“Out of my house!” I shouted at my motherinlaw when she began her usual tirade.
The only thing I have ever truly feared in my life is the fury of my wife’s mother, a woman I was once married to in spirit. In that respect I suppose I was lucky. My first marriage was to a lad who grew up in a county orphanage and had no family of his own. That union lasted a mere five years before I filed for divorce. When we wed I was still a student at university. Within a year he took to the bottle, racked up debts and his obligations began to drag me down as well. I was forced to abandon my studies, take a job and start repaying what we owed.
That marriage brought nothing but trouble. When the divorce was final I breathed a huge sigh of relief at last there would be no more complications.
For two years I was on my own, nursing my wounds and slowly pulling myself together. Then I met James. He had never been married and had never had a serious relationship. Things moved quickly. He proposed, I said yes, and we went to see his mother.
The moment we stepped over the threshold I could see the disapproving look on her face. She tossed a curt greeting at me and slipped into another room. At first I couldn’t tell what was wrong perhaps something about my clothes? I was dressed modestly, so that was not it. At the kitchen table my motherinlaw stared at me in silence. Her gaze made me uneasy, and when I felt my cheeks flush she snapped.
“So, here you are, no qualifications?” she said with a thin smile and a tone of contempt. I hesitated a beat, then replied calmly, sipping my tea.
“Yes, my education is unfinished. Life just happened to steer me away from completing my degree, but I intend to finish it.”
She growled loudly.
“Planning to finish your studies, are you? And when you become a wife, what then? When will you raise the children, cook for your husband, keep the house tidy? You’re such a pampered princess.” She laughed again, took another sip of tea and set her cup down. “Let me tell you something, my son doesn’t need a virgin like you at all.”
She glanced at me, called me average in looks and figure, and said I lacked sense. In that instant I felt insulted. I rose from the table, fled to the bathroom and broke down in tears. A complete stranger was berating me for no reason, and my husband said nothing. We left the house as quickly as we could.
I decided I would not return. Yet she kept turning up at our home, each visit a fresh attempt to wound me with some cutting remark.
I even consulted a psychologist to find out what to do. After a few sessions it became clear that my motherinlaw was a classic manipulator and that I had been a victim because I let her treat me that way. The next time she started her abuse, I told her plainly to get out of my house.
We no longer see each other, and I couldn’t care less. My husband has nothing to add to the matter.
Looking back, I’ve learned that allowing anyone to dictate your worth only gives them power over you. Standing up for yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable, is the only way to reclaim your own dignity.
