As soon as I realized that my mother-in-law had used her spare key to access our home while we were away, I knew that we needed to entirely shut off all communication. Up until the point that he asked our son, who is 12 years old, how he would feel about never seeing Grandma again, my husband assumed I was exaggerating my feelings. When he responded, my husband was rendered speechless.
I used to believe that I was fortunate.
My husband Eric and our son Evan were living in our warm and inviting suburban home, and it felt like a fantasy turned into reality.
In the city center, Eric was employed as an accountant, I was operating my freelance graphic design firm from our home office, and Evan was doing exceptionally well in middle school.
The beautiful moments that made me thankful for our little world included family dinners, movie evenings on the weekends, and other occasions where we spent time together.
After that, there was Dorothy, who was my mother-in-law.
A total of eight years had passed since she had first entered our life. Prior to then, she had been residing in a different city, which was distant from our life.
Initially, I made a sincere effort to cultivate a warm and friendly relationship with her. As a matter of fact, she was Eric’s mother. But Dorothy had her own thoughts and opinions about how things need to be carried out.
It was during her visits that she would say, “You know, Lena,” as she would saunter into our kitchen as if she owned it. “If you organized your spice rack alphabetically, cooking would be so much easier.”
First, she would begin to rearrange things before I had even had a chance to answer.
My response would be, “That’s okay, Dorothy,” while I feigned a smile. “I have my own system.”
“Oh, honey,” she would chuckle to herself. “This isn’t a system. This is chaos.”
I would bring it up later, and Eric would simply shrug his shoulders.
His response would be, “That’s just how Mom is.” “She means well.”
But the spice racks were not the only thing at issue. Dorothy was a person who had opinions on everything.
The manner in which I folded clothing was evaluated by her, and she suggested that I “learn proper techniques” via YouTube. There were times when she would comment on our supermarket selections, expressing her disapproval of organic foods by stating that they were “overpriced nonsense.”
She went so far as to be concerned about the arrangement of our furniture.
She would say, “This couch would look better against the other wall,” while already pushing it before she asked the question.
“We like it here,” I would protest.
“Trust me, dear. I taught interior design principles for 30 years.”
She had not done so. It was in the third grade that she had taught.
I refrained from speaking for a number of years because I was determined to maintain harmony within the family. The process of establishing boundaries with his mother was already difficult enough for Eric, and I didn’t want to make things much more difficult for him.
Nevertheless, Dorothy began to direct her attention onto Evan at that point.
My calm and sweet boy was now 12 years old.
Reading fantasy novels, playing video games, and collecting Pokémon cards were all activities that he enjoyed doing. On top of that, he was courteous and never got into any problems. That, however, does not appear to have been sufficient for his grandma.
“Evan, sweetie,” she would say on visits, “your hair is getting too long. Boys should look neat and tidy.” She used to say this to Evan.
“I like it this way, Grandma,” he would say in a gentle voice.
“Well, I think it’s time for a haircut. Maybe we can convince your mother to take you this week.”
Worst of all was the fact that she purchased him things that he would never wear.
While he favored jeans, he wore formal pants and polo shirts in hues that he would never choose for himself. She smiled triumphantly at them as she offered them her greetings.
She made the proclamation, “Grandma is aware of what looks good on boys who are growing.”
Evan expressed his gratitude to her in a kind manner, but I could see the unease in his eyes. After some time had passed, those garments remained in his closet, untouched.
“Mom,” he murmured to me early in the evening, “do I have to wear the shirt that Grandma bought?”
“Of course not, honey,” I responded to him. “Wear what makes you comfortable.”
However, Dorothy’s remarks were becoming more regular as time went on. His posture, his manners at the table, and even his selection of literature were all subject to her criticism.
She would proclaim, “Fantasy novels are a neurotoxin to the brain.” “He should be reading biographies of successful people.”
I began to dread her visits as a direct consequence of this.
Having her wander throughout our home and making mental notes of everything that she disapproved of was something I did not want to happen. When she was hovering over Evan and giving him unasked-for advice on everything, I did not want to watch her doing things like that.
It was her way of telling him, “You spend far too much time inside.” “When your father was your age, he was outside playing sports.”
Under his breath, Evan would whisper, “I enjoy reading.”
“Reading is fine, but you need balance. Too much sitting makes boys soft.”
Over the course of each visit, I could see Evan becoming a little bit smaller. But it appeared that Eric was unaware of it. It’s also possible that he was aware of it but chose to disregard it.
“She’s just trying to help,” he would remark whenever I brought up my worries. “She raised me, and I turned out fine.”
However, I was no longer entirely certain of that.
On a Friday afternoon inside the month of October, the breaking point occurred.
Several years ago, when Evan was smaller, I had given Dorothy an extra key that she could use in the event of an emergency. “Just in case something happens and you need to get in,” I had already advised her.
During that time period, it appeared to be the responsible approach to take.
The idea that she would use it to let herself in anytime she liked was completely foreign to me.
I had just arrived at the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for dinner when I heard a buzz on my phone. It was Evan sending me a text message.
“Mom, Grandma’s here. She’s messing around in the kitchen again and rearranging everything.”
To Dorothy? My first reaction was that she wasn’t meant to come by today. We did not have any plans in place.
I did not waste any time and drove back home after abandoning my shopping basket. As I came into our driveway, I noticed that Dorothy’s car was parked behind the position that Eric normally occupies. As if she were the owner of the place, she would simply let herself in.
When I came through the front door, I found Dorothy knee-deep in our pantry, tossing cans around and muttering to herself. She was doing this while she was working.
“Dorothy!” I yelled out, making an effort to maintain a steady tone in my voice. “What are you doing here?”
This naive expression of hers appeared on her face as she looked up. “Oh, hello, dear. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to check on Evan.”
“You used your key to get in,” I responded to you. “Without calling first.”
“Well, I knocked, but no one answered. I was worried something might be wrong.”
“Evan was doing homework upstairs and probably had his headphones on,” I informed her of the situation. “Nothing was wrong.”
Dorothy signaled with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Anyway, I’m glad I came. Your pantry is a disaster. I found three expired cans of soup! And don’t get me started on this spice situation.”
I surveyed the entirety of our kitchen. She’d rearranged everything in its place.
In accordance with her specifications, the cans were piled in rows that were perfectly aligned, and the spices were ordered alphabetically.
Her actions went so far as to relocate our coffee mugs to a different cabinet.
“Dorothy, you can’t just come into our house and rearrange things,” I said to her. “This is OUR home.”
In response, she smiled warmly and said, “Oh, I was just checking to see if you had any food that had expired.” “You’re welcome!”
To be honest, I wasn’t buying it. Not any longer.
With this woman, I had broken every rule that I had ever established. My parenting had been ridiculed, my home had been remodeled, and now she was making my kid feel uncomfortable because he was living in his own home.
After Dorothy had departed that evening, I sat Eric down for a serious chat he was looking forward to.
“We need to talk about your mother,” I responded to you.
Eric had a sigh. “What did she do now?”
“She let herself into our house today while I was out. She went through our pantry and rearranged our entire kitchen without permission.”
“She was probably just trying to help.”
“No, Eric. She wasn’t helping. She was invading our privacy. And it’s not just about today. She’s been crossing boundaries for years, and now she’s doing it to Evan, too.”
Eric appeared to be perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“The constant criticism about his hair, clothes, and hobbies. She’s making him uncomfortable in his own home. I want to go no-contact with her. That’s final.”
The eyes of Eric became wider. “No-contact? Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“Is it? She used her emergency key to break into our house, Eric. She went through our food and rearranged our kitchen like she owns the place. When does it end?”
“She’s my mother, Lena. She raised me.”
I said, “And look how that turned out,” and I immediately regretted the words that I had just said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Eric was silent for a considerable amount of time.
At long last, he raised his voice and suggested, “Perhaps you’re exaggerating the situation.” “You know how mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law can be.”
“This isn’t about typical in-law drama, Eric,” I responded to him. “This is about respect and boundaries.”
“Look,” Eric concluded his remarks, “if you really think this is affecting Evan, I’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him how he feels about his grandmother, okay?”
“Promise me you’ll really listen to what he says.”
“I promise.”
When Eric called Evan into the living room the following evening, Evan was there. Although I was close enough to hear them, I remained in the kitchen in an effort to give them some space.
“Hey, buddy,” Eric said in a cordial tone. “Can I ask you something?”
While he was reading his book, which was a heavy fantasy tale that he had been reading for days, Evan looked up. “Sure, Dad.”
“How would you feel if you never saw Grandma again?”
Evan made no hesitating sound. At that moment, he turned his head to face his father and spoke the word “Good.”
After that, he went back to listening to his book as if nothing had occurred.
Eric was dumbfounded and sat in silence. I was able to almost hear him analyzing what he had just learned about the situation.
Eric asked in a low voice, “Are you able to inform me further about that?”
After putting his book down, Evan let out a sigh. “She always tells me my hair is too messy and that I should cut it. She says my books are stupid and that I should read different ones. She buys me clothes I don’t like and gets mad when I don’t wear them.”
“She does all that?”
“Yeah. And she moves everything around in the kitchen when Mom’s not looking. She told me last week that video games make boys lazy and that I should play sports instead.” Evan’s voice was becoming more and more quiet. “She makes me feel like nothing I do is good enough.”
Eric was unable to accept the news.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want to get in trouble. Grandma said good boys don’t complain about their elders.”
I experienced a slight tearing of my heart.
During the time that his grandmother was working to undermine his sense of self-worth, my darling kid had been experiencing pain in silence, attempting to be polite.
I’m sorry, Evan,” Eric whispered. “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t realize how she was making you feel.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“No, it’s not okay. No one should make you feel bad about who you are.”
On that particular evening, Eric discovered me in our bedroom after Evan had gone to bed.
“It’s not just about me, Eric. It’s about Evan, too.”
While he was sitting on the side of the bed, he said, “I know. I see that now.” “I guess I’ve been making excuses for her behavior my whole life. I didn’t realize how it was affecting our son.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We… we go no-contact. You were right. She’s crossed too many lines.”
In the morning of the following day, Eric sent a single text message to his mother.
The message stated, “Mom, we’ve decided we need some space from you. Please respect our boundaries and don’t contact us for a while.”
The response that Dorothy gave was both instant and very spectacular. She continued to call us and send unsolicited texts in which she expressed how “ungrateful” we were. With a trembling voice, she even left a voicemail for us, in which she informed us that this is not the way we are meant to treat her.
On the other hand, Eric blocked her number, and I responded in kind.
Changes were also made to the locks.
Dorothy never expressed regret or remorse. The fact that she had committed any wrongdoing was never acknowledged by her. To tell you the truth, I didn’t anticipate that she would.
After a period of three weeks, I was working in my home office when I overheard Evan laughing with his pals while they were chatting on video conversation.
It had been months since I had last heard him laugh like that.
Once he arrived downstairs that evening, he was wearing one of his favorite t-shirts and his hair was styled in the exact manner that he preferred.
“Mom,” he added with gratitude, “thank you for making Grandma stop coming over.”
“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. I should have done it sooner.”
“I feel like I can breathe again,” he commented in a straightforward manner.
And it was at that moment that I realized we had made the best decision.
When it comes to defending your family, there are instances when you have to establish boundaries that other people may not appreciate. At times, it is necessary to refuse the requests of others who believe they have the right to control your life.
However, the most essential thing to remember is that an honest comment from a child can occasionally help you see something that you have been oblivious to all along.
Now, our home has a sense of tranquility.
Eric has finally realized that being a good son does not mean allowing your mother to trample all over your wife and child. Evan has returned to being the happy and self-assured version of himself.
Still, Dorothy has not expressed her regret. I don’t care about it anymore.
The fact that we changed is the most important thing. The emotional well-being of our son was more important to us than maintaining the peace. And each and every day, I am thankful that we finally paid attention to what he had been trying to convey to us the entire time.
When I eventually unzipped that old leather bag, I discovered something that completely flipped my world upside down. If you enjoyed reading this tale, here is another one that you might find interesting. It was not money or anything else that could hurt you. It was a piece of the past that has never been discussed by my husband, and it was a quiet and painful one. In a way that made the tears that my daughter shed in silence make sense.
