I had heard stories about mothers-in-law who were hard to get along with, but I thought mine would be different. I thought Daniel and I would have a respectful and understanding relationship when we got married. This was especially true since I loved her son and wanted to be a part of their family. However, the last few years have been harder than I thought they would be.
It all began small. Some remarks here and there about how I set up the furniture in my home or how I decorated for the holidays. Things I ignored because they were just my view. They weren’t really safe, though. She seemed to be telling me that this house was never really mine, no matter what.
Then the famous statement came out.
Daniel had asked her to come over for dinner one Friday night as part of our efforts to get to know her better. Things were going pretty well. I was putting food on plates while she leaned against the bar and told me about her most recent weekend trip.
Then, out of the blue, she said, “Thank you for making this place feel like home for my son.”
It hurt like a cold stone when I heard those words. “Your son?” I said it again with a fake laugh. “You mean… our house.”
The way she smiled made me feel like a kid who was being spoiled. “Of course,” I said. But you know what? He made it all possible.
I had a frown on my face. “Our group bought this house.” We both put in a lot of work to keep it going.
She snubbed him with her hand. “Oh, honey, I know.” I only meant that he was in charge of it. After all, men are naturally good at taking care of others.
Even though I was angry, I kept my cool and didn’t say anything that I knew would make things worse. Daniel was setting the table in the other room and didn’t notice that things were getting tense in the kitchen.
I tried to get rid of it. I tried to tell myself that the way she thought was just… old-fashioned. She might have believed those things since she was a child and couldn’t help but say them. When she was done, she said something that really upset me.
She spoke in a low voice as if we were keeping a secret, “You know, dear.” “Because it’s really Daniel’s house, I was hoping you’d let me have some say in how things are set up.” Really, just a few things. For example, you could rearrange the furniture in the living room or change the look of the guest bedroom.
What I heard made no sense to me. It seemed like she wanted me to step aside so she could make my house feel more like the home she had dreamed of for her son. Like I was just a renter living in his place.
When I replied, I was polite but firm. “Thanks for your thoughts, but Daniel and I make those choices together.” I believe we did a great job making this our home and a place where we feel at ease.
Even though she changed the subject and made a sound that didn’t mean anything, I could tell in her eyes that she wasn’t done. The rest of dinner was tense. I tried to keep a nice smile on my face while Daniel and his mother talked, Daniel not realizing that the cold war was going on right next to him.
When she got home that night, I told Daniel about it. He was smart to listen and agree with her that what she said was wrong. But, as he had done many times before, he told me to wait. To understand that his mom had her own ways and didn’t always mean to hurt him.
But how many times did I have to miss her comments before it was clear that she wasn’t saying them by accident? How long could I act like what she said didn’t hurt me?
The worst part was that it wasn’t over yet. Over the next few weeks, her wishes got crazier and crazier. She asked for the house keys because “family shouldn’t need permission to visit,” and she told me to “leave the cooking to her” when the family got together because Daniel liked the way she made things.
My anger slowly built up inside me. I cared about Daniel, but I was starting to wonder if liking him meant giving up my own happiness and claim on the life we were making together. The worst part was that I could see that his mother would keep pushing my limits unless I did something.
But the question was: How far was I ready to go to get my own house back?
The last straw was when Daniel and I were watching a movie together on the couch one Sunday afternoon. When his phone rang, he frowned and looked at the screen.
He stood up to answer and said, “It’s Mom.”
I let out a sigh and tensed up. I was looking forward to her calls less and less.
“Hey, Mom,” he said with a smile. “What’s going on?”
He didn’t say anything while she talked. His eyebrows got closer together and his lips got a little more open in surprise. He finally let out a blank laugh. “What?”
He put the phone on speaker without telling me, and all of a sudden I heard her voice. It was sharp and demanding. “It only makes sense for me to have my own room if I’m going to be spending so much time there,” she said. Something that makes me feel like it’s mine. I can even help decor it again. You know I like nice things.
I was shocked as I looked at the phone. Did she really want her own room in our house? As if she lived there permanently? Daniel was about to shut her up by telling her how silly her request was, so I looked at him.
Instead, he looked at me with eyes that were filled with confusion and helplessness. It was like he was pleading with me to tell him what to do.
That’s when I knew. It wasn’t just a fight with his mom. It was hard for me to find my place in our marriage.
Daniel didn’t say anything, so I just stared at him. Anything.
He moved around uncomfortably on the couch and looked back and forth between me and the phone like a kid whose parents are fighting. His uncertainty made me even more angry.
My voice was calm and low as I told Daniel, “This is our home.” Mine and yours. It’s also rude for her to ask for her own room here, as if she has a stake in it.
The tips of his ears turned red as he scratched his neck. “I get it, but I think she didn’t mean it that way.” You know how she is—always so dramatic.
“Strange? Daniel, it seems like she wants to be a part of our lives as if it were her own. The worst part is that you’re defending her.
His mom’s voice cut in, protective and sharp, while the phone was still on speaker. “Excuse me?” I only meant to make things easier for everyone, sweetheart. I only want to be a part of the family, after all. I wouldn’t be here all the time; I’d only come when I need to feel at ease.
I made fists. Her words hit me like a slap for being so rude. “No, you want a piece of our life,” I said. I’m not going to stand for it.
Daniel put out his hand. “All right, let’s take a deep breath. Mom, I think you might be going too far here. “It’s not possible for you to have your own room here.”
At least he was standing up to her this time, but his tone was still unsure. It was clear that it wasn’t enough.
His mother let out a big sigh. “I see.” That’s the way it is. “I’m not an important person in my son’s life.”
Before Daniel could answer, I said, “You are a guest in our home.” “You’re welcome here, but you can’t make this your own.” It doesn’t work that way.
After that, there was a thick, bitter quiet. It was so close to being possible to feel her anger through the phone. She finally said, “I guess I should give you two some space.” Maybe I was wrong to think I could be a part of it.
The call was over at that point.
Daniel looked at the phone with a guilty and angry look on his face. “You didn’t need to be so mean.”
“Harsh?” My voice went up in shock. “Daniel, she keeps pushing, and you keep letting her.” “When is enough enough?”
He put his torn face rubbed together. “Just… I don’t want to make her feel bad.
“How about mine?” I didn’t mean for the words to be so harsh, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Does it matter how I feel?”
He slouched his shoulders. “Of course they do.” Just… “I don’t know how to deal with her.”
It was cold in the room. I stood up because I felt like I needed air and room. “Well, Daniel, maybe it’s time you learned.”
His eyes were on my back, but I didn’t want to turn around. I walked away. I didn’t want to cry, because I wasn’t sure I could stop myself.
When I woke up the next morning, my eyes were swollen and I had a headache that felt like it was stuck behind my temples. Daniel tried to talk to me before bed, but I told him not to. I needed some space. Clarity.
As I made coffee in the kitchen, I looked through my phone without thinking about it. The events of the night before were still fresh in my mind. That’s when I saw that Daniel’s mom had left a message and a missed call.
As I hit play, I felt both interest and fear at the same time.
“Hello, dear,” she said in a fake-sweet voice that made me almost gag. “I am sorry if my words last night were taken the wrong way. You know, I just want to be a part of it. To really feel like I’m family. If that’s too much for you, I guess I’ll just have to get used to being shut out.
I.a. manipulative. It’s so completely manipulative. I was so sick of it.
Daniel walked into the kitchen with bags under his eyes and a mess of hair. “Hey.”
I put my phone up. “Your mom sent me a message.”
He writhed. “I can picture how that went.”
“What do you think, Daniel?” I’m done. I’ve had enough of being nice and walking on eggshells. It’s up to you if you want to keep letting her cross lines. But I won’t let her keep making our relationship worse.
He took a swallow, and his Adam’s apple moved around uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
“I’m telling you that you need to decide.” Do you want to protect our marriage and keep it holy, or do you want to give in to her every demand?”
He had tears in his eyes, and I could tell that he was having a hard time. But this line had to be made.
He said in a whisper, “I love you.” “But I need some time to think about this.”
“Take as much time as you need,” I told her in a deep voice. “But don’t make me wait forever,” I said.
Weeks went by. It was awkward, cold, and far away for weeks, and Daniel and I went about our daily lives like we were strangers. At least that’s what he said: he worked longer. And I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of the end.
Then, one night, Daniel got home earlier than normal. His eyes were red, and he looked tired but determined.
He said in a rough but steady voice, “I talked to her.” “I told her she won’t be welcome here if she doesn’t follow our rules.” I told her, “This house is ours and no one else’s.”
The words came between us like balm and soothed the raw pain that had grown between us.
“And?” My voice was shaking as I asked.
He went on, “She didn’t like it, but I don’t care.” “What counts is us.” You were right. In your own home, you should feel safe and taken care of.
I broke down in tears, but these were tears of relief. “Thank you, Daniel.” Because you finally stood up for us.
He came up to me and wrapped his arms around me. I let myself believe that we might be okay for the first time in what seemed like a long time.
