Im 27 and living in a house where Im forever apologising just for existing. Worst of all, my husband calls it normal.
Im 27 and have been married for two years. We dont have any childrennot because I dont dream of it, but I thought, right from the start: first, you need a real home. Peace. Respect. Inner calm.
Well, our home hasnt felt peaceful in ages.
And its not about money, nor jobs, nor dreadful illnesses, or anything remotely tragic.
No, its all thanks to one woman.
My husbands mother.
At first, I thought she was just a bit strict. A touch controlling maybe. One of those mothers who simply must have an opinion about absolutely everything.
I did my best. Tried to be polite, sweet, swallow my pride. I told myself: shes his mum shell mellow Ill win her over its just a question of time.
Except, time didnt mellow her. Time gave her a boost of confidence.
The first humiliation was minor.
She said it as a joke:
Oh, you young brides… always so sensitive about respect!
I laughed it offjust to prevent awkwardness.
Then came the help. Shed pop by, allegedly to drop off some homemade chutney, to bring food, to check on how we were.
But always the same routine.
Eyeing everything. Inspecting. Prodding. Asking,
Whys this here?
Who told you to put it there?
At your age, Id never
And the worst part? She never said these things just to me. She always made sure my husband was around to witness it. And did he jump in to defend me? Not a chance.
If I dared say something, he shot back:
Oh, dont start, youre overreacting!
I began to feel absolutely bonkers.
Like I was overblowing things.
Like I was the difficult one.
Then came the unannounced visits.
Doorbell. Key in the lock. And there she is.
Always with her classic line:
Im not a stranger! This feels just like home to me!
The first two times, I bit my tongue.
The third time, I calmly asked,
Would you mind letting me know before you come round? Sometimes Im tired, sometimes Im sleeping, sometimes Im working.
She looked at me as if Id asked for the crown jewels.
You? Telling me when I can see my son?
That same night, my husband exploded:
How could you insult her?
I just stood there, dumbfounded.
I didnt insult her. I set a boundary.
He said:
In my house, you will not turn away my mother.
My house.
Not our house.
His house.
After that, I shrank inside myself.
I didnt walk around the flat freely, not knowing when shed barge in.
I stopped putting music on.
Stopped laughing loudly.
When I cooked, I worried shed say, That again?
When I cleaned, I feared a Still dirty, is it?
And worst of allI was apologising non-stop.
Sorry.
It wont happen again.
I didnt mean it.
Thats not what I meant.
I didnt say it like that.
A 27-year-old woman, apologising for simply breathing.
Last week, she came over while my husband was at work.
I was in my pyjamas, hair up, nursing a cold.
She opened the door without knocking.
Look at you… she said. Is this what my son deserves?
I didnt answer.
She marched into the kitchen, flung open the fridge,
Nothing decent in here.
Then the cupboard,
Why are these mugs here?
She started shifting things, grumbling, reorganising.
I just stood there.
And suddenly she turned and said,
Ill tell you something you need to remember. If you want to stay a wife, you need to know your place. Not above my son.
Something snapped inside me.
No tears. No yelling.
Just the feeling that Id reached the end.
When my husband came home, she was lounging on the sofa like she owned the place.
I said quietly,
We need to talk. This cant go on.
He didnt look at me.
Not now.
No. Right now.
He sighed,
What is it this time?
I dont feel at home here. She comes round whenever she likes, she humiliates me, treats me like a servant.
He snorted,
Servant? Dont be ridiculous.
This is not ridiculous.
Then Mum chimed in from the sofa:
If she cant put up with it, shes not wife material.
And thenthe worst happened.
He said nothing.
Not one word to defend me.
He sat right down next to her.
And repeated,
Dont make a drama out of nothing.
I looked at him. For the first time, I saw everything clearly.
He wasnt torn between two women.
Hed picked a sidethe comfortable one.
I looked at his mum. Then at him.
And just said,
Alright.
No arguments.
No tears.
No explanations.
I just got up and walked into the bedroom.
Packed my clothes in a bag.
Grabbed my passport.
As I headed down the hall, he jumped up,
What are you doing?!
Im leaving.
Youve gone mad!
No. Ive finally woken up.
His mother smiled, thoroughly pleased with herself,
Where will you go? You’ll be back.
I looked at her calmly,
Noyou want a house you can rule. I want a house where I can actually breathe.
He grabbed at the handle of my bag,
You cant leave because of my mum.
I met his eyes.
Im not leaving because of her.
He froze,
Then who?
Because of you. Because you chose her. And left me on my own.
I walked out.
And you know what I felt outside?
Cold, yes.
But alsorelief.
For the first time in months, I wasnt apologising to anyone.
What about you then? Would you stay and put up with it for the marriage, or would you walk out the moment your husband stayed silent while you were trodden on?
