When my in-laws needed a place to stay for 38 days during their yearly trip to America from the Netherlands, it felt like we were backed into a corner. They’d been our financial safety net multiple times over the past year, covering our rent and some bills.
We weren’t reckless with our finances, but I only made $12.25 an hour, and my husband hadn’t been able to work for years due to limitations on his visa that had only recently been lifted. That’s why, when they shared the good news they’d save over $1000 if they crashed our one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment for over a month, it felt impossible to turn them down.
Their visit got off to a rocky start
They landed on March 25. Their air mattress was sandwiched between our couch and TV, and we added two folding chairs to the dining table. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t offer more.
“It’s just like camping!” my mother-in-law remarked, recalling their RV trip in Germany. I wanted to say, “But this isn’t a camping ground in Germany; it’s our apartment!” but I didn’t.
Every morning thereafter began with my mother-in-law’s chipper, “Good morning!” as we shared coffee. After that, my husband got ready for his part-time job, and my in-laws made plans to grocery shop or spend the entire day watching reality TV or YouTube. Sometimes, they’d even just tag along and watch me and my husband as we went about our day, because they wanted to maximize our time together.
Sharing space started to affect my work and sleep
I work from home as a freelance writer and typically work from the living room to avoid working in the same room where I sleep. As we entered week two of their vacation, I had to start working from my armchair in the bedroom, as they were staying in the living room, and we all needed our space. My sleep started to suffer; the bedroom became associated with frustration instead of peace.
It also felt exhausting to wake up and immediately have to infuse myself with energy to talk with the family, then try to get into a mindset to work.
I had my breakthrough the day I decided to work out of the apartment’s complimentary business center. While I was there, I was extremely productive, and my mind was clear. I thought of my office nook in the living room, overloaded with clutter, dishes, and laundry, and knew something had to change.
Being clearer about boundaries was helpful for everyone
I realized I had to get over my fear of being a rude hostess or ungrateful daughter-in-law. Articulating my needs and boundaries didn’t mean I was spurning their love or generosity. In fact, it was more cruel to be passive because it left us all confused.
I learned it’s OK to say, “I will have coffee with you this morning — but then, I have to work.” By being clearer about what I needed to get my work done instead of just hinting at what I wanted, I ended up more productive and happier. When I worked, I really worked. When I had time to hang out with the family, I was able to be fully present. Gone were the moments where I would be with them but not really with them, silently growing anxious that I was neither truly working nor really relaxing.
In the third week, I also started to ask for help with laundry and dishes. This request became key to our peace, as my in-laws helped with gusto. As soon as I’d set a dish down, they’d wash, dry, and put it away. They delighted in doing the laundry, too. Turns out, they were looking for a way to contribute but didn’t know how. So much of the housework got done, I even had time to date my husband and organize family brunches with my parents.
I realized my feelings about money were all in my head
I had told myself I couldn’t say no when they asked about staying with us because they had helped us with rent and groceries. I had felt powerless in our dynamic and hadn’t allowed myself the grace of remembering our financial situation.
I thought that if my in-laws were going to help us financially, they probably felt entitled to the space. However, they hadn’t felt that way at all. They had helped us in earnest; they’d received help themselves when they were just married. The shame was all mine.
By articulating my needs and expectations, their 38-day visit became a memorable and collaborative one. We respected each other’s space — even if that space was a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment.
Read the full article here
