Married to a Mummy’s Boy: Living by Her Rules Is Driving Me Mad!
I married a proper mummys boy. Now, in this house, everything must be “just like at Mums”and Ive had enough!
I still dont understand how I let this happen. How I failed to see, behind that serious demeanour and his thirty-eight years, a boy utterly dependent on his mother. Outwardly, a grown man, decisive, even charismatic. Divorced, lived far from her, rented his own flat. I thought he was mature. But in truth, that maturity was just a façade.
Id been burned beforemy first marriage collapsed because my husband was hopelessly immature. He spent all day glued to his computer, not even bothering to look for work. After him, I swore my next would be older. But alas, age doesnt guarantee wisdom.
I met my now-husband through his mother. I was temping in a shop at the time; she was a regular customerkind, charming, friendly. Shed say, “Id love a daughter-in-law like you.” Then her son started showing up, wooing me straight from a textbook. I fell for his attentiveness, his stability, his reliability. We married and moved into his old flat.
The first shock? The decor. Straight out of the ’80s: floral wallpaper, crystal in the cabinet, vintage furniture. I tentatively suggested, “What if we modernised it a bit? Freshen things up?” He looked horrified. “Youre joking, right? Mum picked all this. Itd be a shame to change it!” Even taking down the wall carpet turned into a battle, as if Id ripped out his mothers heart.
Then it got worse. I couldnt use the fancy china in the cupboard”They dont make them like this anymore.” His words, verbatim, like his mothers. And of course, she started visiting more often. At his invitation, naturally.
The moment she arrived, the lectures began: Why a hoover instead of a broom? Why remove the carpet? And above all”Everything should be like at mine; its whats best for my son.” Next, the cooking. “You dont make onion soup properly! My son only eats it with perfectly golden croutons.” One day, I snapped. “Will you be the one taking him to the doctor later? This isnt foodits a recipe for ulcers!”
I tried replacing a piece of furnituremy mother-in-law shot back, “You came here with nothing!” Oh, so I shouldve brought my own wardrobe? I work too, you know. Even if its just retail for now, Im trying, and Ill find something better. Besides, my husband earns well. Why dont I get a say in my own home?
And him? Hes turning into her. Recently, he even said, “Maybe you should watch some telly, so youll have things to talk about with Mum.” Enough to drive me mad. I dont even watch TV, and I already spend too much time with hershes here every day, like a part-time job. She lectures me on ironing, polishing the floors, shutting cupboards properly.
I wouldnt say shes cruel. Just too much. Too invasive, too controlling. The worst part? My husband sees nothing wrong with it. To him, its normal. But I refuse to live like this. I wont become a carbon copy of his mother. I want my own life, my own home, my own way.
Yes, the flat isnt mine. Yes, I didnt pay for it. But Ive poured my soul into it. And I wont turn my life into a retro museum exhibit under her direction.
I want children. But not if theyll grow up with this family model. Not if theyll be raised by her rulebook, like him. Hes not a little boy anymore. Its time he learned: when you marry, you leave home. And if he wont maybe I should be the one to go. Before its too late.
Sometimes love isnt enough when one person refuses to grow upand another refuses to live in someone elses shadow.
