Ive made mistakes in my life, but the biggest one still lives beside me, and I have no idea how to deal with it. I was 25 when I married a man named Edward. He was two years older than me. At the time, I thought he was almost like a prince riding in on a white horse.
He was constantly bringing me flowers and gifts, carrying my heavy bags; we never argued and always managed to sort out any problems calmly. We didnt live together before marriageneither of us believed in cohabiting, finding it a bit frivolous. So, we just got married. My mum and dad gave us some money for our wedding, but it wasnt nearly enough to buy a house. I wasnt keen on renting eitherwhy pay someone else and have to answer to a landlord about how were getting on? In short, Edwards mum suggested that we live with her instead. She had a two-bedroom flat, was a bit bored anyway, and there was plenty of space. So why not move in?
I agreed without much hesitation. Edwards mum seemed like a decent woman, so it was easy enough to get along with her. But the moment I married Edward and moved in with my mother-in-law, I discovered a lot more about my husband. It turned out his mum still saw him as a child. Whenever he was living with her, he didnt lift a finger around the house. She even washed his underwear and socks for himhe was a grown man, for goodness sake. Thats definitely not normal.
All Edward ever did was go to work and do his own thing. So, it wasnt much of a surprise that once we started living together, all the chores were dumped onto me. Suddenly, I had to cook for everyone, clean, do the laundry, ironI hadnt signed up for all that! Sure, my mother-in-law never interfered in my routines or walked into the kitchen while I was cooking, but the fact that she never offered even the slightest help made me feel like I was just there to serve.
Then, things got worse. One evening, a socket caught fire, and I managed to put it out. When I asked my husband to take out what was left and install a new one, for him it felt like some kind of rocket science. I realised that Edward had absolutely no clue how to change a socket. And when the bulb needed replacing in the living room, he backed away in fear and refused to do it. So, I grabbed a chair and changed it myself. In the end, it turned out my husband didnt know how to do anything practicalfine, thats one thing. But he didnt even want to learn how. Why bother, he said? Better to call someone and pay them. All well and good, except Edward wasnt earning hundreds of thousands of pounds, so we couldnt afford to pay people to do everything.
What wound me up most was how my mother-in-law always treated her son as if he were seven years old, and he responded sheepishly, calling her Mummy.
Edward, have you put your socks on and changed your underpants? Edward, did you wash properly? Listening to that kind of conversation honestly made me feel sick. Hes a grown man, and his mum fusses over whether hes changed his underwear.
To be honest, I really want a divorce. But then, what? I havent got a place of my own, and Ive already spent the money my parents gave me. But I cant keep putting up with all this. How much longer can I tolerate this silence and frustration?
