would always take her side.

Oh yes, even at eight, she knew how to turn on the tears and play the poor little girl.

Was I really that bad?

With tears streaming down my face, at midnight, I sat on the edge of my parents' bed and begged for forgiveness for all the horrible things I had said and done. I supposed it was God's way of getting even, and still, it just wasn't fair. I had a new respect for my Stepdad, a new understanding, and a lot of shame over childish actions.

Now, eight years and thousands of fights later, I am able to look at my stepdaughter and see past the terror she was back then. Age changed some of it, I suppose. But I also know that my refusal to give in to her changed most of it.

I refused to be disrespected. I refused to be put aside. I demanded no less than respect, but asked for no more. And suddenly, as if I had just awakened from a bad dream I realized:

We were going shopping together on Saturdays and giggling about the boy she likes at school. She was telling me things she couldn't tell her Mom, and wouldn't tell her Dad. She was asking me for advice, watching me put on makeup, and wearing clothes like mine. She was hugging me at night, calling me her stepmom in public, and introducing me to her friends. She told me she loved me, made me promise

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