For ten years, my mother-in-law has lived with us. It started when John’s parents separated, and she moved in temporarily—or so I thought. At first, I didn’t mind. We had space, and I wanted to be supportive. But now, I’m pregnant with our third child, and our five-bedroom house suddenly feels cramped. My MIL occupies one room, our daughters have theirs, and I’ve converted the last into my office. There’s nowhere for the new baby, and I’m exhausted from pretending everything’s fine.
I finally told John it’s time for his mother to move out. She’s employed, earns well, and hasn’t contributed to bills or helped with the kids. I’ve sacrificed my peace and privacy for years, and now he wants me to give up my office for the baby—as if my work doesn’t matter. When I refused, he suggested our daughter share her room with the newborn. That’s not fair to her, and it’s not the life I want for my children.
I even proposed a compromise: let his mother move into the basement. It’s spacious, and we could make it comfortable. But John shut it down, calling me selfish and cruel. I’m not trying to exile her—I just want space for my growing family. I want my kids to have their own rooms, their own boundaries. I want to feel like this is my home again, not a shared space where my needs come last.
I’m tired of being the villain for wanting balance. I’ve given everything—my space, my silence, my patience. Now I need my husband to meet me halfway. I’m not asking for exile. I’m asking for respect, for autonomy, for a home that reflects our future, not just his past. Is that really too much?
