My husband’s mother controls his entire life and I’m sick of it.

The Weight of Control

My husband’s mother is a control freak who made our lives a living hell. My husband is the ultimate mama’s boy. Even three years into our marriage, he gossips to her about every one of our problems.

If we have a disagreement about the dirty dishes, he calls her to complain about me. If we disagree on what movie to watch, he calls her so she can convince me to go with his suggestion.

However, this isn’t the worst of it. He asks his mom for permission to do things. If we have a date night planned, he calls her to ask her if he can go out.

Last week, she told him that it was too late to go to a restaurant with me at 9:00. He listened to her and canceled the reservation.

She calls him at 10:30 on the dot every night to tell him that it’s bedtime and he religiously listens to her. He listens even if going to bed interrupts what we’re doing.

I used to confront him about this. But instead of responding to me, he would call his mom and ask her to explain to me why their relationship is the way it is.

The one time I convinced him to try to put his foot down, he called his mom. He then came back into me 20 minutes later and started berating me for trying to manipulate and control him.

I feel as if specific examples are needed to really understand how insane his mother is. When John and I were dating, we were planning a weekend getaway. We needed something romantic just for the two of us.

I was excited. I imagined a cozy cabin in the mountains where we could enjoy some much needed alone time. But before we even finalized the details, John said he needed to check with his mom first.

I laughed it off at the time. I figured he was just being considerate. Maybe she was protective because he’s her only child, I thought. But then he actually called her to ask if we could stay at the cabin.

She told him no. Apparently, it was way too dangerous and her precious boy isn’t used to being so far away from her. He took her word on it and told me we couldn’t go.

I asked him if he wanted to go himself, and he shrugged. He said it didn’t matter whether or not he wanted to. His mother said no and that’s all there was to it.

We ended up staying in my house for the getaway, as it was the only place his mother deemed safe. That was a huge red flag and I wish I had not ignored it.

Whilst we were dating, there were countless times during our dates when his mother would call him, sometimes more than once to check in or remind him of something trivial. This included taking his vitamins or avoiding certain foods.

I brushed it off as quirky, thinking that once we were married, he’d set boundaries and she’d back off. But here we are years into our marriage and nothing has changed. Linda is just as overprotective as she was when we first started dating, if not more.

Linda’s intrusions into our lives only grew more intense as the weeks went by. It was no longer just about her controlling John. She had started to extend her reach into every aspect of my life too.

It started subtly at first. During one of her frequent visits, she casually mentioned that John should be eating more vegetables. She suggested that I should prepare healthier meals for him.

“You know John used to love my spinach casserole,” she said with a smile. She often implied my cooking wasn’t up to par. The message was clear: I wasn’t feeding him properly and it was my responsibility to fix that.

It didn’t stop there. One evening as I was getting ready for a date night with John, Linda unexpectedly dropped by. She took one look at my outfit and pursed her lips.

She asked me if that was what I was wearing on a date with John. Though it wasn’t really a question. She then went on to suggest that something more appropriate would better suit the evening.

This included a more conservative dress or something else classy rather than the outfit I had chosen. I was left standing in front of the mirror suddenly second guessing my choice.

This was despite it being something I had felt confident in every other time I wore it. The final straw came one night when Linda stayed over after dinner. We were saying our good nights when she casually mentioned that John always performed best at work when he got at least 8 hours of sleep.

She said we both should be in bed by 10. Her tone made it sound less like advice and more like a command. I could hardly believe it. She was dictating my bedtime as if I were a child who needed to be told when to go to sleep.

I began to dread her visits. I knew they would come with another round of criticisms and suggestions. It was like living with a dictator.

The worst part was that John didn’t see anything wrong with it. He thought his mom was just being caring and concerned. But I knew better. She tried to control every aspect of our lives and I was fed up.