Last night, my husband was on FaceTime with his parents. They’d just arrived in Miami for what they’re calling a “month-long vacation.” Christmas is only two weeks away, and while everyone else is planning to go home for the holidays, they’re literally running away from theirs.
My husband sat at our kitchen table, eating an apple and chatting about their hotel. I was on the couch, keeping the TV volume low so I wouldn’t interrupt. Everything seemed normal until my mother-in-law started her usual interrogation about me.
“How’s she doing? What time is she going to bed? Is she exercising? Did she ever call that fertility specialist I found? You know, the one I told you about last time…”
“We’ll look into it after the holidays,” my husband said.
That’s when she lost it. Again.
“I’m telling you both, this can’t wait anymore. You’re running out of time…”
Even though my husband quickly turned the volume down, I caught every word in that familiar tone that makes my chest tighten. I felt like I was being monitored from 1,000 miles away, and suddenly all the awful memories from the past few years came flooding back.
How We Got Here
My husband and I met in college in 2009. We were each other’s first everything, got married in 2018, and honestly? Neither of us was dying to have kids. We were busy with our careers and just… happy being us.
But family pressure is real, you know? After years of “When are you giving us grandchildren?” from both sides, we finally started trying in 2021. Two years later: nothing.
By late 2023, we’d tried two rounds of IUI (intrauterine insemination) that failed miserably. That’s when my doctor suggested surgery to figure out what was wrong. Turns out I had Stage 3 endometriosis – basically, the tissue that lines your uterus decides to grow in other places and wreak havoc. That explained my 20 years of excruciating periods and why we couldn’t get pregnant.
After surgery, the doctor said I had a three-month “golden window” to try IVF. So we did.
This past October, our IVF cycle failed. We were done. Completely done with the whole thing.
The night we got the results, we actually celebrated. I know that sounds weird, but we felt… free. We talked about all the things we could do now – travel, focus on my writing, try new adventures. My husband looked at me with this soft smile and said, “I think I’ll love you even more without kids. You’ll have so much time and energy for the things that make you shine.”
I laughed and cried at the same time.
My parents took the news pretty well. They were sad, sure, but mostly they were worried about me.
“Just take care of yourself,” my mom said, wiping her eyes. “As long as you two are happy, that’s all that matters.”
My mother-in-law? That’s a whole different story.
The Visit from Hell
In early November, my in-laws said they were coming to visit us. I panicked like I was about to face a firing squad.
The night they arrived, I made this elaborate pear and mushroom soup, thinking maybe if I was extra nice, the interrogation would be gentler. Fat chance.
My mother-in-law walked through our door and immediately started scanning me like a medical diagnosis.
“You look pale. No color in your cheeks at all.”
“I’m working on getting healthier,” I said, forcing a smile and heading to the kitchen.
My father-in-law tried to keep things light, talking about their trip. But my mother-in-law was like a heat-seeking missile, finding every opportunity to “educate” me:
“Western medicine can’t fix this! You need traditional Chinese medicine!” “This is all about blood circulation – you need to get that fixed immediately!” “Poor circulation makes you age faster – look how tired you look!” “You’re 34 years old – time is running out!”
She made it sound like I’d drop dead tomorrow if I didn’t immediately find a Chinese herbalist.
At first, I tried to respond politely, thinking about all the doctors’ appointments, the painful injections, the surgeries, the medications that made me sick. But watching this woman essentially put me on trial while my husband sat there saying absolutely nothing… I started choking up.
The “education session” lasted over an hour. When it finally ended at 11:30 PM, I locked myself in our bathroom and cried silently.
My husband found me there.
“Three years,” I whispered furiously. “Three years of IUI, surgery, IVF. I’ve been poked, prodded, cut open, and pumped full of drugs. I’ve done everything I can possibly do!”
“I didn’t realize Mom would react this strongly,” he said, rubbing my back. “I could see you were about to cry.”
“You could see I was about to cry, and you said NOTHING? Not one word?”
“I thought if I let her get it out of her system…”
“Why is it MY job to be her emotional punching bag?”
“Look, they’re only here for a few days. Can you just… bear with it? I don’t want to destroy my relationship with my parents.”
“What relationship are YOU destroying? You haven’t said a single word!”
The Nightmare Continues
The next few days were torture. My mother-in-law had an opinion about everything:
Where I bought groceries (“Are these organic? What about pesticides?”) What I ate (“You’re too picky – you need more protein!”) How I looked (“Don’t wear makeup unless it’s important – it’s bad for your skin!”) Even my haircut (“Keep it short – long hair drains your energy!”)
I felt like every aspect of my life was under a microscope.
The worst part? She’d stopped helping around the house. Before, when they visited, she’d cook and clean and we’d all hang out together, playing board games and having fun. This time, she acted like a guest who expected to be waited on while simultaneously critiquing my every move.
I started leaving the house just to escape – going to the park, hiding in bookstores, anywhere but home.
One afternoon, we all went to the art museum. I wandered off by myself for some peace, and when I met back up with them, my mother-in-law was sitting alone, staring at her phone with this martyred expression.
The moment we left the museum, my husband sighed heavily. “God, I can’t take this anymore. She’s been like this all day.”
“ALL DAY?” I snapped. “Try all week! You go to work for 12 hours and escape this. I’ve been living in it!”
That night, my husband said he wanted to talk to his parents privately. I lay in bed, wondering what he was saying. Was he finally telling them how much they’d hurt me? Was he setting boundaries?
I had no idea. What I did know was that I couldn’t take it anymore.
Standing Up for Myself
When my pillow was soaked with tears, I got up, put on a robe, and walked into our living room where they were all sitting.
I probably looked like hell – red, swollen eyes, messy hair. But I didn’t care anymore.
“I need you to understand something,” I said, looking directly at my mother-in-law. “I’m the victim here, not you.”
Then I told them everything. The real story of what IVF actually involves:
The surgery that left four scars on my stomach (one still gets infected and itchy).
The hormone shots that put my body into fake menopause – hot flashes, cold sweats, insomnia, mood swings from hell.
The daily injections during my cycle, 9 different medications, monitoring appointments every other day.
The egg retrieval under general anesthesia – they got 9 eggs, 8 fertilized, but every single one failed to develop properly. We had exactly two frozen embryos left. One shot.
And my husband’s depression flare-up that delayed everything by months because antidepressants can affect sperm quality.
“Even if my endometriosis was part of the problem,” I said, “this wasn’t just about me. His sperm quality has been borderline this whole time. His depression, the medication – that affects things too!”
My father-in-law nodded slowly. “That’s true. We’ve been worried about him too.”
“He never even wanted to do IVF originally,” I continued. “He was terrified his depression and anxiety would be passed down to a kid. I was the one who convinced him to try because I thought it would make you happy and maybe give our lives more meaning.”
By this point, I was sobbing uncontrollably. My husband pulled me onto the couch.
“You’ve been through so much,” my mother-in-law said quietly.
My father-in-law had his head in his hands.
“We just worry about you being alone when you’re older,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “But we won’t push the IVF anymore. We respect your decision. Just… take care of yourselves, okay? Whatever happens, happens.”
The Real Problem
Two months later, I can see what was really happening: emotional blackmail.
My mother-in-law has been using guilt and manipulation to try to control our reproductive choices, probably without even realizing it.
Like two years ago, when I was doubled over with period pain and she burst into our bedroom: “Not pregnant again? You’re 32 – your body’s going to get worse! You need IVF now!”
Or right after my surgery, when she called crying: “We’re getting old and life feels pointless. We just want one grandchild, we don’t care if it’s a boy or girl…”
That phone call is what convinced me to do IVF. I felt so guilty thinking about them being lonely and disappointed because of me. I thought if I just tried hard enough, suffered enough, they’d finally be satisfied.
But here’s the thing I finally understand: it was never going to be enough.
Now they’re spending Christmas in Miami because they’re “afraid people will ask about grandchildren.” My husband tried to be supportive: “That sounds nice! You should explore different cities.”
“Explore?” my mother-in-law said. “We’re not exploring anything. We just can’t face being at home…”
More guilt. More manipulation. See what you’ve done to us? We can’t even go home for Christmas because of you.
Except that’s not actually true. My husband’s aunt never married or had kids. His cousin’s daughter is in college. Most of their friends are still nagging their own kids to get married, let alone have babies.
The pressure she feels isn’t coming from other people – it’s coming from inside her own head.
Finding Peace
I’m done feeling guilty about this. My husband and I have decided to focus on building a life we actually want instead of the life other people expect us to have.
We’re turning our spare bedroom into my home office – a space for writing and art and all the creative projects I never had time for before. Next time his parents visit, they can stay in a hotel.
If we ever get pregnant naturally, great. If not, that’s great too. We’re finally ready to stop letting other people’s expectations control our happiness.
And you know what? I think my mother-in-law will eventually figure out how to live her own life instead of trying to live ours.
At least, I hope so. For all our sakes.
Have you dealt with family pressure about having kids? How did you handle it? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
