It all started with small things.
When I married Marek, I knew that his mother, Halina, was a demanding person. She was a woman who always had her own opinion on everything and was not afraid to express it. At first, I tried to understand it – after all, she was his mother, and he was her only son. But over time, her presence in our lives began to overwhelm me more and more.
It all started with small things. „Why are you giving the little one these teethers?It's the same artificial chemical crap– she said when she saw that I had bought popular snacks for my son. „How can you let a child play on the floor without a carpet?He'll catch a cold!– she commented when she saw our new minimalist living room.
With each passing week, her comments became more direct and harder to ignore. “Marek could already read when he was your age,” she snapped when I tried to explain that every child developed at their own pace. “When I was raising Marek, things were different. Now young mothers think they know everything better,” she added, contempt evident in her voice.
The worst were the visits to her house. Each meeting turned into an endless lesson in how I should raise children. “A child needs discipline, you can’t let him be the boss!” she said when my daughter wouldn't eat her soup. Or the other way around: “Don't be so strict, let the kids be kids!” when I asked my son to stop running around the house with his shoes on.
“Marek, maybe you should say something to your mom?” I asked my husband after another row with my mother-in-law. But he just shrugged. “It's just my mom, that's how she is. Don't worry about it.”
Don't worry? How could I not worry when her comments were hurting me more and more? Every word, every gesture of Halina seemed laced with criticism and lack of trust in my abilities as a mother. I felt that she was trying to control me, to impose her opinion on everything.
The culmination came one evening when Halina unexpectedly came to our place without an announcement. She found me in the kitchen, making dinner, and the kids playing in the living room. “Why aren't they asleep yet?” she asked sternly, glancing at the clock.
“It's the weekend, they can stay up a little longer” I replied calmly, trying to be polite.
“At your age, Marek had a clearly set bedtime. Maybe that's why he grew up to be such a decent man– she commented with a cold smile.
That was the moment I couldn't take it anymore. “Halina, I appreciate your advice, but I'm the mother of my children. I decide how to raise them– I said firmly, looking her straight in the eyes.
Her face hardened. “Is that so? Because looking at how they behave, I'm starting to have doubts– she replied, and her words were like a knife stabbed into my heart.
After she left, I sat in the kitchen and cried. I felt like I was losing control of my life, of my family. I started to wonder if I was really doing something wrong, or if she just couldn't accept that her time as a mother had passed.
Today I know that I have to set boundaries if I want to save my marriage and my own mental health. Talking to Mark is difficult because he still doesn't see the problem. But I've come to understand that sometimes being a good mother also means defending your role to others – even if that “other” is the mother-in-law.
Everyone has the right to their own opinion, but no one has the right to control someone else's life. And I, as a mother, have to fight for my space, for my children, and for my right to raise them the way I think is right. Even if it means conflict with the mother-in-law, who doesn't want to understand that her time has passed.
See what else we've written about in recent days: From life. “My son sold family heirlooms without my consent”: I will never forgive him for this move