The first few weeks have already shown that our views on everyday life are diametrically different.
When my son and daughter-in-law asked if they could move in with us for a while, I didn’t hesitate for a moment. They were young, just starting their life together, and their financial situation was difficult. “After all, they’re family,” I told my husband, convincing him that we should help them. I thought it would be a temporary solution. I hoped that living together would be an opportunity to strengthen family ties. But what happened next exceeded my worst nightmares.
The first few weeks showed that our views on everyday life were diametrically different. My daughter-in-law, Marta, quickly stopped hiding her complaints. “Why do you always cook so much fat?” – she asked once when I made dinner. “We prefer healthy food.” Instead of thanking her, she pointed out every detail –from the way I arrange the dishes to the way I organize my time.
Instead of mediating, my son sided with her. “Mom, Marta is right,” he said when I tried to gently suggest that we should respect each other's habits. “Maybe it's worth considering changes?”
I began to feel like a guest in my own home. Marta began rearranging furniture, reorganizing the kitchen, and even changing the rules about sharing the space. “This isn't working,” she said, throwing out my favorite curtains that had been hanging in the living room for years. “We need something more modern.”
Every attempt at conversation ended in a fight. Marta said I was too old-fashioned, and my son kept quiet or forced me to agree to it in order to “avoid conflict.” Instead of feeling like a housewife, I felt like a servant. “Mom, you can do the laundry today? We have a lot of work– I heard it almost every day.
The worst day, however, was when the husband, exhausted by the tense atmosphere, raised his voice at Marta. “This is our home, not your kingdom!” he exclaimed as she once again began to reorganize the living room. Instead of apologizing, Marta burst into tears and locked herself in her room. Her son gave us an accusing look. “Can't you be nicer to her?” he said, as if we were the problem.
Day by day, the atmosphere at home became heavier and heavier. My husband and I stopped eating meals together for fear of further arguments. Every night I would sit in my bedroom, listening to the muffled voices on the other side of the wall, wondering where I had gone wrong.
The culmination came one Sunday morning. Marta, entering the kitchen, announced: "Michał and I talked and came to the conclusion that you should think about selling the house. It's too big and dysfunctional, and we can help you find something smaller.”
I looked at her in amazement, not believing what I was hearing. "You want me to sell the house I've spent my whole life in?– I asked, feeling anger and pain tightening in my throat.
"It's for your own good” – my son said, as if he was explaining something obvious to me. „You don't need so much space, and then we could set up our own thing.”
Those words were the last straw. „I'm not selling this house,– I said firmly. „If you don't like it, you can move out.”
That day, the biggest fight of my life broke out. My son and daughter-in-law blamed us for not understanding, for being „ungrateful.&rdquo Finally, they packed up their things and moved out, slamming the door.
Today, the house is quiet and the atmosphere is calm again. But the wounds remain in my heart. I never thought that helping my own child could turn against me. I was ready for many things, but not to lose control over my life and home. Maybe sometimes helping also means setting boundaries – even with those we love the most.
See what else we wrote about in recent days: From life. “I fell in love with my father-in-law”: He's handsome, and not like my husband. He is his mother's son