Did Someone Say: Monster-in-Law

By: Laaibah Shirin

We all grow up imagining the fairytale, like something straight out of a Bridgerton episode. Meeting Prince Charming, riding into the sunset in a regency dress and tiara, your loyal horse waiting patiently beside you.

Then, along with him comes his mum leaning in to whisper, “You’ve got too much cleavage out for your wedding day, honey.”

Mothers-in-law appear in every family story. They’re the woman who praises her son while somehow criticising his partner in the same sentence. They’re our mums and aunties. And let’s be honest, one day they might even be us.

The whole “monster-in-law” stereotype usually isn’t about cruelty. Honestly, it’s something far more primal. This is ancient, animalistic human behaviour. 

Picture a cave mum standing outside her stone hut, clutching an XXXL lamb leg like a weapon of emotional warfare, staring down the new daughter-in-law, thinking, Who invited you into my tribe? This isn’t modern drama. This is a prehistoric instinct. Protection. Territory. Attachment. Humans doing what humans have always done when a new woman enters the family and takes the attention of her dearly beloved son.

A mother knows her son in ways no partner ever can. She saw his first steps, his worst mistakes, and the boy who became a man. Her whole identity has been built around nurturing him to be the perfect man. So when another woman steps into that space, something ancient wakes up. Not logic, but Instinct.

And that’s where things start to wobble….

Because for some women, going from being the most important emotional figure in their son’s life to not is understandably genuinely destabilising, especially in families where sons quietly fill emotional gaps left by absent or disappointing partners. No one says it out loud, but it happens. 

So when that son falls in love, the mother is suddenly forced to face a loss she never expected to feel.

Daughters-in-law aren’t trying to replace anyone. They walk into a bond that already exists. They love the man who was shaped by that upbringing; there’s gratitude there. But there’s also tension when a mother can’t let go of the idea that she still gets to direct his life.

What looks like hostility is often just grief in disguise. Grief for relevance. Grief for a role that once gave her purpose.

The real problem starts when grief turns into competition, and suddenly you’re in a war you never signed up for and should never have to fight. And as women its our responsibility to understand why, but it is never our duty to compete with one another. This is the moment the man has to step in and make it clear there is no battle, because he won’t allow one.

This transition is unavoidable…unless youre the exception to the rule. Parenthood isn’t ownership, it’s preparation. A son loving independently and building a life beyond his childhood home isn’t betrayal. It’s proof that as a mother, you’ve succeeded.

But who knows, maybe age will bring more understanding. Maybe one day, raising sons of our own, we’ll realise how hard it is to step back. But maturity asks for restraint, and experience teaches us what not to repeat.

Raising a child who can love, choose, and be emotionally honest isn’t losing him. It’s releasing him.

And honestly… that might be the hardest job of all.