From the very start of my marriage, I did my best to get along with my mother-in-law. For eight years, I bit my tongue and made the best of it. After my husband and I moved from the countryside to Lyon, his motherJacqueline Bertrandcalled us every week with the same old tune: “Come this weekend, we need help!” One time it was sorting potatoes, another time digging the garden, or helping her youngest daughter hang wallpaper. And every time, we went. Like puppets on a string.
But Im not twenty anymore, and life isnt a walk in the park. I work five days a week, raise two children, and run a household. I deserve a break tooeven just one Sunday to breathe.
For Jacqueline, we were free labour. The moment I showed a hint of exhaustion, shed snap, “Well, who else will do it?” Fine. But it was never a real emergency. Once, she told me not to come to her houseonly to send me to help her daughter, Élodie, repaint her living room. I went, like a fool. And what was Élodie doing while I measured and painted? Lounging in front of the mirror admiring her fresh manicure, boiling the kettle for the hundredth time.
My husband saw it all. He wasnt stupidhe knew we were being taken advantage of. But he never spoke upshe was his mother, after all. So I kept quiet. Until one day…
One Saturday, I simply stopped going with him. No drama. No excuses. I stayed home, insisting I had other plans.
Naturally, Jacqueline wasnt pleased. She immediately grilled her sonwhy was I suddenly so “ungrateful”? My husband begged me to go, “just to keep the peace.” But I was done with the charade.
I was thirty-five. Old enough to rest, not to serve those who wouldnt lift a finger. I saw no gratitude, no respectjust demands.
That weekend, I finally took care of my own home. I washed the piled-up laundry, cooked a proper meal, and on Sunday I treated myself to a book, stretched out on the sofa. Pure bliss. Until the doorbell rang.
Élodie.
No greeting, no courtesyjust a furious rant. I was selfish, rude, a traitor to the family. She reminded me of my “duty”since I was part of it.
I listened, wished her a nice day, and shut the door.
But it didnt end there. That evening, Jacqueline stormed in. The moment she stepped inside, she accused me of ingratitude, of disrespectafter all shed “given.” I looked at her, and every hour Id spent cooking, cleaning, and gardening flashed before me.
And there she stood, lecturing me.
Enough.
Without a word, I opened the door and showed her out. Stunned, she muttered before leaving. I went back to my book and, for the first time in years I breathed.
It wasnt anger. It was freedom. The certainty that my time belonged to me alone. And if I owed anything it was to myself and my children.
That night, I fell asleep with a light heart. Finally free.
**The lesson?** You teach people how to treat you. And sometimes, the kindest thing you can dofor yourself and othersis say no.
