This client is a stepmom who wanted to write a memoir-like book about the challenges of being a stepparent . . . and how she’s sometimes failed to meet them. We had regular conversations about the ups and downs of her journey, what she wished she’d been told before getting married, and what she’d tell a friend who was about to become a stepmom. Her book is light-hearted and fun, written in her signature humorous style.

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Buckle your seatbelt and come on a little mental ride with me.

Imagine you’re on vacation at some lame tourist attraction, and you see a cute family.

You’re eavesdropping on their conversation about where to go for dinner. The dad suggests, “How about we go for pizza?” and the kids’ eyes all light up. If they were puppies, they’d be wagging their tails and yapping. The little one might be chasing his tail in a circle.

You almost speak up and say, “But I don’t like pizza and we had it yesterday,” and then stop yourself. Why should you get a say?

Then you remind yourself . . . Wait, this is my family! I get a say in where we go!

If you’re a stepparent, you’ve been on this ride. Actually, I’d say everyone’s been on this ride. It can happen with full bio-families, new friend groups, established friend groups, and pretty much anybody you spend time with. It’s so easy to people-please and try to make everyone else happy at the expense of yourself, even if it leaves you feeling like an outsider—which stepparents already do. You feel like this unwanted, extraneous limb, and it’s scary to speak up and treat yourself like a valid voice at the table. It takes a certain level of self-respect that a lot of us, sadly, aren’t raised to have.

I have to admit, I let it get to me sometimes. It’s easier not to speak up. But that’s a recipe for resentment.

The pizza thing happened to me. The kids were excited about pizza (again), and I was sooo tempted to just keep my mouth shut and tag along. Who was I to disrupt this cute family’s happiness? I could choke down a slice or two of pepperoni (with the pepperoni pulled off). Maybe there would be breadsticks. I’d regret filling up on carbs, but I did like that garlic butter dip stuff . . .

Hey, no, this was my family! I knew they liked plenty of food that wasn’t pizza.

I stomped down that squeamish self-conscious part of myself that was afraid of being an intruder. I was not going to force down gross, greasy pizza with a nasty side helping of resentment that would stew in my gut for the rest of the day. I said, “We just had pizza yesterday! And I hate pizza, let’s not do it two days in a row. Let’s get burgers today.”

I waited for everyone to look at me like, What are you even doing here, lady?

Instead, the boys' excitement immediately shifted from “Yay pizza!” to “Yay burgers! With cheese! And bacon! And french fries!” So off we went to get burgers.

In stepfamilies, as in life, people are probably not going to go out of their way to get your opinion, save you a seat, or invite you to play. If you’re going to act like an insecure wallflower, you better become good friends with that wall. You just have to get in there and speak up. Start playing. Share your opinion. Fortune favors the bold, baby!

Think about kids running around on a playground, all playing together. When a newcomer shows up, the new kid doesn’t ask if he can play, too. He hops right in there. Pretty soon he’s failing to climb the wrong way up the slide along with a few other kids. You are that newcomer, and those dorks failing to climb up the slide are your stepfamily.

If you wait too long to say something or get involved, you won’t do it. Your brain will hijack the situation. It’ll have you second-guessing yourself, saying you don’t feel like it, you’ll do it later, you’re too overwhelmed, nobody wants you here anyway, yada yada. So the moment you have an impulse to speak up, you have five seconds to actually do it (that’s what Mel Robbins taught me).

Not receiving an invitation doesn’t mean you’re not welcome. The moment you have the impulse to get involved, squash those whiny slacker impulses and just get in there!

I’ve gotten better about involving myself over the years.

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