Growing up, I pitied the evil stepmother. From Snow White to Cinderella, fairy tales and movies, the stepmother was branded with a bad reputation. Even though her history was often a story of suffering, grief, and abandonment, she was vilified taking on all the glorious attributes of her wicked behaviors. Often, she was an older women, sometimes a mother, and sometimes not. She may have been a widow or an ambitious, childless female, hungry for power and wealth. She was a home wrecker, a whore, and sometimes a sorceress who sold her soul for her own personal gain. Incapable of being loved for who she was, she resorted to trickery, seduction, witchcraft or magic to lure the innocent and unassuming father into her web. Except for Carol Brady, the loving matriarch from The Brady Bunch—biological mother to three girls, and stepmother to three boys, she embodied the all or nothing, full-in mother that most women aspire to be, or view as an unattainable dream. However, the first Mrs. Brady was dead, so it was an easy story line to sell during a time when divorce was an infrequent occurrence.
I have a confession to make. I started blogging over a year ago to find my voice. To unload and dump all the words in my brain that have been eating tiny holes into the fiber of my being for decades. My creative outlet. I have filled pages, some published and others collecting cyber dust in unopened files, on an irregular basis. I nervously submitted one piece to a local publication and it was accepted. As I wait to see my words in print, I am still trying to figure me out. Like a blimp banner across my subconscious, the question, who do you "think" you are paralyzes me, instead of answering the question of who are you really.