“Where are you going again? Mom is coming!” my husband couldn’t understand why I was doing this. Then I explained everything to my mother-in-law.
It all started with little things. But doesn’t it always? Big problems grow out of tiny jabs that at first seem insignificant.
The first time Lidia Petrovna came to visit us was a month after the wedding. I was happy — finally, I would get to know my mother-in-law better! Before that, we had only seen each other at the wedding, where she had been pointedly polite but somehow distant.
“Anya, dear,” she said as soon as she stepped through the door, “why is your hallway such a mess? The jackets are hanging any which way. My Seryozha always kept everything perfectly tidy.”
I looked at the hallway. Two jackets on the coat rack and a pair of sneakers by the wall — what mess? But I kept quiet, deciding that my mother-in-law was simply nervous about being in unfamiliar surroundings.
“And what is that smell coming from the kitchen?” she continued, sniffing the air. “Are you cooking meat? Seryozha doesn’t like fried meat. He has a sensitive stomach. I always steamed it for him.”
“Mom, I eat fried meat perfectly well,” Seryozha said, putting an arm around my shoulders.
“You’ve simply gotten used to it, son. But fried food is bad for the stomach. Anya, you do care about your husband’s health, don’t you?”
That time, I still held myself back. I redid the meat and steamed it instead. I set the table, brought out our best dinnerware, and bought the cake that Seryozha had once mentioned his mother liked.
But Lidia Petrovna found something to criticize there too.
“You should have bought cloth napkins instead of paper ones. And this cake is far too sweet. I’m not supposed to eat that. Diabetes runs in our family. Didn’t Seryozha tell you?”
Seryozha shrugged awkwardly. No, he hadn’t.
During lunch, my mother-in-law began explaining how soup should be cooked properly — “not the way you do it, Anya; you need to fry the carrots separately first” — how shirts should be ironed — “I can tell from those creases that you don’t know how” — and how a household should generally be managed — “in my day, women knew all of this from childhood.”
Seryozha remained silent, occasionally agreeing with his mother. And I smiled and thought: well, yes, my mother-in-law is only trying to help and share her experience. That’s normal, isn’t it?
Lidia Petrovna began coming every two weeks. Then every week. Every time, she found something new to criticize. Either the flowers in the vase were in the wrong place, the books on the shelf were arranged incorrectly, or I was using the wrong dishwashing liquid.
“Anya, why do you have towels like these in the bathroom? Seryozha is used to soft, fluffy ones. And he needs a different toothpaste — he has sensitive teeth.”
“Anya, why do you buy this bread? Seryozha has eaten only Darnitsky bread since childhood. And the milk needs to have a different fat percentage.”
“Anya, these curtains don’t match the wallpaper at all. I know someone who can help you choose something decent.”
I endured it. I changed things. I bought new towels, different toothpaste, the “correct” bread. I changed the curtains. But Lidia Petrovna still found new reasons to be dissatisfied.
The worst part was that she talked about me in the third person as though I weren’t even in the room.
“Seryozha, tell your wife she needs to wash the dishes with hot water. Otherwise, germs will remain.”
“Seryozha, your wife needs to learn how to make proper soup. This one is too watery.”
“Seryozha, explain to her that guests should be greeted in a clean robe, not in ordinary house clothes.”
And Seryozha would nod, then carefully pass along his mother’s “advice” to me in the evening.
“Anya, maybe we really should wash the dishes in hotter water? Mom says…”
Gradually, I realized that every visit from my mother-in-law had turned into an exam I was destined to fail. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, everything was wrong, inappropriate, or simply not good enough.
“Lidia Petrovna, perhaps you shouldn’t come over quite so often?” I finally dared to ask one day. “We’ve only recently gotten married. We’d like to have a little time alone together…”
“I have every right to visit my son whenever I see fit,” my mother-in-law snapped. “Seryozha is my only child, and I will not allow anyone to restrict our relationship.”
Seryozha said nothing.
As always.
A week later, Lidia Petrovna came again. And once again, she started teaching me how to live: how to brew tea, how to fold laundry, even how to speak to the neighbors.
“In my day, daughters-in-law respected their mothers-in-law,” she sighed. “Young girls nowadays think everyone owes them something. Seryozha, you need to teach your wife how to behave.”
That was when I finally understood.
It wasn’t about my mistakes or my lack of skills. Lidia Petrovna simply couldn’t let go of her son. She wanted to continue controlling his life, and I was an obstacle standing in her way.
The next time Seryozha told me his mother was coming, I said:
“Wonderful. I’ll go visit my friend.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. “Mom is coming!”
“So? Let her come. The two of you can have a wonderful time together.”
“But who’s going to cook? Who’s going to set the table?”
“What, have you forgotten how? Or has your mother?”
Seryozha stared at me in bewildered silence.
I packed my bag and left.
I returned late that evening. Seryozha greeted me with an unhappy expression.
“Mom was very upset. She came all this way especially, and you weren’t here.”
“She came to see you, not me,” I replied. “I hope you had a nice time together.”
“Anya, you don’t understand. Mom is trying to help us. She wants what’s best…”
“Help? Seryozha, in six months your mother hasn’t said a single kind thing to me. Everything I do is wrong. Everything I buy is wrong. Everything I cook tastes bad. And at the same time, she expects me to welcome her like an honored guest, set the table, and entertain her. Is that what you call helping?”
“Well… maybe she just wants everything to be good…”
“Seryozha, have you ever told her that I’m a good wife? That you’re happy with the way I cook, clean, and take care of you?”
He fell silent.
And I understood the answer.
The next time, the same thing happened again.
“Where are you going again? Mom is coming!” Seryozha protested when he saw me getting dressed.
“To Natasha’s. We’ll sit and talk.”
“But what about dinner? Mom will be hungry!”
“Seryozha, you’re thirty years old. You’re a grown man. Are you really incapable of feeding your own mother?”
“But that’s… those are women’s responsibilities!”
I stopped and stared at him.
Had I really lived with this man for two years without realizing who he truly was?
“What women’s responsibilities? Cooking for your mother, who can’t stand me?”
“She doesn’t hate you… that’s just the way she is. She criticizes everyone.”
“Seryozha, she only criticizes me. And you know that perfectly well.”
His face turned red, but he kept insisting.
“You’re my wife! Mom has the right to expect respect from you!”
“And I have the right to expect my husband to defend me! But somehow, I can’t remember a single time when you stood up for me.”
And I left.
This war continued for a month.
Every time a visit from Lidia Petrovna was announced, I disappeared from the apartment. And Seryozha grew angrier and angrier.
“Anya, this can’t go on!” he declared after another one of his mother’s visits. “Mom left in tears! She says you hate her!”
“She isn’t wrong.”
“How can you say that?!”
“Very easily. Seryozha, in two years of our marriage, your mother has never once called me by my name. To her, I’m ‘your wife,’ ‘that girl,’ or simply ‘her.’ She criticizes every step I take, every decision I make. She expects me to rearrange our entire home according to her tastes. At the same time, she treats me as if I’m a servant who is supposed to wait on her. And you support her.”
“I don’t support anyone! It’s just that Mom…”
“Mom, Mom, Mom!” I exploded. “Seryozha, she’s sixty-two years old! She’s a grown woman who is perfectly capable of taking care of herself! But she prefers playing the role of a spoiled princess, and you encourage her!”
“She’s my mother!”
“And I’m your wife! Or I was…”
We fought worse than we ever had before.
Seryozha went to stay with a friend, and I sat down and seriously thought about our marriage.
What did we even have left in common?
He always took his mother’s side. In every argument, in every situation. My feelings and opinions meant nothing to him. He didn’t see me as a partner. He saw me as domestic staff.
And for two years, I had been trying to become the perfect wife for the perfect son of the perfect mother.
When Seryozha came home, I said:
“We need to have a serious talk.”
“If you’re going to complain about Mom again…”
“No. I want to talk about us. Seryozha, tell me honestly: do you love me?”
“Of course! What kind of strange question is that?”
“Then why do you never defend me from your mother?”
“Anya, come on… Mom isn’t attacking you. She’s just… giving you advice.”
“Seryozha, she says I cook badly, clean badly, dress badly, and behave badly. At the same time, she expects me to entertain her and serve her. And you call that advice?”
“Maybe you’re just reacting too strongly…”
And at that moment, I finally understood.
He was never going to change.
To him, his mother would always be right, and I would always be the hysterical woman who was “overreacting.”
“Seryozha,” I said calmly, “your mother is coming again tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. And I’m really asking you…”
“All right. I’ll be home.”
He looked surprised, then delighted.
“Really? Anya, thank you! I knew you’d understand!”
Then I said:
“Seryozha, pack your things.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow your mother will come, but you won’t be here. Because this is my apartment, and I no longer want to see either you or her in it.”
“Anya, what are you saying?!”
“What I’ve been thinking for the last six months. You’re a wonderful son to your mother. But you’re a terrible husband to me. Pack your things.”
He tried to argue, persuade me, even threaten me.
But I wouldn’t budge.
By morning, he had packed a suitcase and left.
At two o’clock that afternoon, the doorbell rang.
Lidia Petrovna stood on the doorstep with a huge bag and a displeased expression.
“Where is Seryozha?” she asked without even saying hello.
“I don’t know. We’re divorcing. He moved out yesterday.”
“What do you mean, divorcing?!” my mother-in-law gasped.
“Exactly what I said. Come in, Lidia Petrovna. I have something to tell you.”
She entered the room, looking around suspiciously.
“Sit down,” I offered. “Would you like some tea?”
“What kind of performance is this? Where is my son?”
“Your son packed his things and left. He’s probably staying with a friend, and after that, he’ll go back to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that, Lidia Petrovna, you didn’t raise a man. You raised a mama’s boy who, at thirty years old, is incapable of making a single independent decision.”
Her face turned red.
“How dare you!”
“Quite easily. This is my apartment, and here I say what I think. For two years, you made my life a living hell. You picked at every tiny detail and criticized every step I took. At the same time, you demanded that I welcome you like a queen.”
“I was trying to help you! To teach you!”
“You were trying to prove who was in charge of this house. You couldn’t accept that your son had gotten married. So you decided to turn me into a servant who would wait on both you and him.”
“That isn’t true!”
“It is true, Lidia Petrovna. In two years, you never once thanked me for dinner. Not once did you compliment me. Not once did you call me by my name. To you, I was always ‘that girl’ or ‘your wife.’ And your son supported you.”
My mother-in-law remained silent, but her eyes burned with anger.
“And now,” I continued, “your precious little boy is free. You can go back to steaming his meals, ironing his shirts, and deciding what curtains he should hang. Exactly what you’ve always wanted.”
“You… you’ve ruined his life!”
“No, Lidia Petrovna. I’ve freed him from an unsuitable wife. And I’ve freed myself from an unsuitable husband. Everyone should be happy.”
She jumped up from the sofa.
“He’ll come back to you! You’ll regret this!”
“If he comes back, I’ll send him right back to you. I need a husband, not a child I have to raise.”
Lidia Petrovna grabbed her bag and headed toward the door.
“And remember,” I called after her, “don’t come here again. Next time, I simply won’t open the door.”
The door slammed shut.
And I sat down on the sofa and… laughed.
For the first time in two years, I felt free.
Seryozha called me for an entire week. He tried to persuade me to “talk everything through.”
But there was nothing left to discuss.
I filed for divorce.
A month later, I ran into a mutual acquaintance at the store.
“Anya!” she said happily. “I heard you and Seryozha got divorced? Is he living with his mother now?”
“Yes,” I smiled. “They’ve finally found their happiness.”
“Don’t you regret it?”
I thought about it.
Did I regret the two years I had wasted? Did I regret putting up with everything for so long? Did I regret not realizing sooner that you cannot build a family with someone who doesn’t see you as a person?
“No,” I answered. “I don’t regret it. It was an important lesson.”
Now I know that respect in a family isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity.
And if a man cannot defend his wife from his own mother, then he isn’t ready to be a husband.
As for Lidia Petrovna, she finally got exactly what she wanted: complete and undivided control over her son.
Let her enjoy it.