**Every Day with My Mother-in-Law: How She Turned My Life into a Living Hell**
When Oliver and I got married, our firstand what I thought was our wisestdecision was to live far from our parents. He was an engineer at a rather posh private firm, and Id invested my share of my grandmothers flat sale into a mortgage. We were building our nest, dreaming of peace, warmth, and a little family of our own. But who knew his mother would move in with uswithout actually moving in?
She wasnt physically under our roof, yet her presence clung to every power socket, every cupboard, every spoon. No decisionwhether buying a kettle, curtains, or even a bathmatescaped her meddling.
If I dared mention replacing the drapes, shed swoop in armed with binders, catalogues, and endless advice. For holidays, she scripted our plans like we were in some amateur dramatics competition. Once, wed booked a New Years trip to a cosy cottage in the Lake District with friendsbags packed, groceries bought, transport sorted. But she put on such a performance even Laurence Olivier wouldve tipped his hat. Tears, guilt-trips, wailing: *”A night so special, and youre abandoning your own mother!”* Result? We stayed home, money wasted, while she critiqued the tellys presenters from her throne-like armchair.
When I finally got pregnant, Oliver and I planned to turn the spare room into a nursery. We barely mentioned ityet the next morning, she was on our doorstep with two builders in tow and wallpaper samples under her arm. I didnt even get a word inthe work had already begun. *Her* design. *Her* colours. *Her* vision. And there I stood, in my own home, feeling like a stranger.
I told my husband a hundred times it was too muchthat I didnt feel at home anymore, that I wanted to choose my own things, from wallpaper to tea towels. But hed just say, *”Mum only wants to help. Shes got good taste. Its all out of love.”* And what about *my* love? *My* tastes? Do they mean nothing just because I didnt birth *”such a wonderful son”*?
Then came the crowning glory. She announced one day, beaming: *”Oliver and I are off to Spain. I need a breakI carry so much on my shoulders.”* There I was, seven months pregnant, speechless. Not a word. My husband mumbled he couldnt let her go alone. So I made myself clear: if he left with her, he could forget he had a wife.
The result? She stormed in, shrieking that I was jealous. That shed *”birthed and raised”* my husband, and I was just an ungrateful wretch. That I couldnt go because of my *”big belly”*, and now I was stopping her from *”a well-earned break after this thankless life”*. In short, she sacrificed *everything* for us, and we
I dont know whats right anymore. Im exhausted, living as three in a marriage of two. I dont want a war, but I cant accept this either. I feel myself fadingas a woman, a wife, a soon-to-be mother. Im terrified that once the babys here, shell pick not just the nappies but the name, the school, the friends
Ladies, any advice on surviving a mother-in-law who thinks shes a saint? Or is it hopelessshould I just accept shell always be there, like a shadow, a voice-over, forever louder than mine?
Tell me everything. I dont know how to fight this circus anymore.
* James Whitmore*
