I am 29 years old, and all my life I thought marriage meant having a home. A sense of peace. A place where you can drop the mask, breathe deeply, and know that whatever storms rage outside inside, you’re safe.
But for me, the opposite has happened.
Outside, I put on a brave face, smiled, spoke kindly. I told everyone I was happy. But inside inside, I learned to tiptoe, to measure every word. I walked on eggshells in my own house, like a guest in someone elses home.
And it wasnt because of my husband.
It was because of his mother.
When we first met, he told me,
My mum is a strong woman A bit blunt at times, but she means well.
I smiled and thought, Who doesnt have a difficult mother-in-law? Well get on, Im sure.
I didnt know then theres a difference between a challenging personality and someone who wants to control your entire life.
After the wedding, she started popping round just for a bit. First on weekends. Then weekdays too. Soon she left her handbag in the hallway as if it belonged there. Then one day, she appeared with a spare key.
I never asked how she got it. I just told myself, Dont make a fuss. Dont start a row. Shell go home soon.
But she didnt go. She settled in.
Shed come in without ringing the bell, open the fridge, rummage through the cupboardseven began rearranging my clothes.
One day, I opened my wardrobe and froze. Everything had been shifted. My underwear on a new shelf. My dresses pushed to the back. Some things missing.
I asked,
Where are my two tops?
She shrugged, cool as ever:
Youve got too many. And honestly they were cheap. No need to keep them.
Something burned inside my chest then. But I swallowed it.
I didnt want to be petty. Didnt want to play the part of the awful daughter-in-law. Ive always tried to be polite.
And thats exactly what she counted on.
Soon enough, she slipped into a way of speaking meant to humiliate me without ever saying anything outright.
Oh, youre such a sensitive soul.
If it were me, Id never dress like thatbut you do you.
Clearly youre not used to keeping a proper house yet
No worries, Ill teach you.
Each time, she said it with a smile, using a tone so sweet you couldnt call her out. If you tried, youd sound hysterical.
If you stayed silent you lost yourself.
She started meddling in everything.
What I cooked. What I bought. How much I spent. When I cleaned. When I came home. Why I came home late. Why I didnt call.
One evening, while my husband was in the shower, she sat across from me as if she were conducting an interview.
Tell me do you even know how to be a woman?
I didnt understand.
Whats that supposed to mean?
She looked at me in a way that made me feel about five years old.
Well I watch you. You dont try hard enough. You dont make sure hes happy. A man needs to feel the presence of a real woman at home, not a stranger.
I sat there, stunned.
In the house that was supposed to be ours, at our tableshe talked as if I was temporary.
As if it was only a matter of time before she replaced me.
But the worst part? My husband never stopped her.
When I complained, hed say,
Shes only trying to help.
When I cried, hed say,
Dont take it personally. Thats just how she talks.
When I begged him to stand up to her, he said,
I cant start a fight with my mum.
It was as if those words meant something else:
Youre alone. No one here will protect you.
To everyone else, she was a saint.
She brought food over. Did the shopping. Told anyone whod listen how she adored me.
My daughter-in-law is just like a daughter to me!
But when we were alone, she looked at me as if I were her rival.
One night I came home exhausted. Work had drained me. My head pounded. I just wanted to lie down.
From the hallway, I knew something was off.
Everything was neatbut not the way I liked it. The air smelled of her perfume. Her tablecloth on our table. Her pans in the kitchen. Her towels in the bathroom.
It was as if someone had erased me.
In the bedroom, I saw it: shed rearranged my bedside table.
My things. My creams. All my personal bits.
I sat on the bed, and she appeared in the doorway, smiling, calm.
I tidied. It was such a mess. No femininity at all. A womans room needs order.
I looked at her,
You had no right to come in here.
Her smile widened:
This used to be my sons room. I raised him here. I prayed for him in here. You cant stop me.
And for the first time, I felt ice fill my body.
Suddenly, everything was clear.
She wasnt coming to help. She came to take over.
To show me it didnt matter how hard I tried, how much I loved himtheres only one crown in this house, and shed never let it be mine.
That evening only got worse.
With her same syrupy tone, she started ordering my husband around:
Sweetheart, dont eat that. Thatll upset your stomach. Come, let me dish up my food.
He stood up like an obedient child and went to her.
I sat at the table, feeling like a stranger.
I said it then, quietly, calmly:
I cant live like this.
They both looked at me as if Id said something outrageous.
He asked,
What do you mean cant live like this?
I said,
I mean Im not the third wheel in my own marriage.
His mum laughed,
Oh, dramatic! You do like to invent problems.
He sighed,
For Gods sake do we have to go through this again?
And at that moment something inside me broke.
Not in a Hollywood way, no plates thrown. Just quietly.
Its the moment you stop hoping.
Stop believing.
Stop fighting.
You simply understand.
I said,
I want to live in peace. I want a home. I want to feel like a woman beside my husbandnot someone who has to prove herself. But if theres no room for me here I wont beg for my place.
And I went to the bedroom.
He didnt follow.
He didnt stop me.
Thats what hurt most.
Perhaps if hed come if hed said, Im sorry. I was wrong. Ill fix this.
Maybe Id have stayed.
But he stayed in the other roomwith his mum.
I lay in the dark, hearing them chatting in the kitchen. Laughing. As if I didnt exist.
In the morning, I got up, made the bed, and for the first time in ages, felt clarity. A sharp, bright thought like a blade:
I am not someones experiment. Not their decoration. Not a servant in someone elses family.
I began to gather my clothes.
He saw me and turned pale:
What are you doing?
I said,
Im leaving.
He said,
You cant! This is too much!
I smiled, sadly.
It was too much when I kept quiet. Too much when I was put down in front of you. Too much when you never defended me.
He reached for my hand.
Shes shes just like that dont take it to heart.
And then I spoke the most important words Ive ever said:
Im not leaving because of her. Im leaving because of you. Because you let it happen.
I took my suitcase.
Walked out.
And as I closed the front door, I felt no pain
I felt free.
Because when a woman starts fearing her own home, shes no longer livingshes merely surviving.
And I do not want to survive.
I want to live.
And this time, for the first time I chose myself.
