My stepmother grew up in a home marked by abusive alcoholism, and I suspect she may have had borderline personality disorder. When George and I moved into her house, I was eleven, and he was eight. The memory that stands out most from that day is her explosive anger and emotional outbursts.

Our dad had never told her—the woman he married and had two children with—that he also had two adopted children.

After living with our elderly Italian grandparents for two years, he had no choice but to bring us to her house; there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere else he would let us go. My dad, being very non-confrontational, never intervened or insisted that Dotti change.

Unlike what you might expect, the physical aggression, such as hitting and throwing things, did not decrease as we got older. Her possessive attachment to her own two sons and her micromanagement of my father and her sons persisted until I left at 17. I got married at 17 to escape, but I soon found myself in a state of culture shock, leaving me feeling deeply anxious, lost, and insecure.

I’d always excused my stepmother’s behavior, understanding her difficult upbringing shaped it. I also forgave my dad for never addressing her actions, even though he had long acknowledged that he believed she was wrong.

For a long time, I lost my ability to forgive her for what happened when I was fifteen. I could recall every detail.

I always struggled with Dotti because she was abusive to both George and me. She would sometimes lock me in a hall closet for hours and insult us daily, constantly making us feel ‘less than.’ She always had something mean to say about our mother. I remember her sitting on George and slapping him, and I would do my best to pull her off even though she was nearly 6 feet tall while I was only 5’3″. When our father wasn’t home, she took food away from us.

One afternoon, while doing my homework in the living room, Dotti started yelling at me from the kitchen. When I ignored her, it only fueled her anger.

She stormed into the room, demanding I come closer, as she always wanted me within arm’s reach. As I moved across the room, she grabbed me by the neck and shoved me into a chair in a fit of rage. Then, she grabbed a pillow and pressed it over my head, shouting about how fed up she was with me.

She held the pillow down for about 15 seconds, during which I couldn’t breathe and began to cry. Even when she realized what she was doing, she didn’t stop.

She said, ‘It’s time for you to go.’

At that moment, I began praying. I had a vision of my mother and could hear her voice, though the words were unclear. A sense of calm washed over me, and I stopped crying. I imagined a golden thread reaching me from her, and I held onto it with all my strength.

I heard a knock at the door and the doorbell ringing.

It was Sharon, my best friend, and Steve, my boyfriend. They later told me they had a feeling something was wrong.

They came into the house, pushed Dotti off me, grabbed my arm, and we all ran out the door. We headed straight to El Camino Hospital, where I used a payphone to call the police. Interestingly, Dotti had already called them, claiming that Sharon and Steve had assaulted her and reporting me as a runaway.

When the police arrived, they asked us to meet them in front of the house.

The officers had been to our home many times before. As I spoke with them, I broke down in tears. Inside the house, another officer spoke with Dotti and asked her to get my dad on the phone. My father had moved out and lived in an apartment then. The officer wanted me to go inside and talk to my dad on the phone, but I was too scared.

He reassured me that I would be safe, so they had Dotti go to the back bedroom while I took the call in the kitchen. I begged my dad to come and get me and George, but he refused. Even after the officer explained what had happened, my dad said he didn’t believe it.

Remembering the smothering incident has clarified many aspects of my life today, such as my aversion to anything covering my face, my discomfort with anything tight around my neck, and my unease with putting my face underwater.

I had an unstable and abusive stepmother. Once I left home, I cut off all communication with her, except in cases of absolute necessity, like a family death.

After years of deep reflection and quality therapy, I became much happier, more capable, confident, and stable.

Life improved significantly without her in it.

I found it almost impossible to forgive my stepmother for her anger toward me when I was a child, and I resented my dad for not doing more to protect George and me.

My stepmother’s actions went beyond impulsivity and became malicious.

I struggled to navigate many aspects of life because I grew up without a mother.

After three marriages and divorces, a therapist helped me realize something important: for me, getting married was about finally having the family I always longed for.

From that point on, whenever I failed to create that perfect, magical life, a part of me saw it as a failure to achieve an unrealistic, unattainable ideal.

The question then became, how could I nurture and care for myself in a way I never received from a mother? How could I provide myself with the kind of mothering I never had?

After being single for twenty-five years, I’ve found myself more grounded in reality, connected to what is genuine.

When we wear that mask and hide our true selves, we endlessly strive to correct wrongs that can never be made right, receive the love that can never be given, and create perfect lives and families to defy the traumas of our past. Marriage is one such way to do this—so be cautious. Be wary of getting married for symbolic reasons.

The desire to marry for me was loaded with other unmet desires, leading me to realize, after the fact, that my marriage was more symbolic than real.

What’s the harm?

The danger is that behind your marriage; there might always be the shadow of an unattainable ideal, mocking you from a place of unreality.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t get married, but I want to remind you of its symbolic weight. Remember, getting married to have a family or raise children is no longer necessary. While it’s still the norm, many people choose otherwise. Stay grounded. Stand firm in your reality.