My in-laws have this habit of showing up uninvited. No call, no heads-up, nothing. They just knock on the door or, worse, use the spare key my husband gave them without asking me. And when they come, it’s never for a short visit. They hang out for hours, eat our food like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet, and then leave around 2 or 3 in the morning.
By then, I’m exhausted, the house is a mess, and I’m left wondering when exactly my home stopped being mine.
Whenever I try to bring this up with my husband, he hits me with: “You should be nice to them; they helped us buy the house.”
Yes, his parents gave us some money for the down payment, and I appreciate that. But I thought it was supposed to be a gift, not a lifetime membership to my living room. To him, though, it means that they basically own partial rights to our home.
After months of this nonsense, I started avoiding them altogether. As soon as they showed up, I’d grab my bag and go out—errands, gym, even just sitting in a café to read. It wasn’t ideal, but at least I didn’t have to sit there seething while they took over my house.
Yesterday, though, I came home earlier than planned. The moment I opened the door, my husband’s face went pale, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. My MIL actually laughed, which set off alarm bells in my head.
I walked into the living room, and I swear my soul left my body. His nephews—four little boys under the age of 10—were running wild. They had torn every cushion off my expensive couch and were jumping on it like a trampoline. Two of them were smearing watercolors on the carpet, the carpet I specifically told my husband was too expensive to risk around kids with paint. Another was using my coffee table as a racetrack for toy cars, leaving scratches all over it.
I just stood there in shock, watching my house transform into a chaotic daycare center. And my MIL? She was sitting there sipping tea, like she was queen of the castle.
When I finally snapped and asked what the hell was going on, my husband had the audacity to say: “I would’ve made sure to tidy up everything before you came, but you got back early tonight.”
As if the problem wasn’t the destruction itself, but the fact that I saw it. Like hiding the mess would magically make it okay.
Later, when I tried to explain how unacceptable this was, he doubled down, saying: “My parents helped us with this house. It’s their home too. You need to respect that.”
No. Just no. I’m all for respecting family, but I don’t think a financial contribution means free reign to treat our house like a hotel. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m obligated to play maid every time they leave.
At this point, I feel like I’m losing my mind. Am I really being rude for expecting my home to be respected? Or is it perfectly reasonable to draw boundaries, even if his parents helped us financially?
Because right now, it feels like I’m living in their house, not mine.
