Being married to Richard for three years has been, for the most part, a positive experience. We’ve built a strong foundation, enjoy a comfortable life together, and despite ongoing fertility challenges, our bond has stayed intact. That said, one constant strain on our relationship has been my mother-in-law, Monica.
Outwardly, Monica plays the doting, sweet woman. She greets me with sugary nicknames and overly cheerful hugs. But behind closed doors or when she thinks I’m out of earshot, her comments cut much deeper. Whether it was the time she criticized the state of our home during a barbecue or brought a “backup pie” to Thanksgiving just in case mine didn’t measure up, she never misses an opportunity to subtly undermine me. Even worse, I once overheard her questioning whether Richard had rushed into marrying me and lamenting that he hadn’t pursued the daughter of a family friend who had just graduated medical school.
It was annoying, yes, but I had learned to tolerate it—for a while. However, one boundary she kept crossing pushed me too far.
Snooping Where She Didn’t Belong
For reasons I still don’t fully understand, Monica developed an obsession with accessing our bedroom. It started casually during a dinner party when she insisted on using the upstairs bathroom in the master suite rather than the clearly accessible guest bathroom downstairs. When Richard questioned it, she brushed it off as a matter of personal preference.
But things escalated the following month. Once again, Monica excused herself and headed upstairs. My instincts told me something wasn’t right, so I followed. Sure enough, she wasn’t in the bathroom. She was standing in our bedroom, rifling through my jewelry box and opening dresser drawers. When I asked what she was doing, she acted surprised and gave a flimsy excuse about getting lost. Then, as if to cover up her invasion of privacy, she offered to help organize our dresser.
Later that night, I told Richard exactly what had happened. Unfortunately, he dismissed it, claiming she was likely confused. It was clear he wasn’t going to set boundaries with her, so I decided to take that responsibility into my own hands.
A Lock Isn’t Always Enough
After the bedroom incident, I had a lock installed on our door. I hoped this would resolve the problem. But Monica kept pushing. During her next visit, she once again tried to enter our room. I confronted her, and she gave me the same excuse about forgetting where the bathroom was. Even in our modestly sized home, she acted like the layout was a maze.
When I brought it up with Richard again, he downplayed the issue. “At least the lock worked,” he said, brushing off my concerns. That’s when it hit me—he’d spent his life excusing her behavior, and I could no longer rely on him to enforce boundaries she refused to recognize.
So, I came up with my own plan—not aggressive or confrontational, just enough to make a point. For the upcoming holiday dinner, I decided to leave the bedroom door unlocked but prepared a trap. I placed glitter inside a bag rigged to fall if the door was opened, and I applied a bit of it to the doorknob as a simple marker. If Monica really wasn’t trying to get into the room, nothing would happen. But I had a strong feeling otherwise.
Glitter, Screams, and a Point Made
Everything was going smoothly that evening. Monica was her usual self—passive-aggressively commenting on my table setting and making sure everyone heard her opinions. But I could tell she was eyeing the stairs, just waiting for a chance to slip away.
Eventually, she excused herself to “powder her nose.” I counted the seconds in my head. And then it happened—a sharp scream from upstairs.
We rushed up to find Monica standing in front of our bedroom, absolutely covered in golden glitter. The trap had worked exactly as planned. Her hair, sweater, and shoes sparkled like she’d walked through a craft store explosion.
She was furious. “You did this on purpose!” she shouted, pointing at me. Her daughter Sally quickly jumped in to defend her, horrified by the state of Monica’s new cashmere sweater.
I stayed calm. “Well, Monica, if you’d used the guest bathroom like everyone else, this wouldn’t have happened,” I said. “Why were you trying to get into our bedroom again?”
Monica stormed out, dragging Sally behind her, glitter trailing all the way to the front door. Richard, however, was less amused.
Standing Up When No One Else Will
Later that evening, Richard told me I’d gone too far. “You embarrassed my whole family,” he said, clearly upset. He was more concerned with Monica’s ruined sweater and wounded pride than the months of boundary violations I had endured.
But I stood my ground. “No, what’s embarrassing is that your mother keeps snooping in our bedroom, and no one takes it seriously,” I replied. “I’ve tried talking, I’ve tried locks, and now I’ve tried glitter. Maybe now she’ll finally get the message.”
And she has. Since that night, Monica hasn’t so much as glanced at the stairs during her visits. The glitter might have been messy, but it was effective. For the first time, our privacy is being respected—sparkles and all.
So now I ask—was I too extreme? Or was it time someone taught Monica that boundaries actually matter? One thing’s for sure: she won’t be snooping again anytime soon.
