“Family” means Tolerated, not Loved

New Partners Navigating Ex Dynamics

One of the most painful and confusing experiences for a new partner in a blended family is seeing the ex treated like part of the family — warmly greeted, hugged, and included in gatherings. It can feel like a silent betrayal, a sign that the ex is somehow more accepted or even liked than you. But here’s a vital truth that’s often overlooked:

Family members often don’t like each other much — they tolerate one another and keep things civil.

This applies just as much to the ex as to anyone else in the family. Being “still family” and treated amicably doesn’t mean the ex is beloved or genuinely liked. In fact, beneath those smiles and polite greetings, many family members may be gossiping, holding grudges, or simply enduring the relationship because it has to be that way.

The reality behind the warmth

Family dynamics are rarely simple or purely affectionate. Especially in complex or blended families, the bonds aren’t always warm — they are often practical and strategic. The ex, particularly if they are co-parenting a child, holds a permanent place in the family structure. That means:
The family has to maintain civility, even if feelings are mixed or negative.

Smiles and hugs are often social “lubricants” — ways to avoid conflict in shared spaces.

Underneath, there can be

unresolved tension, criticism, or even outright dislike.

So when you see your partner’s family acting friendly toward the ex, it’s not necessarily because they prefer her or think she’s “better” than you. It’s usually because they’re navigating a delicate balance, choosing to tolerate and keep peace — especially when children are involved.

Why this matters for new partners:

Understanding this dynamic can be deeply reassuring. It helps you:
Stop personalizing the friendliness. Their civility isn’t about you losing ground; it’s about managing a complicated family situation.

See the bigger picture. Everyone in the family is juggling difficult feelings and obligations, not just you.
Build patience and perspective. Recognize that family warmth is often about endurance, not enjoyment.

What new partners can do:

Communicate openly with your partner. Share your feelings and seek reassurance about your place in the family.
Set personal boundaries. Protect your emotional wellbeing by managing how much time you spend in difficult family situations.
Find support outside the family. Build your own circle that values and affirms you.
Remember: Family unity doesn’t require liking everyone. It’s often about tolerating and coexisting.
Seeing the ex treated as “still family” is hard, but it doesn’t mean she’s truly liked or that your relationship is less valued. It means the family is doing what families often do: keeping it civil, tolerating discomfort, and holding the fragile fabric of connection together — even when hearts aren’t fully in it.

Your in-laws and blended families. Why do they act like this?

The “Loyalty Gap” perception

The Politeness–Loyalty Clash: Why friendly gestures toward someone you dislike can sting so much

1. The clash between feelings and behaviour

Inside: You dislike (or even strongly disapprove of) this person because of how they’ve treated someone you love — or, in some cases, you yourself.

Outside: You still behave politely, maybe even warmly, when you meet them.

That mismatch — acting friendly toward someone you inwardly dislike — can feel jarring. Your mind goes:

“Wait… aren’t we supposed to be enemies here?”

When you’re the one doing it, you know the reasons: the kids are around, you’re in public, you just want to keep the peace.

When you’re watching someone else do it, you don’t hear that inner monologue — you only see the smiles, the body language, the hug. And humans are wired to read warmth in behaviour as warmth in feeling.

2. Why we do it anyway

Even when dislike runs deep, several human instincts and practical reasons keep us civil:

Social harmony instincts – In close communities, hostility poisons the group. Politeness is a “lubricant” to keep things functional.

Strategic co-existence – In blended families or co-parenting setups, civility is often tactical.

Emotional compartmentalisation – You can box up your dislike for five minutes in public.

Empathy creep – Face-to-face interaction can soften your tone even if your mind says “nope.”

3. Why it can feel hypocritical or hurtful

From the outside, friendliness toward someone who’s caused pain can look like disloyalty.

We expect those close to us to visibly share our stance — to mirror our dislike as proof of solidarity.

When that doesn’t happen, it can feel like a defection, even if they’re still privately aligned with us.

4. When the disliked person is an ex (or almost)

This feeling intensifies in romantic-family contexts.

If the person being greeted warmly is your partner’s ex — or, as in some cases, a casual hookup who became the mother of your partner’s child — you’re not just dealing with general dislike. You’re dealing with:

Boundary sensitivity – They are a living reminder of your partner’s intimate past.

Family loyalty expectations – You want your partner’s family to “close ranks” around you, the current partner.

Status tension – They may be treated like long-standing family while you’re still the “new addition,” even after years.

5. The high-conflict co-parent twist

If she’s not just an ex but a permanent high-conflict presence in your life, the dynamic is even sharper:

She undermines your relationship or fuels hostility toward it.

She’s still greeted with warmth — smiles, hugs — by your partner’s family.

You are kept at a polite distance in comparison.

To you, that warmth feels like a reward for bad behaviour.

To them, it may be a tactic — a way to keep the peace for the child’s sake, avoid open conflict, and keep family events bearable.

6. Why it doesn’t fade with time

Seven years in, you might expect that friendliness to her would have cooled and your own place would be solidified.

When it hasn’t, it can create a sense of perpetual limbo — you’re the committed partner privately validated by your spouse, but not fully mirrored in the family’s public interactions.

7. The cognitive dissonance at the heart of it

Cognitive dissonance happens when:

1. You hold a belief (“She’s bad for our family / she’s hostile to me”).

2. You act (or others act) in a way that doesn’t match that belief (smiling, hugging, chatting).

We resolve that tension by:

Avoiding the person,

Softening our beliefs, or

Compartmentalising (“This is just for show, it doesn’t mean anything”).

In short:

You and your partner’s family might both be doing the same thing — showing civility to someone disliked — but your perspectives differ.

For them, it’s social damage control.

For you, it’s a breach of loyalty.

The pain comes from the perspective gap:

Inside the moment, warmth can be strategic.

Outside the moment, warmth looks like allegiance.

And when the person receiving it is a high-conflict co-parent with entrenched family ties, that gap can feel like a canyon.

Your in-laws and blended families. Why do they behave like this?

Performing Authenticity

The art of fake effortlessness

When perfection is a performance disguised as authenticity.

Some performances aren’t really about what you do — they’re about making it look as though you didn’t do anything at all.

We’ve all seen it. The “I woke up like this” beauty, whose supposedly casual glow is the result of hours of careful hair, makeup, and outfit planning. The trick lies in the illusion of ease — the effort hidden so completely that only the result remains: natural, authentic, effortless.

And then there’s the other, more subtle act: the perfect blended family.

They present like the classic nuclear ideal — two devoted parents, happy children, and the proud mantra that “there are no steps in our family.” Smiling family photos, perfectly harmonious holidays, and declarations of unity that sound beautifully uncomplicated.

But beneath the polished exterior lies something else entirely: careful emotional choreography, relentless self-monitoring, and a constant, unspoken pressure to prove that this family is just like any other — or perhaps even better.

Different worlds, same playbook:

The Performance of Authenticity

Both rely on a simple formula — a structure of performance designed to appear spontaneous.

1. The work happens in private

The “effortless” woman spends an hour perfecting her artfully messy bun.

The stepparent rehearses affectionate greetings, selects words with surgical precision, and forces smiles through difficult days. Family photos are staged with military precision; holidays are orchestrated for harmony; and the word “step” quietly disappears from everyone’s vocabulary. No one must ever hint that any of it takes work.

2. The work is concealed

What the world sees is not the labour — only the seamless final act.

3. The result is sold as natural

“I’m just like this” replaces “I worked at this.”

The beauty insists, “I barely did anything.”

The stepparent smiles, “It’s exactly the same as any other family.”

The performance is complete.

Why the Illusion Works

We live in a culture that prizes what looks innate. Natural beauty seems more enviable than skillfully applied make-up. Love that “just happens” feels purer than love that’s been consciously built.

When effort is hidden, the performer gains moral credit as well as aesthetic advantage: I’m not just good — I’m good without trying.

This quiet sleight of hand turns something deeply human — work, patience, growth — into something shameful, something to be erased.

The Stepchild Example

Consider a stepparent who doesn’t instantly feel love for their partner’s child. They want to, perhaps even expect to, but emotion doesn’t follow command.

So they begin to perform love until it feels real.

They monitor every hug to ensure it looks warm enough.

They measure every word for signs of tension or distance.

They post cheerful, tightly framed photos online — proof of harmony, proof of success.

They study the child’s likes and dislikes to appear instinctively attentive.

Behind the scenes, this is exhausting work: emotional regulation, constant vigilance, and a fragile balancing act between authenticity and expectation.

In public, however, it becomes a story:

“We love them just like our own. It’s completely natural.”

That gap — between the unseen labour and the presented image — is where the façade lives.

The Cult of the Perfect Parent

Those striving to achieve the illusion of the flawless, unified family soon learn that the performance extends far beyond themselves. Every action, every tone of voice, every minor interaction becomes a test — and someone is always watching.

The biological parent, desperate to maintain the image of the perfect unit, often becomes hyper-vigilant. Every gesture their partner makes towards the child is scrutinised for signs of imperfection.

A friendly relationship isn’t enough. A trusted adult isn’t enough. Even a kind, consistent presence isn’t enough.

Only a seamless replica of a “real parent” will do.

Anything less — any sign of hesitation, distance, or emotional difference — threatens the illusion. The stepparent must perform not as themselves, but as a carbon copy of the biological role: identical affection, identical authority, identical language. The unspoken rule is clear — if it isn’t indistinguishable, it isn’t love.

In this dynamic, authenticity becomes dangerous. Real feelings — even gentle ambivalence, uncertainty, or fatigue — must be hidden. The biological parent polices tone and reaction, the stepparent polices their own emotions, and the child senses the tension that no photograph can disguise.

It’s not a family at all; it’s a theatre production about what a “real” family should look like. The audience — friends, relatives, the outside world — must never see the script. 

The Truth Behind the Façade

Real connection, like real beauty, does require effort. The lie isn’t in the striving — it’s in pretending that the striving never happened.

The “fake effortless” act doesn’t celebrate love, or beauty, or unity. It celebrates the ability to conceal the labour that made them possible.

And that’s why it’s so seductive — and so deeply misleading.

I love my stepchild as my own.

Acting like a real parent