Getting married is stressful enough without your future mother-in-law turning your dream day into a battleground. I thought I’d made peace with all her meddling—until she went too far, and karma stepped in. When I got engaged to Ryan, I genuinely believed his mom, Patricia, was happy for us.
She smiled through every brunch, complimented my ring a dozen times, and even offered to help with planning. At first, I thought, “How lucky am I to have a mother-in-law who’s involved and caring?” Yeah. That didn’t last.
By the second month of planning, it became clear. Patricia wasn’t just helping; she was hijacking. What started with small suggestions became steamrolling decisions.
I’d bring up an idea—something simple like centerpieces—and she’d immediately redirect. “Oh no, dear, white roses are far too plain. I’ll call my florist.
You’ll love her. She did my sister’s third wedding.”
She wasn’t just involved in the wedding; she was running it and controlling everything. My future mother-in-law (MIL) even picked the venue.
Ryan and I disliked the place, but she prioritized its “status.”
“You don’t want people thinking you settled for a barn, do you? You’re not from the countryside, Amanda.”
She designed the menu as if it were her own gala. My MIL said no to chicken because, apparently, that screamed low budget.
“Darling, seafood says class. Chicken says cost-cutting.”
To top it all off, she invited more of her own friends than Ryan and I had combined! At one point, she even added people I’d never heard of—her yoga instructor, her book club, and even her dermatologist.
As she put it, “They’re important. It’ll make a better impression. You’re marrying into a well-known family now.”
By then, I was just exhausted.
Every battle I picked turned into an argument or ended with me crying on Ryan’s shoulder. Eventually, I let go and stopped arguing. I gave up the flowers, the menu, and the guest list.
But I would not concede on one point. My dress. I had been saving for it for months before Ryan and I were even serious.
I tucked away bonuses from work, canceled vacations, and skipped birthday dinners. That dress was my dream—a promise I made to myself long before the engagement. It cost $4,000.
The dress was fitted but elegant, and the delicate lace was embroidered with tiny pearls. My gown also sported off-the-shoulder satin, soft as clouds, and a long, sweeping train. When I tried it on, I actually cried!
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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