“Mother-in-Law’s Constant Calls for Weekend Help: When Enough Became Enough”

For the past eight years, I, Nora, have been diligently working to maintain a harmonious relationship with my mother-in-law, Grace. When Joe and I decided to move from our quaint town to the bustling city for better job opportunities, I knew maintaining family ties would be more challenging due to the distance. However, I hadn’t anticipated how this change would affect our weekends.

Grace, a widow in her late sixties, stayed back in the town. Since our move, she began to rely heavily on us. Every Thursday, like clockwork, my phone would light up with Grace’s name. The conversations usually started with pleasantries, but the call inevitably led to the same request: “Could you come over this weekend? I could really use some help around the house.”

In the beginning, Joe and I didn’t mind. We understood it was tough for her to manage alone, and we felt it was our duty to help. We spent countless Saturdays and Sundays doing everything from mowing the lawn and fixing leaky faucets to deep cleaning her kitchen and doing her weekly grocery shopping. It was exhausting, but we did it out of love.

As months turned into years, the routine began to wear on us. Our own home needed attention, and our social life in the city was non-existent. We had discussions, Joe and I, about setting some boundaries, but he was torn, feeling obligated as Grace’s only child.

One weekend, everything came to a head. We had planned to decline Grace’s request gently, hoping to finally enjoy some much-needed downtime. When I told her over the phone that we wouldn’t be coming that weekend, there was a pause. Then, the guilt-tripping started. “Oh, I see, you’re too busy for your old mother now. It’s fine; I’ll just see if I can fix the sink myself,” she said, her voice a mix of disappointment and frustration.

Feeling guilty and upset, we ended up driving down. That weekend was particularly grueling. Grace had a list ready for us: the garage needed cleaning, the garden needed tending, and several appliances needed repairs. By Sunday night, we were both physically and emotionally drained.

On the drive back to the city, Joe finally broke the silence. “We can’t keep doing this, Nora. It’s too much,” he admitted. I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. We decided then to start saying no more often, to prioritize our health and our marriage.

The following weeks were tough. Each refusal was met with coldness or sharp words from Grace. The strain showed in Joe’s face every time he hung up the phone. Our attempts at setting boundaries seemed to be pushing her away.

One chilly November evening, Grace called. Her tone was different, somber. She had fallen while trying to fix something herself and was now in the hospital with a broken hip. The guilt that washed over us was suffocating. Despite our efforts to balance our lives, we couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Our relationship with Grace never fully recovered. She became more withdrawn, hiring local help rather than asking us. Joe and I learned a painful lesson about boundaries and family expectations. Sometimes, trying to do everything right for everyone ends up feeling all wrong.