**”I Am the Mistress of My Own Home: Why My Mother-in-Laws Visits Exhaust Me”**
**”This is my house, not yours” Why my mother-in-laws visits leave me drained.**
Every time she arrives, its like a storm tearing through, leaving wreckage in its wake, and it takes me a week to recover. No, thats not an exaggeration. My mother-in-law is convinced her opinion is the only one that matters, her methods the only right ones. And every visit turns our home into a battleground. The worst part? She expects me to thank her for it.
It all began when my husband and I moved into my grandmothers old flat in Manchester. It was dated, needing renovations, but we poured our hearts into itnew windows, fresh wallpaper, furniture, and appliances. Just as the flat was starting to feel like *our* home, every detail reflecting *our* tastes, my mother-in-law showed up unannounced.
We tried to politely dissuade her: *”Theres still dust everywhere, its not the best time for guests.”* No use. She hopped on a train and arrived, suitcase in hand. On the very first day, she had a *surprise* for us. She went out and boughtgood lordfloral wallpaper straight out of a 90s sitcom and slapped it onto one of our living room walls. Without even asking! Wed planned to start with the bathroomeverything was organised step by step. But no, she had to throw it all into chaos.
Coming home from work, we walked into *that* I nearly collapsed. My husband spent the evening calming me down while my mother-in-law scolded me the next day for being ungrateful. *”I did all this for you, and you dare sulk?”* She left in a huff. My husband had to redo everything and managed to exchange the wallpaper.
Youd think shed have learned. But no. As soon as the renovations were done, she was back. This time, it was our *tidying* that offended her. She emptied our wardrobe onto the floor to refold everything *”properly.”* When she started handling my underwear, I was stunned. She even had the nerve to lecture me:
*”Lace is vulgar. Cotton is perfectly decent!”*
I nearly snapped back, *”Shall you buy me granny knickers while youre at it? The kind you could sail a ship in?”* But I bit my tongue. The moment she left, I rearranged everything. I begged my husband to talk sense into her. He tried to no avail.
The visits that followed were just as torturous. Towels folded *wrong*, nappies deemed *”toxic”* and binned*”I wont let my grandson be poisoned by chemicals!”* Once, she actually threw them out, and my husband had to steer her away before I lost it.
You might think I hate her. Not at all. From a distance, shes wonderfulhelpful, caring, always full of useful advice. But the second she steps through our door, its over. I no longer feel at home. Im a guest in my own house.
Talking changes nothing. Even her own son cant reason with her. She bulldozes over every objection. To her, Im a hopeless homemaker because I dont wash dishes *her* way or sort towels by colour. Ive had enough. I dont want fights. I dont want to ruin our relationship. But I cant take this intrusion anymore.
How do I make her understand? Were a family of our own, with our own rules and routines, and she has no right to impose her choicesno matter how *”well-meant.”* How do I set boundaries without burning bridges? I truly dont know
