My husband passed away a month ago. Right after the funeral, I felt lonely and scared. I had spent most of my adult life with him, and suddenly, I was alone in our quiet house. My only son, Eric, saw how down I felt. He and his wife, Melissa, offered to let me stay with them for a while. It gave me a little comfort to know I wouldn’t be by myself, especially since I’m not used to making big changes on my own.
When I arrived, Eric said he was happy to have me around. He works full time at a small tech company, often leaving the house at seven in the morning and coming back well after six in the evening. Meanwhile, Melissa stays at home. She mentioned she used to work as a graphic designer, but she decided to take a break for a year to relax and figure out her next step. At first, I felt grateful that she could keep me company during the day. The house was peaceful, with warm sunlight streaming through the living room windows, and I hoped we might bond.
But after the first week, I noticed something odd. Melissa started giving me little tasks here and there. One morning, she said, “Mom, could you do the laundry while I run out for some errands?” I didn’t mind, thinking it was a simple chore. I had always done laundry at my own home, so it wasn’t a big deal. Another day, she asked, “Could you pick up a few groceries for dinner?” Again, I didn’t complain, because I wanted to help my son’s household in any way I could.
However, it didn’t stop. The tasks got bigger and more frequent. Melissa mentioned that she wanted the whole house deep-cleaned before Christmas. I spent a whole afternoon dusting shelves, vacuuming carpets, and washing windows. She stayed in her room most of the time, saying she had a headache and needed to lie down. By the end of the day, my back ached, and I realized I was doing way more than I expected.
Then, last week, Melissa told me to “plan out and make Christmas dinner” for the entire group of nine friends they were inviting. She also rattled off a list of groceries I was supposed to buy, along with laundry that needed finishing. In that moment, it finally hit me: She was treating me like her personal server or maid. There was no sign of gratitude, no polite request. Just “do this” or “do that.” I recalled how my husband used to treat me with kindness and respect, and how I had raised Eric with the same values. Yet, Melissa didn’t show me a drop of appreciation.
My first instinct was to argue and tell her firmly that I was not her employee. But then I had a better idea. I decided to teach her a lesson, one that might open her eyes to how she was acting. In the following days, I quietly changed my behavior without a big confrontation. I still helped in small ways, but I stopped bending over backward to do everything she demanded.
When Melissa asked me to fold the laundry basket full of clothes, I simply smiled and said, “Oh dear, my back hurts a bit today. Would you mind doing it later?” She looked surprised but not offended. Later, she asked if I could scrub the kitchen floor. I nodded politely and said, “I’ll see if I can get to it, but I’m so busy today,” even though I had no specific plan other than reading a book.
She also tried to send me on a trip to the store to buy a huge list of holiday items: ham, turkey, stuffing mix, pies, and more. I pretended not to hear at first, humming lightly while crocheting in my armchair. When she finally repeated herself, I calmly replied, “Actually, I think we should wait until Eric is home. It might be too heavy for me to carry alone.” She frowned, a little annoyed, but still didn’t say anything too harsh.
I kept this up for several days. Whenever Melissa told me to do something, I either claimed my back or legs were hurting, or I reminded her that she was the one at home who had enough free time. I never yelled or fought with her. I just stopped obeying her commands like a servant. Slowly, I noticed her attitude shifting.
One afternoon, Eric arrived home from work early. Melissa was looking stressed because she had promised a friend she’d bake cookies for a party that night, but she didn’t have time to run to the store for ingredients. She asked me to go, but I simply said, “I’m sorry, dear, I’m feeling a bit under the weather.” I watched her face go pale. Normally, I would have jumped at her request, but this time, I didn’t.
Eric overheard our conversation and asked what was going on. Melissa complained that she needed someone to pick up flour, chocolate chips, and butter, but nobody was helping. Eric, confused, asked why she hadn’t done it herself earlier in the day. She began to stutter and didn’t have a good answer. She couldn’t exactly say, “Because I expected your mom to do it.”
Finally, she blurted out, “She’s just not doing anything these days! She’s sitting around reading, and I’m the one stuck handling stuff!” Eric gave her a puzzled look. “But, honey, Mom just lost her husband. She’s supposed to be resting and recovering from her grief. If you needed help, you could have asked nicely. Or you could have done it yourself.” He then turned to me, concern in his eyes, and asked, “Are you okay, Mom? I feel like there’s something going on.”
At that moment, I decided to tell the truth. I explained how Melissa had been bossing me around, leaving me all the chores without a single word of thanks. I told Eric about the laundry, the cleaning, and the massive Christmas dinner she wanted me to cook alone. My eyes started to tear up as I confessed that I felt used, especially at a time when my heart still ached from losing my husband.
Eric’s face darkened. He turned to Melissa and asked if that was true. She hesitated, looking embarrassed, then admitted she had been giving me tasks. But she tried to defend herself by saying she thought I “needed something to do” to keep my mind off things. I shook my head. “I’m fine doing my own projects,” I said softly. “I don’t mind helping out, but I don’t want to be treated like I’m just here to serve you.”
Melissa’s cheeks flushed. She looked away, biting her lip. After a moment, she let out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “I guess I thought you’d want to stay busy. I didn’t think about how it made you feel like a maid. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Eric nodded in agreement, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We need to make sure everyone in this household is treated with respect,” he added.
We ended up talking for over an hour that day, discussing boundaries and how we can share chores. Melissa promised to be more mindful of what she asks me to do, and Eric promised to help more around the house too. We also talked about my grieving process and how I might need emotional support instead of extra tasks.
Things have improved a lot since then. I still help with some chores, but Melissa and Eric also handle their fair share. We cook together sometimes, which is a nicer way to prepare meals. And when Melissa wanted to invite friends over for a small holiday gathering, she asked politely if I wanted to join in the planning, rather than ordering me around. That simple change in attitude made all the difference.
Now, here is my question for you: if you were in my position, would you have confronted your daughter-in-law directly from the start, or would you have tried a quiet lesson like I did?
