My mother-in-law always abused me! But my husband never listened and always trusted her. To open his eyes…

My husband’s words hit me like a physical blow, though no one in the room had touched me. “A failure.” He didn’t pause. He didn’t hesitate. He leaned back on the couch with an air of indifference, as if he had just uttered some casual observation about the weather, not a verdict on my character, my choices, my very worth. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, and a slow, creeping heat of anger and disbelief spread across my body. I had spent months, no, years, adjusting to the impossible standards of his family, bending myself into a shape that was never enough, only to be told now that everything I had done was meaningless, inadequate, failing. And the worst part? He didn’t even notice the cruelty of the words. He didn’t see it as abuse. He saw it as truth.

I took a moment to steady myself, forcing the tremor in my hands to fade. The house was silent except for the faint hum of the heater and the occasional rustle of the blinds as the wind pressed against the windows. Malcolm stared at me, his expression almost smug in its complacency. “You need to understand,” he continued, “Mom is mad because she expects more from you. That’s all. You just aren’t measuring up. It’s really that simple.” My mind reeled. “Simple?” I whispered, my voice tight and trembling. Simple? Spending entire holidays preparing meals, cleaning the house from top to bottom, running errands for them, appeasing their unreasonable demands, bending to their every whim, and still, I was a failure?

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something, to break the vase on the mantelpiece, to shatter the calm, ordered silence he clung to as if it made him immune to the cruelty being done in his name. But I didn’t. Instead, I took a deep breath, carefully, slowly, and forced myself to speak. “Do you even hear yourself?” I asked, my voice stronger than I felt. “Do you realize what you just said? That it’s my fault, not hers? That all of this, everything I’ve endured, everything I’ve done for you and this family, amounts to me being a failure in your eyes?”

He frowned slightly, as though my words were an inconvenience rather than an accusation. “Abby, you’re exaggerating. I’m just being honest. I love you, but you need to try harder. It’s your responsibility as a wife to meet expectations. My mother is part of our family. You’re supposed to… I don’t know… respect her, take care of things, make her happy. If you can’t, that’s on you.” His logic was infuriating, circular, impossible. He spoke of “responsibility” and “respect” as though my existence was only valuable in service to his mother’s comfort and approval.

I shook my head slowly, feeling a bitter resolve take hold. “No. I’m done,” I said firmly. “I’m done trying to meet impossible expectations. I’m done being treated like a servant in my own marriage. I’m done being punished for prioritizing myself, my life, and my dignity.” My voice rose slightly, the words tasting of long-suppressed frustration finally freed. “You’ve had a choice this whole time, Malcolm. You’ve chosen her side. Every single time. And now, you tell me it’s my fault? That I am a failure? I am married to you, not her. And I refuse to continue living this way.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, to rationalize, but I raised a hand, cutting him off. “No. You listen. From now on, I will not be subjected to her abuse. I will not go through another holiday, another dinner, another week of enduring her constant criticism and her ridiculous rules while you sit back and nod along. If you cannot see how wrong this is, then that is on you. But I am not staying silent anymore.”

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with tension. For the first time, I felt the full weight of my own agency, the clarity of what I had been denying myself for months. I thought about all the New Year’s holidays I had spent cooking, cleaning, and tiptoeing around her expectations. I remembered her phone calls that began at dawn, berating me for trivial things, and the way Malcolm would sigh impatiently, telling me to “just deal with it.” I thought about the moments I had swallowed tears, suppressed anger, and forced a polite smile while my husband remained conveniently neutral or dismissive. All of it now ignited into a sharp, focused determination.

I knew the next steps wouldn’t be easy. Malcolm had been conditioned, by years of his mother’s manipulation, to see me as inadequate, to see me as the problem. Changing his perspective would not happen overnight. And perhaps he would never fully acknowledge the abuse I had endured. But I realized that wasn’t the point anymore. The point was my life, my sanity, my happiness. I refused to let another year, another holiday, another day be stolen by someone who treated me as inferior while I tried, desperately, to be a good wife.

I leaned back slightly, feeling the anger and frustration transform into something steadier, more deliberate. I needed a plan, a strategy that would open his eyes without escalating into meaningless fights. I needed him to see that the way his mother treated me was not just unfair, it was cruel—and that by siding with her, he was complicit. But first, I needed space. Space to breathe, to think, to regain the energy that had been drained from me by endless criticism and exhaustion.

The thought of confronting his mother directly made my stomach twist. I had tried, in small ways, to assert boundaries before, only to be dismissed or belittled. Yet now, I felt something different—a clarity born of necessity. I couldn’t go on pretending, couldn’t continue to accept small humiliations as the price of family harmony. My own family, my own home, my own dignity mattered. And if Malcolm could not see it, I would find a way to make him understand through actions he could not ignore.

I thought about the New Year’s holiday approaching, the annual expectation to be at their house, to serve, to submit, to endure. It would be my first opportunity to assert myself. But this time, it would not be quietly. I began mentally mapping out what I would do, how I could maintain my composure while making the boundaries clear. I would not raise my voice unnecessarily, but I would not acquiesce either. The table would not be set for endless servitude, my hands would not be forced to cater to insults disguised as advice.

I also considered the future, and what it meant to be married to a man who could not see the abuse inflicted upon his wife. Was it possible to change him? Could he ever truly understand what it meant to be demeaned repeatedly while being told it was my fault? The questions hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I could not remain passive. Passive had brought me here, had allowed me to endure humiliation after humiliation. Active, deliberate choices, even if uncomfortable, were the only path forward.

I thought of my own family, the love and respect I had always known there, and contrasted it with the cold, rigid expectations of Malcolm’s household. The contrast was stark, painful, and illuminating. I could feel a sense of longing for their acceptance, for their reassurance, but it was also a reminder that I was capable, intelligent, and deserving of kindness. That I had the strength to stand up for myself, even if the man I married could not see it yet.

The night stretched on, silent except for the quiet ticking of the clock. I sat alone in the living room, Malcolm having retreated to another room, perhaps to think, perhaps to avoid confrontation. I stared at my hands, the muscles tight, the skin pale from the intensity of emotion. I imagined every possible scenario for the coming days, every conversation, every moment where I could assert myself, every subtle maneuver that would force him to reckon with the truth.

Finally, I made a decision. I would not allow another holiday, another phone call, another interaction to define my worth. I would show him, without cruelty or theatrics, that I was not a failure. That the abuse I endured was real, visible, and unacceptable. And that I would not remain silent any longer. This was the turning point. From here, the narrative would change. From here, I would reclaim not just my voice, but my marriage, and most importantly, my sense of self.

I rose from the couch, feeling a quiet determination settle in my chest. I would confront the next holiday, the next phone call, the next unreasonable demand, with resolve and strategy. And perhaps, through these actions, my husband would finally understand that the cruelty he excused, the favoritism he maintained, and the dismissiveness he embodied, could no longer dictate the terms of my life.

I knew the road ahead would not be easy, but for the first time in months, maybe even years, I felt ready. I was no longer a passive participant in my own life. I was ready to act, to assert, to open his eyes—even if it was in ways he never expected.

And so, the first steps of a careful, deliberate plan began to take shape in my mind, quiet and precise, aimed at change that could not be ignored. The challenge ahead was immense, but I felt, for the first time in a long while, a flicker of hope. Not hope that he would change, necessarily, but hope that I could finally take control of the life that was mine to lead.

Continue below

“Mom wants us to come home for the new year holiday.” My husband suddenly told me during our first holiday season as a married couple. I told him I wanted to visit my own family too, but he flatly refused. To make things worse, his mother started berating me, saying I lacked awareness as a wife and calling me a shoddy daughter-in-law.

No matter how much I tried to negotiate, my husband always sided with his mother. I had had enough. I couldn’t play this family game anymore. I decided to take measures that would permanently sever ties with my in-laws. My name is Abby and I’m 28 years old. I married Malcolm, my boyfriend of 2 years.

 Our newlywed life was going smoothly. Both of us work full-time, so neither of us bear the burden of household chores alone. Being a woman, I didn’t want all the housework pushed on to me. So, I made sure my husband did his share. My job and personal life were fulfilling. I even started thinking about having a child once things settled down a bit.

One month after we got married, I was suddenly summoned to my in-laws home. Summoned might not be the right word, though. At that time, I simply thought I was invited to visit their home. I had visited my in-laws before we got married, but I was too nervous to engage in any meaningful conversation. I thought that this could be a good opportunity to bond with my mother-in-law.

With such a light feeling, I headed to my mother-in-law’s house. However, the reason for the summoning was nothing short of outrageous. After arriving at the family’s house, we are led into the living room. As soon as my husband and I sat down on the sofa in their living room, my mother-in-law’s voice rang out. Excuse me, Abby.

 Why are you sitting there so leisurely? Please make me some tea. Ah, I’m sorry. Caught off guard, I apologize. I was under the impression that I would be treated as a guest at my in-laws home. I wasn’t expecting anything lavish, but I certainly didn’t expect to be treated like a servant. Abby, you’re taking too long to steep the tea.

 Hey, it’s common sense to warm up the cup first. My mother-in-law was watching me prepare the tea, constantly sighing. My father-in-law and husband said nothing. I thought, if she had so many complaints, why didn’t she just make the tea herself? I admit my tea making skills were lacking, but I was also annoyed by her imposing her own standards on me.

 Then on another day, I was about to clean our house when my mother-in-law suddenly called me. I hurried over to my in-laws house with my husband, only to find my mother-in-law already angry. “Why didn’t you bring any gifts? Isn’t it common to bring a gift when visiting your in-laws?” She reprimanded me without preamble. I didn’t have any plans to go out today and I only decided to come here at the last minute.

 So, I’m not asking for excuses. These days, daughters-in-law quickly show disrespect to their mothers-in-law, don’t they? Ah, I really got stuck with a shoddy daughter-in-law. I’m sorry. In the midst of all this, neither my husband nor my father-in-law offered me any support. I didn’t necessarily want them to defend me.

 I just wanted someone to stop my mother-in-law’s unreasonable tirade. After my mother-in-law’s lecture, I whispered to my husband, “Hey, Malcolm, can you say something to your mom? It was a last minute decision to come today, so there was no way I could have prepared a gift.” But my husband just sighed in an annoyed manner.

 Don’t you think you should always have some gifts ready just in case you have to visit? I agree with my mom on this. The response I got from my husband were irrational words blaming me. Is he kidding me? Why is he taking my mother-in-law’s side, too? Not only has my impression of my husband decreased, but within a few days, I’ve developed an aversion towards my mother-in-law.

 After that, I was regularly called in and had the ways of the in-laws imposed on me. When you visit your in-laws, the daughter-in-law takes care of all the chores. The daughter-in-law prioritizes her husband and parents-in-law. The New Year’s vacation is always spent at the in-laws house and so on. Honestly, isn’t their thinking way too outdated? Even I had grown fearful of visiting my husband’s family.

 On our first New Year’s holiday after marriage, my husband told me, “We’re expected to return for the New Year’s holiday.” What? Hold on. When will I be able to visit my family? H It might be tough this time. We can decide again after the new year. What’s with that? We promised to visit both families equally, didn’t we? I was infuriated by my husband’s irresponsibility.

He responded with an air of annoyance. It can’t be helped now, right? No point in bringing that up. Why would he sigh at a time like this? We had clearly agreed on this before we got married. That’s right. Both my husband and I were the type to want to visit our families regularly. That’s why we rented an apartment halfway between both our parents’ homes and decided to visit them equally.

 But when we opened the lid, we had already visited the in-laws six times, and I had only been able to return to my family once. According to my husband, this time we were to stay at his parents house from the end of work until work resumes. There’s no way I can accept such an absurd proposal, I demanded of my husband.

 At least before work starts again, I want to visit my family. When my husband told me to ask mom, I called my mother-in-law. The first thing my mother-in-law said when she answered the phone was, “Abby, you’re in charge of the special New Year’s dinner. Okay, I understand, but I will definitely visit my family before work starts, so please be prepared for that.

” When I clearly told her that, my mother-in-law raised her voice in surprise. What’s with that? Prioritizing your own family. You like the consciousness of a daughter-in-law. I was lectured for an hour over the phone and ended up completely exhausted. When I complained about it to my husband, he casually replied, “Mom just wants you to be a good wife, Abby.

 She often says, “I want her to be a wife fit for our family.” His dull nature was also draining me. In the end, we ended up spending the entire New Year’s holiday at my in-laws place. That’s your first New Year’s since you got married, so prioritize them. That’s what my mother said, so I reluctantly complied. During our stay at the in-laws, I worked like a maid.

 From preparing meals to cleaning the whole house, doing the laundry, taking out the trash, I ended up having to do everything by myself. If I asked my husband for help, I was scolded. Abby, this is the wife’s job, isn’t it? Malcolm is tired from his usual work, so it’s only natural that he should rest during the New Year’s holiday, right? You’re really inconsiderate.

I work full-time, too. You know, thanks to you, I haven’t been able to rest at all during the New Year’s holiday. You know, though I retorted in my heart, I didn’t want to make a fuss at the beginning of the new year. It’s the first year of our marriage. I forced myself to accept it and somehow made it through the holiday at the in-laws house.

 I hadn’t seen my family since the start of the new year. My husband off-handedly told me, “I’m tired. I’ll stay home. So, I ended up going to visit my family alone. That’s probably when my trust in him began to wane. Of course, I had complaints about my mother-in-law and my husband’s family, too. But more than that, I was fed up with my husband, who wouldn’t take me seriously when I tried to talk to him.

 Even after the new year, the harassment for my mother-in-law didn’t stop. When I began refusing to visit her home, she started calling every day. When I woke up in the morning, there would already be about 10 missed calls. I thought something had happened, so I called back only to have my mother-in-law yelling at me. “So, you finally woke up.

 You lack a sense of responsibility as a wife. Get up at 5:00 a.m. every day and make a nutritious meal for Malcolm.” Even if I got home a little late from work, she would scold me terribly. I heard from Malcolm. It’s outrageous for a woman to stay late at work. A wife who doesn’t come home before her husband is the worst. Prioritize your home, you heartless girl.

 Um, I actually earned more than your son. In fact, I contribute more to our living expenses. I almost pointed this out many times, but I somehow held it in and just brushed it off with a Yeah. Yeah. Gradually, I stopped answering calls from my mother-in-law and deleted her voicemails without listening to them. This went on for about a year, and then the hellish season came around again.

Sure enough, my husband was pestering me, saying, “Mom says you should come home for the New Year’s holiday. This time I firmly told my husband, “I am not going this year. I can’t bear it anymore. I’m not a housekeeper.” My husband, annoyed by my words, grumbled at me. “Listen, Abby, don’t upset my mom.

 You married me, so at least be considerate of my family.” “Excuse me, you never even properly show your face to my family. Besides, I’ve been working really hard to build a good relationship with your mother. That’s why my mom is always mad, right? You need to try harder. Try harder. As if I’m the only one to blame. Seething with rage, my husband dropped the final bomb. Let me tell you something, Abby.

Mom is mad because you’re a failure. You get that? At that moment, the dam I had barely been holding back finally burst. A failure. It’s my fault. I’ve been putting his family first for his sake and putting up with it all this time. Taking a deep breath, I looked my husband in the eye. I’m cutting ties with your family.

 I’m never seeing your father and mother again. My husband looked surprised for a moment, but he must have realized that anything he said now would be futile. Surprisingly, he gave in quite easily. All right. All right. I get it. Totally fine. I’ll go home alone for the holidays. Our relationship got a bit strained after that.

 We talked less at home, but frankly, I didn’t care. I was able to spend the New Year’s holiday with my family for the first time in a while. That fact alone made me extremely happy. When I arrived at my parents house, my mom asked worryingly, “Abby, is everything okay with Malcolm’s family? I can’t help but worry. I’m fine, Mom.

 I made it clear to him that I won’t be involved anymore. Is that so? I hope everything’s all right. My mom still looked a bit uneasy. She’s worried in her own way about my relationship with my husband’s family. After enjoying my childhood home after so long and leaving the housework to mom, I was relaxing when suddenly the doorbell rang. Coming.

 I quickly headed for the door only to find my husband standing there. Uh, what? I was taken aback, not expecting this at all. He looked worn out. I invited him in, but he didn’t say a word. Losing patience? I demanded an explanation. What’s up? Weren’t you supposed to be going home to your folks today, Malcolm? At that, my husband slowly opened his mouth. Mom said to bring Abby.

 What? Again? How relentless can my mother-in-law be? Though outraged, I held my ground. Didn’t I tell you I’m not going to your parents house again? When I said I was cutting ties with them, you agreed, right, Malcolm? Yeah, but mom’s angry. She says it’s inconceivable for a daughter-in-law not to visit her in-laws. I don’t care.

 I can’t handle your mother’s harassment anymore. And I’m fed up with your father’s indifference, too. So, I don’t intend to see them ever again. Upon hearing this, my husband pleaded. That’s a problem. Like mom said, Abby, you married into this family. Please consider my position. Your position? How ridiculous.

 What era are you living in? I vented my anger at him. Enough is enough. I didn’t get married to become your parents’ housekeeper. I don’t want anything to do with in-laws who harass me and a husband who doesn’t stand up for me. I had never spoken so strongly. My husband flinched. But it wasn’t enough. Not compared to the humiliation I’d endured all this while.

 If you continue to side with your mother, I’ll divorce you. Divorce? You’re joking, right? I’m serious. Being mistreated just because I’m your wife. Living with a husband who won’t help me and simply does what his mother says? I’ll never be happy. I’d be far better off single. When he realized that I was seriously considering divorce, his face turned pale.

 Just then, his phone rang. Looking at the screen, he appeared startled. I knew right away it was his mother calling. “Hello,” my husband responded with a pitiful voice. I could hear his mother squawking loudly over the phone, even from where I was standing. Losing patience with my husband’s wavering, I snatched the phone from him.

 “Uh, hello, mother-in-law. It’s me. No matter how much you try to use my husband, I won’t be coming over anymore. What? You’re my daughter-in-law, aren’t you? I won’t accept that. My mother-in-law fired back without missing a beat. But I retorted with twice the power. Daughter-in-law? Daughter-in-law? Are you living in the stone age? It’s the 21st century.

What an insulent bride. You can at least show up at the house for special occasions. No way. My husband is free to go there. But whether it’s a special occasion or not, I absolutely will not go. If you have anything more to say, I’ll divorce Malcolm. Divorce? Are you planning to disgrace Malcolm? Then let’s divorce once and remarry under my surname.

That’s fine, right? That’s ridiculous. I won’t allow that. Do as you please. Regardless of what you say, I have no intention of dealing with you guys ever again. Goodbye. With that, I spat out and hung up the phone. I then turned to face my husband. That’s the deal. Like I said before, if you take your mother’s side, we’ll get a divorce.

 If you can understand my point of view and treat me as an equal, I’ll let this slide. I understand. I choose you, Abby. My husband hung his head for a while, but ultimately made the decision to give our relationship another shot. Since then, I stopped visiting my in-laws and the mother-in-law stopped contacting us as well.

Perhaps reflecting on his past behavior. My husband now regularly visits my parents. Of course, my parents don’t treat him like a workhorse. They adore him as if he were their own son. I’m sure we’ll face many obstacles in the future. Even so, I want to team up with my husband who chose me and overcome each day together.