**Diary Entry 12th June**
*”This is my home, not yours.”* Thats what I wish I had the nerve to say every time my mother-in-law storms in like a hurricane, leaving chaos in her wake. It takes me a week to recoverno exaggeration. Shes convinced her opinions are gospel, her methods the only right ones. Each visit turns our house into a battleground, and the worst part? She expects gratitude for it.
It all began when my husband and I moved into my grandmothers old flat in Manchester. The place was dated, needing work, but we poured our hearts into itnew windows, fresh wallpaper, furniture, appliances. Just as it started feeling like *our* home, reflecting *our* tastes, she showed up unannounced.
We tried gently putting her off: *”Its still a mess, dust everywherenot the best time for guests.”* No use. She hopped on a train and arrived, suitcase in hand. Day one, she sprung a *”surprise”*went out and boughtgood Lord*floral wallpaper*, straight out of the 90s, and slapped it up in the living room. Without even asking! Wed planned to start with the bathroom; everything was mapped out. But no, she bulldozed right over that.
Coming home from work to *that* sight I nearly lost it. My husband spent the evening calming me down while she scolded me the next morning for being *”ungrateful.”* *”I did all this for you, and you have the cheek to sulk?”* She left in a huff. He had to redo the wall and, thank heavens, managed to return the hideous paper.
Youd think shed have learned. Not a chance. The moment renovations wrapped up, she was back. This time, our *”messy”* cupboards offended her. She dumped everything out to refold it *”properly.”* When she started handling my *underwear*, I was speechless. The audacity! *”Lace is vulgar. Cottons perfectly decent!”* I bit my tongue before snapping, *”Shall you buy my knickers next? Something I could drown in?”* The second she left, I rearranged everything. Begged my husband to talk sense into her. He tried. No luck.
Every visit since has been just as exhausting. Towels folded *wrong*, nappies binned as *”toxic”**”I wont let my grandson be poisoned by chemicals!”* Once, she actually tossed them. My husband had to steer her out before I blew up.
Dont mistake meI dont *hate* her. From afar, shes lovely: helpful, thoughtful, full of practical advice. But the moment she crosses our threshold, Im a stranger in my own home.
Talking changes nothing. Even her own son cant reason with her. She steamrolls every boundary. To her, Im a hopeless housewife because I dont stack dishes *her* way or sort towels by colour. Im *done*. I wont pick fights, but I cant tolerate this intrusion anymore.
How do I make her see were a family with our own rules? That her *”good intentions”* arent welcome? How do I set limits without burning bridges? Blast if I know.
**Lesson today:** Politeness only goes so far. Sometimes, you have to stand your groundeven if it ruffles feathers.
