I have always been a patient person. I learned patience when my father remarried after my mother passed away. So when my in-laws tried to force me to break up with my husband before the wedding, I simply used what I had learned in early childhood to withstand their pressure.
You know, sometimes trying to find your place in someone else’s family can be very difficult. At least, that’s how it was for me when I met my husband’s family. You see, I’m from Morocco, and my husband Jeremy was raised in an extremely conservative family in Georgia. That should be enough for you to understand what I was up against.
I immigrated to the US shortly after my mother died. I was 11 years old at the time, and I felt like my whole world was coming to an end. On top of that, my father remarried a little over a year after my mother’s death. Naturally, it wasn’t easy to adjust to life in a new country and come to terms with the fact that there was a new woman in my mother’s place.
My stepmother wasn’t a bad person, but we never got along. I think she felt insecure because she would never have children of her own, so she was often mean and distant towards my sister and me. She constantly tried to upset us by doing little nasty things that she knew would cause us discomfort, but fortunately, my mother taught me to always smile when people are deliberately rude to me.
It turned out to be an excellent defense mechanism, and my stepmother couldn’t accept that her tricks didn’t work on me. Eventually, everything calmed down and we made up, but I’ll never forget how effective it was to just smile when she came up with a new petty trick to upset me. It was truly one of the greatest gifts my mother ever gave me.
But my stepmother was a minor annoyance compared to Jeremy’s family. When I first met them, I knew I was in for a long, cold war.
I met Leona, Jeremy’s mother, and the rest of the Fergus family at one of their family dinners. By that time, I had been dating Jeremy for almost a year, and they had used every excuse not to invite me to their dinners. This time, Jeremy made sure they couldn’t avoid meeting me and even asked his mom to prepare a few dishes that I could eat, since I avoid pork and alcohol.
Although my loving boyfriend was sure that there would be something for me, I knew that I shouldn’t blindly trust people who clearly dislike me and respect my personal choices, so I ate as I usually did before fasting and prepared to sit down at the dinner table while everyone else enjoyed their meal.
When we arrived at Jeremy’s parents’ house, the family greeted me with half-joking smiles and quick hugs, after which we sat down at the table to eat. I knew the greetings would be awkward and stiff, but what I didn’t expect was for Leona to bring over a cheerful blonde with a huge smile and say, “Oh, Alea, you just have to meet Diana, Jeremy’s latest girlfriend. We’re all still very close, and I thought you two might hit it off.”
Diana looked a little embarrassed and shook my hand with a smile that seemed to say, “I’m sorry, I know, but what could I do?” I introduced myself, and we exchanged a few pleasantries, after which she gave Jeremy a big hug. She immediately started talking to him about what was going on in his life, completely ignoring me. Jeremy answered a few questions, took my hand, and led me to our seats.
At the table, things got even worse. Leona opened all the dishes, and each one contained pork. There were pieces of bacon in the macaroni and cheese, lard in the mashed potatoes, and even the turkey was wrapped in bacon. After opening all the dishes, Jeremy’s mother looked at me, apologized for the pork, and offered me a drink. “I don’t drink, but I’d love a glass of water,” I said with a smile. Slightly saddened, Leona got up to bring me one.
During the meal, the whole family constantly made offensive, passive-aggressive, and slightly racist comments that were clearly directed at me. Meanwhile, Diana was showered with compliments. One might assume that she was royally pleased with how the family fawned over her. But I knew exactly how to handle the situation.
Instead of showing my irritation, I once again drew on my mother’s wisdom. I smiled at every so-called joke and even offered a few compliments of my own to Diana. I told Leona how wonderful the food looked and thanked her profusely when she went to refill my water glass. I could see Jeremy’s mother seething at my pleasant behavior.
The evening ended, and we said our goodbyes. I refrained from complaining to Jeremy about his family. I could handle it. But things never got better. Family dinners suddenly became off-limits to anyone who wasn’t Fergus—though Diana seemed to be the exception—so I often spent Christmas alone or with my sister. They never drove a wedge between Jeremy and me, and imagine their shock when he finally proposed to me.
Leona and the rest of the family never bothered to learn anything about my culture. They assumed the wedding would be a traditional ceremony, but Jeremy and I planned to combine traditions. So when all the women, including Diana, arrived in white, I smiled and complimented their outfits. It didn’t go unnoticed.
Meanwhile, my outfits were every color imaginable, and I outshone them in all the photos. There’s even one photo of Leona with the most sour expression I’ve ever seen. It was a wonderful day.
But an unspoken feud flared up last Christmas when Leona asked me to be the host. Of course, I agreed, even though I knew she only offered because she hoped I would be in high demand. Fortunately, she didn’t take into account that I cook often, and have done so since childhood. So my dishes were quite a surprise.
Mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, turkey, glazed ham, Brussels sprouts, green bean casserole, roasted carrots and potatoes, freshly baked bread, cornbread, and a whole assortment of pies. Even I was impressed. But, of course, when her plan fell apart, Leona did the next thing. She started yelling at me.
“You must be kidding! How could you do this?! I know you hired a catering company, Alea! Just to make me look bad. Admit it!”
Surprised by her undisguised anger, I looked at her, then at Jeremy. Fortunately, he intervened.
“Mom, Alea worked for two days to make sure we had a great Christmas dinner. I don’t think you’re being very mature or fair. She was just being a good hostess, and you’re accusing her of being petty, like a child who hoped to outdo someone. I think you should apologize to her, or you’d better leave.”
“Mom, Alea worked hard for two days to make sure we had a wonderful Christmas dinner. I don’t think you’re acting very mature or fair. She was just being a good hostess, and you’re accusing her of being petty, like a child who wanted to outdo someone else. I think you should apologize to her, or you’d better leave.”
There was a long pause. Everyone wondered what would happen next, holding their plates in their hands.
Leona sighed deeply and looked at me. “You win,” she muttered and sat down dejectedly. Before Jeremy could say another word, I walked over to my mother-in-law, knelt in front of her, and took her hands in mine. “Leona, this isn’t a competition. I love your son very much and don’t want this cold war between us.”
She looked at me with newfound respect, and I knew the hatchet had been buried. The war between us ended with a big hug and a great dinner, and although we still disagree on many things, we have grown very fond of each other over the past few months.
Here’s a similar story about a woman who tested her mother at Christmas.
Am I wrong to test my mother-in-law at Christmas?
When navigating the complex tapestry of family relationships, it sometimes feels like walking through a minefield blindfolded. My story—a chapter from my life diary—is connected to Christmas, which was unique in its own way and opened my eyes and my heart. My name is Sue, and this story is not only about family ties, but also about the silent battles we fight in the name of love and acceptance.
I married Richard, the love of my life, in a secret ceremony. It was just the two of us, exchanging vows in the most intimate setting. Richard comes from a privileged background, which contrasts sharply with my modest origins. As a black woman, I have faced difficulties and prejudice, which makes my achievements even more gratifying, as I have built a successful career despite all the obstacles.
Richard’s mother, Diana, remained a mystery to me. We were not acquainted due to our quiet wedding, and while Richard shared stories, I longed to form my own impression. The opportunity arose during our first Christmas as a married couple. Wanting to understand the woman who shaped the man I love, I came up with a plan: I would give Diana two gifts—one sentimental and one luxurious—to reveal her true nature.
The sentimental gift was a hand-painted stone with an image of her beloved cat, a sign of care and attention. The luxurious gift was a luxurious Gucci handbag, a symbol of the material wealth she was accustomed to. My hypothesis was simple: her reaction to these gifts would reveal the depth of her character.
Christmas Eve arrived, and with it, anticipation and nervous excitement. Diana’s reaction to the painted stone was polite indifference, thinly veiled contempt for its simplicity and apparent cheapness. The moment was awkward, a reminder of the invisible barriers that still stood between us.
Then it was the turn of the Gucci handbag. Diana’s eyes lit up at the sight of this item, a glimmer of approval appeared in them, until skepticism crept in: she was checking the bag for authenticity. Her remarks to Richard, who assumed that the bag had been bought with his money, stung with hints of my inadequacy and dependence.
Richard defended me quickly and firmly, asserting my financial independence and challenging his mother’s prejudices. It was a moment of solidarity, but also of revelation. Diana’s reaction reinforced my suspicions, but at the same time highlighted the difficulties we would face as a family.
That Christmas taught me valuable lessons about love, acceptance, and the complexity of family dynamics. It highlighted the prejudices we carry within us, sometimes subconsciously, and the need for open hearts and minds. Richard’s support became an anchor for me, a reminder that together we could weather any storm.
As for Diana, I hope that the Gucci handbag will serve as a constant reminder of the day she underestimated her sister-in-law. And somewhere, I can’t help but wonder about the fate of the painted stone, a silent witness to the unfolding drama of our lives.
Was I right in my approach? Perhaps not entirely. But it was a step toward understanding and, I hope, acceptance. After all, family is not only the bonds we are born into, but also those we choose to nurture and develop, despite the difficulties we may encounter.
