My Only Crime Was Loving My Mother-in-Law Like My Own

I made my mother-in-law my priority since I got married last year. From the day I stepped into that home as a daughter-in-law, I decided to be a good one.

I did not come into that house carrying baggage. I had heard the stories, seen the drama, watched how these mother-in-law and daughter-in-law relationships could sour. But I refused to let any of that poison what I was building. I came in with a clear heart and an open spirit, and I meant it.

My husband and I got married last May. He came home for the wedding, and then he left — back to his base abroad. And just like that, I was alone. Here, holding everything together by myself, in a home that was still new to me, in a family I was still finding my footing in. That loneliness, if I am honest, is part of what made me reach out to her so much. I needed family. I needed to feel like I belonged in this family.

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So, I showed up. Whenever my mother-in-law called, I picked up at the first ring. When I sensed things were tough for her, I sent money. On Mother’s Day, I showed up with gifts, blessings, and prayers. I always went out of my way for her. I wanted her to feel seen, respected, valued.

Along the way, something was growing between us—maybe a mother-daughter bond, or at least a warm relationship. I was content. We had a family event, a baby outdooring. I traveled to attend, and they booked a hotel for me. While there, I came down with severe diarrhea. Alone and sick in that room, I was so weak I could barely manage the few steps to the washroom. No one brought me food or medicine. When I returned home to Kumasi, not one person called to check on me.

There is a particular sadness when you are sick and no one shows up. I felt that. Yet I gave them the benefit of the doubt. So I called her myself. Immediately, she got on the call  “I will call you back when I get home.” She never called back.

In October, my world fell apart. My mother died. If you have lost your mother, you know there are no words. It is a pain that sits in your chest and does not move. I called my mother-in-law with shaking hands. I don’t know what I was looking for. Maybe just a kind voice. Instead, she yellled, “Why are you calling me to tell me your mother died? Did I kill your mother, huh? Please, let me be.” I did not know what to say. I just sat there with the phone against my ear and felt something inside me go very, very quiet. And then the tears came.

I told my husband what his mother said to me. He said to me “Pretend nothing happened.” When she showed up at the funeral, but they practically had to beg her to follow the Adesiedie traditions. Honestly, I was so consumed by my grief that it did not even matter to me anymore.

I have been sitting with this for months, turning it over, trying to be fair. Trying to find where she meant well. Where I misread it. But I keep coming back to the same truth — I was grieving my mother, and she could not find one kind word for me. Not one.

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My sister-in-law is sick, and I have not been able to visit her because of all of this. When I called to let her know I was coming, she called me back and told me not to come. She said, “My mother has been behaving strangely ever since I told her, so it is better you don’t come.”

My husbands says he supports me. But support is not just a word you say. I am not feeling it. I am not seeing it. And I am starting to wonder what exactly he is protecting; me or his mother.

To top it all off, I have been having strange dreams lately. I am scared. Not just of her. Of all of it. I came into this marriage with a willing heart. I did not sign up for this kind of trouble. I do not have the strength for it.

—Lizzy

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