Why We Stopped Talking to My Husband’s Family — A Tale of Exhaustion
Sometimes cutting ties with family isn’t a tragedy—it’s liberation. No one kicked us out, no one outright insulted us or cursed us. My husband James and I simply realized, at some point, we’d become nothing more than cash machines to his entire family. And God forbid you didn’t hand over money the moment they demanded it—you’d be ignored, erased, until the next time they caught a whiff of cash.
It started with ordinary kindness. We helped where we could—his parents, nieces, cousins. One favour led to another, and before long, it snowballed. People grow accustomed to generosity fast, especially when it’s free money. Gratitude fades, replaced by sheer entitlement: if you helped once, you were obligated to help 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 keep up with their endless asks. Yet instead of thanks, we heard things like, *”What’s the matter, can’t you spare it? You’re loaded!”* Never mind that we’d just worked hard and lived sensibly.
Eventually, we snapped. We started saying *no*. Firmly. Calmly. No explanations. And if they pushed, we got creative. “*Money’s tied up in savings—withdrawing now would cost us interest.*” For the especially persistent, we’d even pull out loan brochures: *”Here, try the bank.”* It didn’t always work. James’s sister Margaret was the worst.
For five years, we paid her daughter Emily’s university fees—every term, every extra cost. When Emily graduated, we breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, we could focus on what truly mattered, like helping James’s mum, Margaret. A saint of a woman, stubborn as an ox—she refused to take a penny from us. Her house was falling apart: faulty wiring, crumbling windows, leaky pipes. We convinced her to stay with us for three months while we hired a crew to fix everything.
Things were going smoothly—until Margaret reappeared. Emily was getting married, and *surprise!*—they needed money again. I laughed. *”She’s got a fiancé, hasn’t she? Let him pay. Are we relatives or a wedding fund?”*
Margaret’s reply was priceless: *”Since you’re not spending on Emily’s education anymore, you could chip in for the wedding.”* I was speechless. But the circus didn’t stop there.
Days later, we came home from work—Margaret was in our kitchen, sipping tea with her mother, grinning ear to ear. *”Oh good, you’re back! We’ve got news. Mum’s taking a job to pay you back for the repairs—so you can help with the wedding!”*
I opened my mouth, but James beat me to it. Calmly, he took his mum’s phone and dialled. *”Hello, Mr. Thompson? It’s James—Margaret’s son. She was going to start work for you, but plans have changed. We’re taking her on holiday, and after that, she won’t be available. Thanks for understanding.”*
The look on Margaret’s face was priceless. Flushed, lips trembling, she spat, *”What kind of circus is this?!”*
James just shrugged. *”The kind where freeloading stops. The wedding’s your business—sort it yourselves. You’d even shove Mum into work just to squeeze more out of us?”*
Margaret stormed out. His mother hesitated. *”Was that necessary? I wouldn’t have minded working…”*
James smiled. *”Mum, the holiday was a spur-of-the-moment lie. But it’s a good idea. Let’s actually go. The house is nearly done—nothing left to supervise. We all need a break.”*
Three days later, we were in Santorini. Sea breeze, silence, olive groves—the best decision we’d made in years. As for Margaret and the rest? We don’t talk anymore. And you know what? No drama. Just peace.
