Is It Worth Sacrificing Yourself for Others’ Comfort: How I Refused to Host My In-Laws for Free in Our Seaside Home—and Became an Outcast
I’ve grown used to the fact that my life isn’t easy. Responsibilities, hard work, and endless chores have become my normal, and somewhere in the grind, I lost myself. Now, they call me selfish, heartless, and greedy—all because I once refused to be everyone’s doormat. I share my story not for pity, but so you might understand: behind every “no” isn’t stinginess, but exhaustion no one sees.
Our seaside cottage in Cornwall is what many call a slice of paradise. Spacious, tidy, with a garden and a cosy gazebo. But few know the blood and sweat it took to get here. My parents left us a crumbling shed on the plot, and for over a decade, my husband and I rebuilt it—brick by brick, room by room, all by ourselves. We added an extension, installed plumbing and heating, landscaped the yard, and even built guest cottages.
Yes, it’s now our small business. In summer, when tourists flock in, we rent out everything—even our own bedroom. We sleep in the shed on fold-out beds. Guests pay not just for lodging but for home-cooked meals. I’m up at dawn, cooking, cleaning, laundering, and managing bookings. By July, I can’t remember the last time I ate properly or slept through the night.
Yet I don’t complain. These summer months feed us the rest of the year. We send nearly all our earnings to our daughter and her husband—they’re paying off their mortgage, and we’re glad to help. We’re not young anymore; our health wobbles, but we carry on.
Then came the blow.
Our daughter recently announced they were holidaying in Spain. Wonderful—until she added, *casually*, “Oh, and my in-laws will stay with you this summer. They’ve never had a proper seaside holiday. Mum, please make it special—and don’t charge them. They’re pensioners.” I was speechless.
*Those* in-laws? The ones who didn’t call when my husband and I had COVID and the renovations stalled? Who showed up for an hour at our daughter’s wedding and left? Who ignored us for eight years until “free seaside lodging” popped up?
I checked the bookings—every day was full since January. Even our room was reserved by a young couple with a sick child. We’d have to sleep in a tent. And in that chaos—guests, the shed, the tent, the sleepless nights—where was I supposed to host two elderly people expecting comfort and peace?
It’s not that I begrudge family. But this isn’t a holiday home; it’s our livelihood. We have no other income. Post-pandemic, tourism’s only just recovering. And now this?
I told my daughter I couldn’t. Not physically, not emotionally. The backlash was instant. My husband frowned: “They’re *family*.” Her husband sneered: “You’re embarrassing us.” Friends muttered: “Too posh to share now.” And my daughter? She went quiet. In their eyes, I’m no longer the woman who sacrificed everything—just a tight-fisted hag counting pennies.
That night, I sat on the porch, listening to the waves, and cried. I’m tired of being kind. Tired of giving everything and getting demands in return. No one asked how I was. No one offered help. No one considered I might just be *human*.
So I ask you: stand firm and be hated, or yield and wear myself down again—just to keep everyone happy?
What would *you* choose?
