Why We Stopped Speaking to My Husband’s Family — A Story of Exhaustion
Sometimes cutting ties with relatives isn’t a tragedy—it’s liberation. No one kicked us out, no one openly insulted or cursed us. But at some point, my husband William and I realised we’d become nothing more than a cash machine to his entire family. God forbid you couldn’t hand over money the moment they demanded—they’d erase you, ignore you, only to remember you again when they smelled a payout.
It started with simple kindness. We tried to help—his parents, nieces, nephews, cousins. One favour led to another, and before we knew it, we were trapped. People grow accustomed to generosity quickly, especially when it’s free money. Gratitude fades fast, replaced by entitlement: if you gave once, you were obligated forever.
Our family became a feeding trough—not just for his parents, but the whole clan. We stretched ourselves thin, denying our own needs just to help. Yet instead of appreciation, we’d hear, *”What’s the problem? You’re loaded!”* When in truth, we just worked hard and lived sensibly.
Eventually, we snapped. We started saying *no*—firmly, calmly, without excuses. If they pushed, we’d improvise: *”Our savings are tied up in fixed deposits—we can’t touch them without losing interest.”* For the especially persistent, we’d even pull out loan brochures: *”Here, the bank can sort you out.”* It didn’t always work. William’s sister, Margaret, was the worst.
For five years, we paid for her daughter Emily’s university—every semester, every expense. When Emily graduated, we sighed in relief: finally, we could focus on something important, like helping William’s mum, Margaret. She was a gem—kind, but stubborn, refusing our help. Her house was falling apart: faulty wiring, cracked windows, leaking pipes. We convinced her to stay with us for three months while we hired builders to turn her place into something decent.
Everything was fine—until Margaret reappeared. Emily was getting married, and—surprise!—they needed money again. I couldn’t help but laugh. *”She’s got a fiancé, hasn’t she? Let* him *pay. Are we relatives or a wedding venue?”*
Margaret’s reply stunned me: *”Since you’re not paying for Emily’s studies anymore, you can chip in for the wedding.”* I was speechless. But the circus didn’t stop there.
A few days later, William and I came home from work to find Margaret in our kitchen, sipping tea with his mother. Beaming, she announced, *”Wonderful timing! Mum’s going back to work—she’ll cover the renovations, and you two can handle the wedding!”*
I barely opened my mouth before William cut in. Calmly, he took his mother’s phone and dialled. *”Hello, Mr. Thompson? William here, Margaret’s son. She was due to start with you, but plans have changed. We’re taking her on holiday—indefinitely. Thanks for understanding.”*
The look on Margaret’s face was priceless. Flushed, lips trembling, she snapped, *”What sort of game is this?”*
William just smiled. *”It’s called cutting the cord. The wedding’s your affair—sort it yourselves. You’d even shove Mum into a job just to squeeze more out of us?”*
Margaret stormed out. His mother hesitated. *”Was that necessary? I wouldn’t have minded working…”*
William grinned. *”The holiday was improv, but not a bad idea. Let’s actually go—the house is nearly done. We could all use a break.”*
Three days later, we were in the Greek Islands. Sea air, silence, olive groves—the best decision we’d made in years. As for Margaret and the rest? We don’t speak anymore. And you know what? No drama. Just peace.
