Three Weeks with In-Laws and Zero Meltdowns

How my mother's advice, and some $$$ kept me from turning into a neurotic daughter-in-law.

In Februry, My in-laws were coming to visit for three weeks, which is approximately 23 hours longer than any normal human can tolerate having people in their house without developing a mysterious rash. Husband exempted.

Before they even visited, I was spiraling into a special kind of panic-vortex that is reserved for when in-laws come to stay with you. For the first time.

I was especially fixated on all the things they might silently judge and then actively change things in my house. Or use things incorrectly. Or breathe incorrectly. Because that's totally reasonable, right? RIGHT?

I've seen how these visits unfold.

In TV soaps, the mother-in-law comes in and rearranges the entire kitchen while making passive-aggressive comments about dust. She would comment on how the daughter-in-law should make tea, or how she should not fold the laundry. "Oh, you keep your spatulas THERE? How... innovative." eyebrow raise that could cut glass

When my grandmother would visit us, she'd take control of the house, making sure there was incense burning every morning and evening in EVERY SINGLE ROOM until the whole place smelled like we were running an ashram for sinus-challenged devotees. She'd also empty our fridge every night. Perfectly good leftovers were thrown away because they'd been there "too long" (24 hours is apparently the expiration date for everything in Grandmother Standard Time).

That was 1997.

When my cousin's in-laws visited her, they installed a brass Buddha statue, blessed by the priests from 9 villages in her living room. She was instructed to not move it for THREE YEARS because "it was facing the optimal direction for their fertility." They reprogrammed her doorbell to play some devotional song. Neighbours thought she was running a temple out of her apartment.

This happened in 2022. Buddha is scheduled to move out next year.

These things haven't changed for decades. And the evidence was all around me.

I wasn't being paranoid. I was being PREPARED.

One evening, while trying to calm myself by brisk walking, I called my mother. And after she kept asking ‘aur batao’ (translation: "what else?" or more accurately: "please continue with your neurotic spiral while I pretend to be surprised by it") I confessed about my worries. Seventeen days before they'd even arrived, I was already mentally living in a future where everything had gone wrong. The scenarios hadn't happened. Would probably never happen exactly as I imagined. But my brain couldn't tell the difference between real and anticipated disasters. I was going on with my list —

“Will they use a metal spoon in my Hexclad pan?”

“What if my Le Creuset is not washed properly?”

“What if they over-water my plants?”

And my mother, who's best buddies with my in-laws —

"Beta, you don't have to worry about anything that can be fixed with a lil bit, or even a lot of money later. Just worry about your work, your food, your routine AND being nice to your guests. If it's replaceable, it should not be your worry right now”

I stopped mid-rant.

"Wait. I can do that? That's ALLOWED?”

When my in-laws were with us for 21 days, I didn't stress when they put the coffee mugs on the wrong shelf. I didn't have an internal meltdown when my father-in-law decided to wipe shoes on my cute foot mat, which he mistook as washable. I didn't even flinch when I saw the kitchen towels were now being used to wipe the counter. I didn't feel agitated when I saw my favorite table cover being used to sit on.

I was FREE.

I felt like I deserve a trophy. A really big one that says "Congratulations! You didn't hide in the closet eating ramen noodles for three weeks straight!"

And when they finally left (happily), it took me exactly two days to put everything back the way I liked it, to restock the kitchen ingredients from brands that I use. Two days versus three weeks of being a normal human instead of a twitching ball of neuroses. And I spent $236. Versus the $150 per session of therapy I would have to take if I had let things affect me.

The maths shows that my mother's advice worked. It gave me permission to care about the truly important things—like my mental health, my relationship with my in-laws, my connection with my husband, my mother's relationship with them.

So next time you have friends, or family over, let them use the wrong shelf. Let them mistake your foot mat for a shoe towel. Let them believe your table cover makes a fine picnic blanket.

And while they're busy being human in all their imperfect glory, you can be busy being free. Actually, genuinely free—from the tyranny of your own expectations.

Besides, there's always therapy. And wine. Usually in that order.