“You Should Have Refurbished My Flat Instead of Going on Holiday!” – My Mother-in-Law Is Upset We Took the Kids to Italy Instead of Paying for Her Renovation, Even Though Her Place Is Fine and We’ve Always Been Careful With Money

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 4 minViews 1

You should have paid for my renovations instead of swanning off on holiday!

My mother-in-law is firmly put out with us because we booked a family holiday instead of funding her redecoration project. The truth is, her flat is perfectly decent and in good nick; freshening it up is just another of her whims. In her mind, were a bottomless purse, even though she could easily afford it herself.

Were rather careful with money, my wife and I. Theres the mortgage to pay, and weve got two teenagers at secondary school. Up until now, all our summers were spent camping in the woods or, if we were really splashing out, renting a little cottage somewhere in the Lake District. Our children have hardly seen anything of the worldso this year, for once, we decided to book a package holiday to Spain. It meant tightening our belts for months, but it was absolutely worth it.

I should saymy mother-in-law made it clear, right after we married, that she wouldnt be involved in looking after her grandchildren. I accepted that and never once pestered her for help. So, all the school breaks and weekends when we both had to work, our kids went over to my parents. I didnt think badly of herafter all, raising two kids is no mean feat, and shes earned her retirement. Shes always been busysigned up for swimming, off on coach trips, always at an art show. Shes very much got her own life. The only rub is the finances; all her little indulgences are expected to be paid for by her children, never mind our own bills and whatnot. She couldnt have cared less about mortgages or loan repaymentsif Mum wanted something, we were supposed to cough up.

Every weekend, shed have a new job lined up for my wifemend this, fix that, always another task. But this year, she completely lost the plot: she wanted a full redecoration for her flat. Wed only done it five years ago! Everything still looked fresh and lovely. Everybody wants things, of course, but you cant always have them, can you?

She had no idea about our trip to Spainfrankly, we werent going to mention it. We simply locked up, bags packed, and set off.

While we were away, she popped round. She found the house locked and rang my wife, who told her, quite truthfully, we were in Spain. She hung uponly for us to return to a full-blown family storm.

You could at least have told me! And just where did you get the money? You should have paid for my renovations, not gone gallivanting!

Now, my wife usually keeps quiet and doesnt go against her mother, but not this time. She stood her ground and told her, for once, our money is just thatours.

Since then, my mother-in-laws given us the silent treatment. She doesnt even ring her grandchildren. All the other relatives, though, have been phoning us up, telling us how disgraceful we are. We dont feel guilty at all. My own parents are on our side, thank goodness. Youve got to travel while youre young enough to enjoy itespecially when, at the end of the day, the in-laws werent after help with anything serious, just wanting to give their place a little facelift.

If theres anything Ive learned, its that sometimes you simply need to put your familyand your own dreamsahead of other peoples demands. Life is too short to spend it satisfying everyones whims but your own.

I’m 41 and the house I live in once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the home was left in my name. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home alone. Never did I imagine that all of this could be turned upside down by a decision I made “just to help someone.” Two years ago, a distant cousin rang me in tears. She was splitting up, had a little boy, and nowhere else to go. She asked if she could stay with me “just for a few months” until she got on her feet. I agreed—she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t really affect me. At first, it was fine—she took one room, chipped in a bit towards bills, headed out early for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour during the day. Everything was OK. After three months she quit her job, saying it was temporary and that she was looking for something better. She started staying home all day. The little boy didn’t go to the neighbour anymore—he was always here. The house began to change: toys everywhere, noise, unexpected guests. I’d come home exhausted only to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home too, now.” Soon she stopped contributing to bills—first, she said, she couldn’t manage, then she’d “catch up later.” I paid for everything: bills, food, repairs. One day I came back to find she’d rearranged all the furniture to make it “cosier”—without asking. When I protested, she was offended and said I was cold and didn’t know what it meant to live as a family. It got even more tense when she started inviting her ex round—the very man she claimed she was escaping. He’d come by in the evening, stay the night, use the bathroom, eat our food. One day I caught him coming out of my room, having “just grabbed his jacket” without asking. That’s when I said things couldn’t go on like this—there had to be boundaries. She started crying, shouting, reminding me I took her in when she had nowhere to go. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t—she had no money, her son was at school nearby, and how could I throw her out? Now I feel trapped. My home isn’t mine any more. I sneak in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid arguments, and spend more time outside than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts like she owns the place—I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish if I ask for some order. I really need advice.

I’m 46, and from the outside, anyone looking at my life would say everything is just fine. I got married young—at 24—to a hardworking, reliable man. Had two children in quick succession—at 26 and 28. I left university because schedules didn’t match, the kids were small, and “there would be time later.” There were never any big arguments or drama. Everything went the way it “should.” For years, my daily routine stayed the same. I’d get up before everyone, make breakfast, leave the house tidy, then head to work. I came home on time, finished chores, cooked, washed, tidied up. Weekends were for family gatherings, birthday parties, obligations. I was always there, always responsible. If something needed doing, I sorted it out. If someone needed something, I provided it. I never asked myself if I wanted anything different. My husband was never a bad man. We had dinner, watched TV, went to bed. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, nor was he cold. He didn’t want much, but didn’t complain either. Our conversations revolved around bills, kids, and chores. Then, on an ordinary Tuesday, I sat in the living room in silence and realised I had nothing to do—not because everything was fine, but because at that moment, no one needed me. I looked around and understood that, for years, I’d held this home together, yet now had no idea what to do with myself in it. That day, I opened a drawer of old papers and found unused diplomas, unfinished courses, notebook ideas, projects left “for later.” I looked through photos from when I was young—before I was a wife, before I was a mum, before I became the fixer of everything. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt something worse: the sense that I’d achieved everything without asking myself if it’s what I wanted. I began to notice things I always accepted as normal. No one asked how I was. Even when I came home exhausted, I was the one to solve things. If my husband didn’t want to go to a family gathering, that was fine, but if I didn’t want to go, it was still expected that I would. My opinion existed, but didn’t hold much weight. There were no rows or drama, but there was also no space for me. One night at dinner, I mentioned wanting to resume my studies or try something different. My husband looked puzzled and said, “Why now?” It wasn’t said unkindly. He just couldn’t understand why something that had always worked needed to change. The children said nothing. Nobody argued. No one forbade me. Yet I saw that my role was so clearly set that stepping outside it was uncomfortable. I’m still married. I haven’t left, packed my bags, or made drastic decisions. But I’m no longer fooling myself. I know now that for over twenty years, I’ve lived to keep a structure going where I was needed, but never the main character. How do you rebuild yourself after something like that?

I’m 41 and the house I live in belonged to my grandparents. After they passed away, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the house was left to me. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home to an empty house. I never imagined that would change because of a choice I made “to help someone out”. Two years ago, a distant cousin called me in tears. She’d split up with her partner, had a young son, and nowhere to go. She asked if she could stay for “a few months” until she got back on her feet. I agreed — she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t affect me much. At first, everything was fine: she took one room, helped with the bills, and was out early each morning for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour. No problems. After three months, she quit her job. She said it was temporary, that she was looking for something better. She started spending all day in the house. Her son stopped going to the neighbour and stayed here instead. The place began to change — toys everywhere, noise, and unexpected visitors. I’d come home exhausted to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home now too”. Eventually, she stopped contributing financially. First it was “just for now”, then she promised to pay me back. I ended up paying for everything: bills, groceries, repairs. One day I came home to find she’d rearranged the furniture “to make it cosier” — she hadn’t asked. When I expressed my annoyance, she got offended and told me I was cold, that I didn’t understand what it meant to live like a family. Things became even more tense when she started having her ex over — the man she claimed she’d left. He would come around in the evenings, stay the night, use the shower, eat the food. One day I found him coming out of my bedroom — he’d borrowed “a jacket”, apparently without asking. That’s when I told her enough was enough — there had to be boundaries. She started crying and shouting, reminding me I’d taken her in when she had nothing. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t — no money, her son’s school nearby, how could I throw her out? I feel trapped. My home doesn’t feel like mine anymore. I come in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid rows, and spend more time out than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts as if the house is hers. I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish whenever I ask for order. I desperately need advice.