Wajahat’s story - A story that happens in most homes. An eye opener
“I was only 18 years old when I was married. Young, innocent and completely oblivious to the world. In 9 months I welcomed my first son into the world. Two years later we had a second son. Whilst my first son was mediocre, my second son was the most beautiful baby in the world. He was fair, plump, with rosy cheeks and soon became the apple of my eye.
He was only 2 months old when we lost his father in a tragic car accident, leaving me a widow at only 22 with two children under the age of five. I was devastated. We moved back in with my parents and they helped me bring up my little family. My father was very supportive financially, seeing to all their needs and both my mother and father helped a great deal in their upbringing whilst I joined sewing classes in order to become more independent and eventually support myself. Needless to say I sewed many a peoples clothes over the years and became something of myself, whilst my two little boys grew up to be like any other children around. Both parents eventually returned to the Almighty, leaving the family home to me and my children.
My older son got married at an early age and his new wife was welcomed into the family with alot of excitement. It didn’t take long for the problems to begin however. I was a woman of my own mind and so was she. We never saw eye to eye on anything till finally things got so bad I retreated to a safe distance and left the running of the kitchen to her for my own peace of mind. Eventually the time came for my younger son, my beautiful child that I loved so much to get married. Don’t get me wrong, I love both of my sons, but this son was my baby, the one I felt so much more for as he never really got to know his father. He was also different in character to my older son. Whilst my older one was a boys boy who showed very little affection physically as he grew older, my younger one forever showered me with hugs and kisses. He was soft and emotional, my own little teddybear.
The search for the perfect wife carried on for many years. Suggestions from aunties, friends, bio-datas from all over. No one was good enough for my perfect boy. Eventually one day, my son came home and said “Mum I think I’ve found her”. My heart burst with happiness but at the same time I felt a little tinge of sadness. She was a sweet girl Noorie, fair and beautiful, well-mannered and respectable. They matched perfectly. I gave my consent and we had a huge wedding with alot of pomp and show. Off they went on their honeymoon and I missed my son terribly. I would call him every day with tears brimming in my eyes and sadness in my heart. We had never been apart that long. They were finally back after ten days and real life began. Noorie was very helpful and very cheerful, trying to fit in as best she could. The household was already being run by Farhana, my older daughter in law and Noorie became her nameless faceless servant, her minion. I would see and hear it myself many a day, the orders being barked, the scolding, but Noorie never retaliated and neither did her smile leave her gentle face. Not wanting to rock the boat as my older son was always touchy about my younger one being the favourite, I let matters slide. They could sort it out amongst themselves. So long as dinner-time and family-time were pleasant with everyone, including Farhana and Noorie being nice to each other, regardless of whether it was genuine or faked, I was confident I could carry on turning a blind eye and feign obliviousness.
Not too long after though, after seeing a very puffy eyed Noorie my younger son came to complain to me. He said just as I’d been dreading that Noorie was being bullied and that something needed to be done. Either the women given turns in the kitchen or something but it could not carry on this way. Something in me flipped. I don’t know what it was, maybe seeing my son being so defensive over another woman or whatever it was, I started to become this jealous green monster even I had no control over. I did as suggested, I set down the rules and gave each daughter in law turns. Farhana was of course a very unhappy woman after that. Tight-lipped and somber. Noorie remained her chirpy self but her chirpiness became a huge irritation to me. I have always prided myself on my cooking and my boys have always been brought up with the mindset of their mum being the best cook in the world. Even when we went out to eat while they were growing up or ate at others houses I’d make sure I’d give them a whole critique of the food. Only my food was perfect and they believed it. Two boys with only a mother in the world, why wouldn’t they?
When Farhana first arrived I made sure that mindset did not and would never change. When I left the kitchen in her charge I carried on making sure by constantly finding fault in all the food. It was too watery, too spicy, too hard, too soft, gave me the runs. It’s easy to find fault when you look for it. Some days I would leave my food halfway and walk away to further emphasise the food was bad or not to my liking. To me this was a way of control. She may have my kitchen but she can’t have my skill and experience.
Please don’t get me wrong, I am not proud of this. In fact it is only easy admitting to these things because it is hidden under a false identity. My pride wouldn’t allow my children to acknowledge anyone else as even half as good as me. My boys followed suit in their complaints against Farhana’s cooking. I trained them well. Now it was Noorie’s turn. This irritatingly chirpy creature was already molding my son around her little finger. I could see it in the smiles husband and wife would secretly exchange. One morning she came in ten minutes late for breakfast whilst I was already sipping my tea, even more smiley than normal and hair freshly wet. A huge knife stabbed my heart and then there was no turning back. I started by tackling my son about how disrespectful his wife was, not even serving me my tea in the morning and arriving after I was already drinking it. I rubbed in how I had already had so many issues with Farhana and that his brother never took action and how he was now doing the same to me.
I used the emotional blackmail I normally do when I need either of my sons to do anything for me by reminding them how I single handedly raised them with so much hard work and at such a young age. How I dedicated my youth and life to them. I shed a couple of tears and I could visibly see my son very upset. I heard commotion coming from their bedroom that night and a slightly less smiley Noorie already with the tea ready by the time I got up the next morning. I smiled. I had won. But this was just the battle, there still needed to be war. One of the most difficult things for a mother is to see your own son, the fruit of your loins, showing love and affection to another woman. I wish someone had warned me about this, although on hindsight no matter how prepared you may be you still cannot take seeing it on a daily basis no matter how discreet.
Please don’t put yourself into this situation, it is very difficult. It’s no wonder Islam gives every woman a right to her own home, not just for her sanity in the kitchen but also where she and her husband can have the privacy to be themselves and really enjoy each other’s company without interference. Over the next few months though, I continually found fault in her, her cooking, something she said, anything. I found discreet ways of showing my emotions to my son without complaining, and I knew it rattled him coz the commotion from the bedroom became a lot more frequent. I made sure I emotionally blackmailed him into spending more time with his lonely mother, sitting up and chatting with him till late into the night most days, a tradition we shared since before he got married and one I refused to let go of. Looking back I can imagine Noorie eventually falling asleep alone and unhappy.
I also found a new ally in life – Farhana. After all the enemy of my enemy is now my friend. I’d purposely tell Farhana how Noories chocolate cake was amazingly moist and chocolatey and how “ours” never came out that way. I didn’t have to do a thing after that. Wasn’t long before all of Noories cakes were a flop – I saw Farhana keeping the oven door open when she thought no-one was watching. If Noorie’s fish curry was amazing, her fish curry was forever too salty after that. I wonder if Noorie ever caught on whatever food she left unattended was always a huge flop.
As the complaints about her food mounted, and my son started looking more and more unhappy with her, that chirpiness slowly started to dwindle. The smile was still plastered on her face but it no longer radiated in her eyes. We were jointly breaking her apart piece by piece. I have always taught my sons that males are far superior than women in life. Ironic isn’t it, coming from a dominant mother who likes control herself. I just didn’t ever want any woman to have that control over my boys that I did. I made it a point to show our authority over both boys in-laws and that we never got too close to them. Farhana’s parents lived out of town and were too old to visit. She went to spend time with them once a year, on her own, with the kids.
Noorie, on the other hand, had a mother and grandfather that lived close by. I remember the first and only time they came to visit her, I went out of my way to make them feel unwelcome and an inconvenience to our busy routine, so much so, they never visited again. Food and other gifts would always be delivered by a driver. My son was also trained to keep them at arm’s length, so this meant no real interaction. The most would be a 5 minute greeting whenever he went to drop Noorie after which I’d keep him so busy helping me she would have to come back on her own with the driver. This eventually just became the norm and there was never even an expectation of being picked up.
A year after my son and Noorie married, my older son was retrenched. This was a big blow to the family as he was the major breadwinner. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a job close by. We feared times becoming hard for us especially after having gotten used to a lavish lifestyle. He eventually found another job but this meant relocating to a town one and half hours away. I had always said I would never allow either of my sons to move away from me but funny how when it becomes a matter of money, everything is allowed.
My family suddenly became just three of us. I became withdrawn and depressed and more reliant on my younger son for everything including my loneliness. Noorie began joining us in our late night sessions and I would clam up and say I was tired forcing my son to send her away. I sound like a horrible person I know but you don’t realise the little things you do every day to hurt a person until you sit back and look at all the incidents as a whole. Piecemeal they don’t seem like anything major. After Farhana left, and with my weak state of mind, my son made sure Noorie was always around to be at my beck and call. This meant visits to her family became almost non-existent. Her life revolved around serving me.
One day I heard a huge commotion with my son screaming his head off. I had never heard him speak in such a loud voice before. I came out of my room hurriedly to find my son at the front door and Noorie halfway down the steps and her mother’s car and driver waiting at the bottom of them. “If you get into that car and go I’m warning you that will be the end of us”. Noorie was trying to say something amidst tears but I couldn’t make out a word except my son continually screaming “I’m warning you!” It all felt so surreal.
I have never in my life seen my son so angry – it was like he had been possessed. He was always sweet, kind, humble, affectionate. Anger was never in his nature. I didn’t even know his voice could get that loud. The world was spinning around me. I saw Noorie stand on that step for a few moments, looking into the distance, contemplating perhaps, before she walked down the stairs and without a second glance stepped into the car whilst my son screamed TALAAQ 3 times at the top of his voice. My entire world shook.
It turned out Noories grandfather had been taken seriously ill that day and her mother needed her at the hospital to fill out all the paperwork. This was her father’s father who had lived with them since before her birth. Her father had been an only child just like she was. Noorie’s father had passed away a few years before and never got the chance of seeing his only child married. Her mother continued looking after her aged father in law, until he died in hospital a few days after the talaaq.
I didn’t realise Noorie and my sons marriage had broken down to such an extent they barely communicated. Their marriage was over before it even really began. On the surface it seemed like life carried on as normal for me. To those on the outside, I am still living life as I used to just minus a daughter in law. I’m still living lavishly with lots of servants and even a cook to do my cooking. Allot of you may think I must be really happy now that I have my son back all to myself but that is not the case.
It’s been 5 years since all this happened and my son is still a withdrawn, quiet man, only a shadow of his former self. He has lost his youth and his persona. There is nothing more heartbreaking for a mother than to see her child so broken. My other son and his family come every other weekend to visit and that is the only time there is any life in our house. My grandkids are the fussiest eaters, finding fault in everything I make for them – a trait they learnt well from their own father.
I developed a peptic ulcer over the years too and I can no longer eat anything except simple boiled bland food with a lot of other dietary restrictions. The doctors say it was caused by stress but I think it is my punishment for all the ingratitude I showed by constantly criticizing all the food he was giving me over the years. I live in a beautiful big house occupied by just the two of us. Both my sons are doing really well financially and I have more money than I know what to do with.
How many more clothes and shoes can I buy or how many times can I remodel my house? Travelling is out of question due to my dietary restrictions. Aside from her grandfather’s funeral where I silently went in and out for the customary three days, it took me three years before I finally set foot in Noorie’s mothers house again. After all those years to the memory of Noorie standing and contemplating on those stairs with tears rolling down her cheeks still haunts me.
What was she contemplating? Choosing between an unhappy unfulfilling marriage with no love or respect vs being there for the people that she loved and loved her back unconditionally. She wasnt at home but her mother was kind enough to welcome me in. She had aged a thousand years since I last saw her. I apologized profusely for myself and for my son and that I wanted to meet Noorie and tell her myself but her mother politely told me she thought it best we didn’t meet.
As a mother she felt protective over anything that would poke the scabs that had finally just started to set over her daughters many wounds. I left there more heartbroken realizing thT never once did I think of this poor woman either. Also a widow like me with an only child that she readily gave up so she would be happy in her own home. THAT is the sacrifice that makes a mother. Not the years of slaving away to put food in their mouths or educate them, not even the sleepless nights with a crying sick child.
No, a true and real mother is one that makes the sacrifice of setting her children free, not binding them to her and expecting repayment, but setting them free of the burden of debts to her to live life and to find their own love and happiness. They say Allah’s whip has no sound and I am proof to that. No-one knows the extent of my punishment. I may still be blessed with all the material wealth but what is a life with no peace, no happiness and constant guilt.
The guilt of how I participated in the breakdown of my own sons marriage eats me up to this day as I know it is eating my son up too. He really loved Noorie, as a mother I knew it from day one. To know I am the reason for his miserable state is too much to bear. I didn’t just do this to someone else’s daughter, I did this to my own son. I think of how I can’t bear to see my son in this state here, how will I ever bear to see my son being thrown into the fires of hell if he is held accountable for destroying the life of an innocent girl who brought so much more than just her smile into our home??
My advice to all the mothers out there. Set your sons free. Let them live their lives. Be happy in their happiness because destroying their lives will never make you happy.”
Sent as received
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
read it on FB
I've no sympathy for her, you reap what you sowe.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
^ yes its from the facebook. I forgot to give due credit.
one point to be noticed here is: how the divorce happened just by screaming divorce divorce divorce three times.
In fiqh e jaffaria (shia fiqh) its a long and daunting process of 6
months to a year. It involves many steps. So the couple can rethink, re-evaluate and they can make sure the decision just doesnt happen in rift of emotions or anger or by somebodys negative influence.
My friends dad was a judge in high court Pakistan. One day a maid came to him and said my daughters husband said divorce three times and the marriage is over now. He said divorce doesnt happen just by screaming the word three times. Tell her to go back to her husbands house and reclaim her relationship.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
read it on FB
I've no sympathy for her, you reap what you sowe.
Unless she can get forgiveness from the now ex-DIL, what she's seeing now is the easy part. The actual punishment is still pending.
Overall an anger inducing read, though it makes me grateful for choices that I've been blessed to make as a husband.
May Allah bless the ex-DIL with a husband and inlaws far better than the trash she left behind. I could think of a dua to make for this MIL as well...but she already has enough on her plate without it.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
I feel bad for the husband and wife[emoji37]
Now I am having anxiety attack.
My heart is beating 110 beats per min now[emoji850][emoji850][emoji850]. !!!!!
But the the husband is at fault , it's not just mother in laws fault !![emoji120][emoji120]
Re: confession of a MIL … sad but true story.
I agree, the real sacrifice a mother can make is setting her children free, which is incredibly hard for desi mothers since their life revolves around their kids. I have a hard time understanding why mothers get jealous of daughter in law. I don’t see them getting jealous of their son in law. 
Re: confession of a MIL … sad but true story.
Yeah, I’ve never heard of fathers getting jealous of their sons in law (ewwwwwwww)
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
Very similar to my storey of being the younger daughter in law. The MIL could not let her baby go and had to control him. Now that he is alone they are both suffering, while I am free (if I ignore desi people's comments).
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
can someone post the link to fb post do I can share more easily.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
God is a very loving God. He forgives not fasting not praying not covering head but he never forgives hurting other people. People who hurt other people by their words or actions live a pathetic life. They lose their peace, they get insomniac, they lose appetite, they get into financial problems, psychological problems, paralysis attacks, backaches and whatnot.
While the people who are simple nice and humble, they enjoy good food, they slèep like a baby, they are always surrounded by friends and well wishers.
Hazrat Ali once said ... I cant imagine the good health of an envious person.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
There's a reason history keeps repeating itself.
I hope none of us are like this ever - but you will never know until you walk in someone's shoes. Until you have a child and cater to their every need and become their source of happiness, food, comfort, etc...you just don't get it. You think these old ladies are just crazy and evil.
Setting your child free? Its easier said than done. I hope I have a huge heart when my son grows up...and I remember all of this. But after being needed desperately by your kids since birth...to not being needed at all anymore? Is that easy? It can't be.
I feel for both sides. My MIL can be possessive about my husband (he left home at a very young age) but after becoming a mom...I get it. I back off. She can spend whatever time she wants with her son. Her cooking tops mine. She is the head matriarch and she can have that title. She's earned it. I have no interest in dethroning her. She doesn't like it when my husband compliments my cooking, she thinks I use Shan masala all the time and my husband has even hidden some of the gifts he's given me from her. Her gifts are always way more extravagant than mine but after raising your kids and giving them everything you can...you do deserve to be appreciated.
I am not defending this woman's actions...just presenting a different side.
Re: confession of a MIL … sad but true story.
Because of their desi expectations from their sons… [emoji23][emoji23]
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
I don't know...I'm the mother of 3 boys. There was time that I was told I would probably never be able to have children due to severe fertility issues, but we were indeed blessed with 3 miracles. My boys are the center of my universe, literally...HOWEVER...I don't own them. Nor do I expect to be paid back for rearing them, nurturing them. I just don't understand that possessiveness. Nothing, and I mean nothing, brings me more joy then seeing them stand on their own and making their way, independent and strong. I want them to enjoy love and experience the same bond that my husband and I have. As someone who has been dealt a rough hand with my inlaws, I just don't think I could EVER stomach or look at myself in the mirror knowing that I (or any of my sons) were the cause of tears in the eyes of someone else's daughter.
My son's wife will never take my place in his heart nor will I ever take her place in his...and I truly don't want to...it's not a competition. Both relationships have their own separate yet equal footing...IF we as women raise our sons to be MEN and realize that they do indeed have obligations to their wives...he should compliment her cooking, spend uninterrupted time with her, etc...she's going to be the mother of HIS children someday...those sons are going to learn from watching their father...maybe some of this rubbish that plagues our culture and gives fodder to dramas will go away lol if we stop with these ridiculous expectations and petty jealousies.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
Because of their desi expectations from their sons.... [emoji23][emoji23]
Yeah, that is probably it. I don't see the possessiveness in mothers of all daughters. I don't see myself becoming the type of mother who controls her sons or daughters. I don't understand the expectations. It is like "well, we brought you in this world and raised you. We technically own you. Obey us or you will be cursed"
The truth is nobody brings a child in this world for the child's sake. Our children owe us nothing!
Easier said than done. Rules and logics are different for others than ourselves because we have "certain factors" that others dont face. Women , who take their husband away from his family and throw a ****storm if God forbid the MIL shows some love & possessiveness once in a while or the husband making decisions keeping his family AND wife in consideration , will have a totally different "logical" reasoning when their bahus will take their laadla aankh ka taara beta away from them with the same mentality that they showed years ago.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
All of this makes me all the more thankful to Allah for my husband
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
I don't understand, I always thought the evil mil was more of an exaggeration of a person.
Shocking behaviour.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
Yeah, I've never heard of fathers getting jealous of their sons in law (ewwwwwwww)
That's cause dudes don't get jealous of each other.
Re: confession of a MIL ... sad but true story.
I've got a vindictive and insecure MIL like this too. I thank Allah we live on our own or I'm sure we'd have separated by now.