We came home from our trip abroad feeling like a family. DH and I were concerned that SS hadn't been part of the experience but, in the end, it didn't matter. SS is very sociable and embraces social connection, and he jumped into family activites. SD, like my own DD, is naturally more reserved and takes longer to let her guard down. SD was now living closer to us, with her own mom, and SS was still away at school. After being away at school for 4 years, SD and her mom were figuring out how to live together again and there was conflict. Nothing over the top. Just mother and daughter stuff. But sometimes when SD shared her frustrations, her level of distress seemed extreme.

I've had a front row seat to clinical depression my whole life. My own mother was horribly depressed and it wasn't properly and consistently addressed with medication until she was in her 50s. I was diagnosed with depression myself, after having DD, and have been on medication ever since. I'm very open with people about my struggles. Mostly because, when I tell people, they're shocked and say things like "you don't seem like someone with depression". It's an opportunity to educate people about mental illness and the effectiveness of proper treatment.  I think I'm very emotionally mature and have a great deal of insight into my own thoughts and feelings. As long as I'm medicated. When I wasn't medicated, I was irritable, inpatient, and overly sensitive to the criticisms and perceived criticisms of others. And that's what I started to see in my SD. She listened, agreed to try medication, and had some success. But, like so many people, she struggled with the idea of "needing" medication and frequently stopped taking it "just to see". One day, she came for dinner and told us about a fight with her mom. She was crying uncontrollably. So I asked her why she wasn't taking her medication. She looked surprised and asked how I knew. I told her it was simple, the situation she was talking about was upsetting but not upsetting enough to generate the level of her distress and that this disconnect was a classic sign of depression. Particularly when we'd now seen periods where her emotional regulation was much more in keeping with the situation. She listened, and agreed to keep taking her medication.
 

In 2014, SD moved in with us (things were okay with her mom, but she registered to take a post graduate course that was closer to us and she would save a lot of commuting in high traffic times). It was my idea and my offer. We had a spare room that was being used as an office and could easily convert it to her bedroom. I bought her a bed and dresser, and asked her to pick paint colours. DH thought painting the room was too much, it had been painted only a few years earlier. I disagreed. I didn't want SD to feel like a guest. I wanted her to feel like she was at home. I remembered my teenaged self consoling my friend when she told me that she slept on the couch when she visited her dad and SM, but only if the SM's kids were also visiting. She could have a bed only when their absence made one available. When I explained it that way, DH understood and was grateful for my thoughtfulness. He painted the room in SD's chosen colours and she moved in. The only real rules were "everyone who lives in this house, takes their prescribed medication" and "everyone who lives here votes in provincial and federal elections". (I have a thing about people taking their right to vote for granted). I've never been a big rule maker. I follow Barbara Coloroso's framework of "I need to be involved if what you're doing is dangerous, immoral, or illegal". I'm not a micromanager by any stretch and I'm not hung up on the outward signs of "successful children". My expectation for them has always been for them to be good people. I don't tolerate meanness or greed. I don't care what their grades are, I care if they if they put forth their best effort. And I don't care if they're the "best" at anything. I don't care if their rooms are messy. When I'm proud of them, I tell them. When they've made bad decisions, I don't save them and I don't prop them up. DH and his ex did it very differently. They had their children young, and DH and I now joke that they parented by checklist. Meaning a list of things that "good parents" do. Make your kids do chores. Check. Make your kids join teams. Check. Fill your kids with positive feedback (whether they've earned it or not). Check. Make your kids the best. Check.  
 

By the time SD moved in, we knew that we parented differently. But we weren't too concerned about it because (1) he was the stricter parent and wasn't responsible for parenting my children and (2) the age difference in our children meant that the expectations were naturally different. And for the most part, we were right not to worry. We all lived pretty peacefully together. And my love for my SD grew. So much.