Take things gradually, I advised myself when I first met Callum. He looked at me like I was made of magic, listened to me, and was nice. Before I became pregnant, we dated for over two years. He proposed on a soggy Tuesday night with a diamond that was far too costly for his budget, but it wasn’t planned.
Yes, I replied. I believed in us, not because I felt under duress. among our small family.
However, his family—oh, they never had faith in me.
When I first met his mother, she smiled tightly and said, “So, where exactly are you from?” She meant it as a quiz, but not in the typical sense. I felt as though I was trying to enter something that I wasn’t supposed to be in.
She was dressed in black for our wedding. Black, literally. She simply grinned and responded, “Every union is a loss of some kind, right?” when someone joked that it was a mourning attire.
I’m not referred to as his wife. They refer to me as “the girl he got pregnant,” as if I were a transient error that would never go away. Our son is almost three years old, and his mother has yet to mention my name. Not once.
Callum notices. He does, I’m sure. However, he constantly responds, “That’s just the way she is.” Don’t be upset about it.
Don’t you take it personally?
I almost left when his sister made a “joke” about my son’s curls being too “wild” for school photos. However, I didn’t. I remained. I grinned. For Callum. For our child.
However, something occurred during the weekend. Something that helped me recognize that I might have been putting too much effort into attempting to fit in with individuals who would never accept me.
In their kitchen, I heard something that they never intended for me to hear.
On his father’s birthday, we were at his parents’ house. While Callum assisted his dad in hanging the same old Auburn football banner in the backyard, I was cleaning sippy cups at the sink.
His mother, his sister Helena, and Aunt Margie’s voices drifted in from the adjacent room. I wasn’t even attempting to listen in. Simply put, they were noisy.
“I still believe he panicked,” Helena added. Would he really have married her if he hadn’t gotten her pregnant, after all?
Then his mother—his mother—answered, “I don’t think so. He was in that rebellious stage of life. When he wants to make a point, you know how he gets.
With a quiet laugh, Aunt Margie continued, “And now he’s stuck.” It’s a bad thing. However, he made his bed.
On the sponge, my hand froze.
A period of rebellion? As if I were a lifestyle test?
I can’t even recall leaving the kitchen. All I know is that I waited in the car for about twenty minutes, trying not to cry, as my son watched Cocomelon in the backseat, crackers on his lap.
I kept it a secret from Callum that evening. I desired to. I nearly did.
But before dragging him into yet another argument about his family, I needed to be certain of how I felt. We’ve already had a lot of them, and they always finish with him stating, “But they’re my family.” What are you expecting me to do?
I knew exactly what I wanted this time.
I asked Callum to coffee at this small location close to the park two days later. Only us. Avoid any distractions.
I told him all I had heard. Word for word.
He simply sat there looking into his cup with his jaw clinched.
He then raised his head and stated something that will always stick in my memory:
“For too long, I’ve allowed them to get away with this. And I believe that I secretly allowed it to occur because I didn’t want to lose either side. However, I’ve already started to lose you.
I was devastated by that. I had been sliding away, after all. Commenting with a smile. swallowing suffering to avoid having to make a decision.
And truthfully? We weren’t treated fairly by it.
Callum called his mother that same evening. Although I didn’t hear the entire chat, I did hear some of it:
“She’s my wife. No, Mom, pay attention—you can’t continue to treat her like an idiot. We won’t visit you any more if you are unable to respect her.
That was unexpected. Actually, I didn’t.
And what do you know? Since then, we have not returned.
Four months have gone by.
At first, skipping the customary Sunday dinners felt strange. Slowly, though, something changed. Callum lightened. We felt safer at home. What about our son? He has been doing so well that he no longer even inquires about Nana.
Helena texted me unexpectedly last week.
“I didn’t realize how deeply our words were cutting you,” she added. I apologize.
I still haven’t responded. It’s not that I’m resentful, but healing has no time limit. Furthermore, forgiveness is not the same as forgetting.
This is what I’ve discovered:
The individuals you wish to like will not always like you. And that’s all right. You don’t have to change who you are in order to fit their flawed template.
The most important thing is who supports you during difficult times and whether or not they are prepared to confront those who are making things more difficult.
Callum demonstrated his willingness to me. To make a message, I eventually stopped showing up in places where I wasn’t welcome.
Breathe, then, if you’re out there attempting to be “enough” for individuals who are always shifting the goalposts. You are sufficient. And you’re worthy of peace rather than praise.
