Im twenty-nine years old, and Ive always imagined marriage to be a sanctuarya peaceful home, a place where you can take off your mask, breathe deeply, and know that whatever storms brew outside, inside you are safe.
But things didnt go that way for me.
Outside, I played the part of a strong, confident woman. I smiled, spoke kindly, told people I was happy. Yet inside, I learned to tread lightly, to weigh every word, to tiptoe around as if I were a guest in somebody elses house, not the lady of my own.
It wasnt because of my husband.
It was his mother.
When we first met, he told me, My mums a strong woman she can be blunt at times, but her hearts good.
I smiled, thinking, Who doesnt have a tricky mother-in-law? Well manage.
But I hadnt realised theres a world of difference between a difficult temperament and a need to control someone elses life.
Right after the wedding, shed drop by just for a while. At first on weekends. Then weekdays, too. Soon shed leave her bag in the hallway as if it were her own. Before I knew it, she turned up with a spare key.
I never asked where shed got it. I told myself, Dont cause a scene. Dont start a row. Shell go home soon enough.
But she didnt leave. She settled in.
Shed let herself in without ringing the bell, rummage through the fridge, poke about in cupboards, even rearrange my clothes.
One day I opened the wardrobe and froze. Everything was shifted aroundmy underwear on a different shelf, my dresses pushed to the back, with some clothes just missing.
I asked her, Where are my two blouses?
She shrugged, unbothered: You had so many. Honestly, they looked cheapdont bother keeping those.
Something burned inside my chest, but again, I swallowed my words.
I didnt want to seem petty. I didnt want to be that awful daughter-in-law. Ive always tried to be polite.
She counted on that.
Over time, she became skilled at speaking to belittle me without ever crossing a line.
Oh, youre ever so sensitive.
If I were you, I wouldnt dress that way, butup to you, dear.
Looks like youre not really used to running a home properly
Never mind, Ill teach you.
All said with a smile, in that tone you can never quite pin down. If I said anything, Id seem hysterical.
If I stayed quiet I lost myself.
She started meddling with everything.
What I cooked. What I bought. How much I spent. When I cleaned. When I came home. Why I was late. Why I didnt ring.
One day, while my husband was in the shower, she sat across from me as if I was being interviewed.
Tell me do you actually know how to be a woman?
I didnt understand her.
What do you mean by that?
She gave me that lookthe one that shrinks you.
Well I watch you. You dont try hard enough. You dont make things nice for him. A man needs to feel his real woman is waiting for him at home, not someone foreign.
I sat there, stunned.
In our house. At our table. She spoke as if I was temporaryone step away from being ousted.
Worst of all, my husband never stopped her.
When I complained, hed say, Shes only trying to help.
When I cried, hed say, Dont take it to heart. Thats just how she talks.
When I begged him to set boundaries, hed say, I cant argue with my mum.
And each time, his words only meant one thing: Youre on your own. No one here will stand up for you.
The most painful thing was, to everyone else, she was an angel.
She brought food, did the shopping, told people how much she loved me.
My daughter-in-law is like a daughter to me!
But when we were alone, she gave me that looka foe, not family.
One evening I came home exhausted. Work had worn me out, my head was pounding, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed.
From the hallway, I noticed something was off.
Everything was tidy, but not like Id left it. The air smelled of her perfume. Her tablecloth on the table, her dishes in the kitchen, her towels in the bathroom.
It was as if someone had rubbed out all trace of me.
I walked into the bedroom. Shed tidied my bedside table. My thingsmy creams, my personal bits.
I sat on the bed, and she popped up in the doorway. Calm, smiling.
Ive tidied up. It was all a mess. Not very feminine. There needs to be order.
I looked at her.
You had no right to come in here.
She smiled wider.
This was my sons room. I cared for him here. Prayed for him here. You cant forbid me coming in.
In that moment, I felt ice sweep through my body.
It all became perfectly clear.
She hadnt come to help us, shed come to push me out. To prove, no matter what I did, what effort I made or how much I lovedthere was only one crown in this house. And she would never give it up.
That evening, things only got worse.
With that same tone, she began ordering my husband about:
Love, dont eat thatits hard on your stomach. Come have some of mine.
He stood, obedient as a child, and went to her.
I sat at the table, feeling like a stranger in my own marriage.
Thats when I said it. Calmly, without raising my voice:
I wont live like this.
They both stared at me as if Id uttered some forbidden word.
He asked, What do you mean, wont?
I answered, It means I wont be third in my own marriage.
His mother laughed.
Oh, youre such a drama queen. Making things up again.
He groaned.
Oh, do you have to start this again?
And then something in me broke.
Not like in the films with shouting and thrown glasses. No.
Quietly.
The moment when hope stops.
When you quit believing.
And you stop fighting.
You just know.
I said:
I want peace. I want a home. I want to feel like a woman beside her mannot someone always expected to prove myself. If theres no space for me here, I wont beg for it.
And I went to the bedroom.
He did not follow.
He didnt try to stop me.
That was the hardest part.
Maybe if hed come if hed said, Im sorry. I see now. Ill talk to her.
Maybe Id have stayed.
But he remained, with her.
I lay in the darkness, listening to them chatting in the kitchen. Laughing, as if Id never existed.
The next morning, I got up, made the bed andfor the first time in agesfelt a piercing clarity, sharp as a knife:
I am not someones experiment. Not an ornament. Not a servant in a strange family.
I began to pack my clothes.
He saw me and blanched.
What are you doing?
Im leaving.
You cant! This is too much!
I smiled, sadly.
What was too much was me keeping silent. Too much was being humiliated in front of you. Too much was you not defending me.
He tried to hold my hand.
Shes always been like this dont let it get to you.
And then I spoke the most important words of my life:
Im not leaving because of her. Im leaving because of you. You allowed it.
I picked up my suitcase.
Walked out.
And as I closed the door, I didnt feel pain.
I felt free.
Because when a woman begins to fear in her own home, she isnt livingshes surviving.
And I dont want to survive.
I want to live.
And this time, for the first time, I chose myself.
Sometimes, the bravest decision is to walk away from what hurts you, and step toward the life you truly deserve.
