From the moment I met her, I realised that my mother-in-law was not keen on me. She scanned me as if I were an unqualified applicant. And in a way, that’s exactly how she perceived me.
‘You must prove yourself worthy of my son,’ she told me one evening, completely serious. ‘A wife should be like a second mother to him.’
I thought she was joking. But she wasn’t.
When we got engaged, things only got worse. She started treating me like her own personal errand girl – sending me out for groceries, organising the kitchen, even folding the laundry. ‘You have to learn to do it just like me,’ she would say, checking my work.
I put up with it, thinking things would subside when we got married. But it didn’t.
One day she said: ‘You should wear your hair in soft curls like me. My son prefers it that way.’
I just stared at her. ‘He never said that.’
She smiled – smugly, confidently. ‘Of course he didn’t. He grew up seeing my hair like that. It’s what he’s used to. It’s what he loves.’
That was it. At that moment, I realised it wasn’t about me fitting into the family. It was about her recreating herself through me.
And when I finally told my fiancé about it, his reaction told me everything I needed to know.
He sighed, rubbed his temples, and said: ‘You’re overreacting.’
‘Overreacting?’ I repeated, raising my voice. ‘Your mother basically wants to turn me into her! And you don’t realise how creepy that is?’
He shook his head in annoyance. ‘She just wants us to have a good marriage. She knows she’s helping. She was the perfect wife for my father.’
I almost laughed at how blind he was. ‘But was she like that? Or did she just control every aspect of your father’s life?’
At that moment, his face changed. A flicker of doubt. A moment of hesitation. But instead of digging deeper, he brushed it away. ‘She’s just trying to help. Can’t you appreciate that?’
I felt something crack inside me. If he can’t even admit there’s a problem, what kind of future could we even have?
The final straw came a week later when, when I came home, I discovered a parcel from my mother-in-law. Inside was a dress. Not just any dress – an exact replica of the one she had worn to a family wedding many years ago. The enclosed note said, ‘Thought it would be perfect for you! It’s classic, just like the one I was wearing. My son will love it.’
I stared at it in horror. This wasn’t just about control. This was about wiping me off the face of the earth and replacing me with her.
I showed the dress to my fiancé, expecting him to finally understand. But he only shrugged. ‘It’s a beautiful dress.’
That night, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to waste my life moulding myself into someone else. Love should be a partnership, not a subjugation. If he couldn’t stand up to his mother now, he never would. And I refused to live in someone else’s shadow.
I packed my bags and left. It wasn’t easy. It hurt like hell. But as I left the house, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Relief.
And the lesson? If someone loves you, they should love YOU, not the version of you that fits someone else’s expectations. Never let anyone erase your personality for the sake of a relationship. You are enough just the way you are.
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