When I initially met Callum, I told myself to take things slow. He stared at me like I was magic, listened to everything I said, and was nice. We were together for more than two years before I got pregnant. He asked her to marry him on a rainy Tuesday night with a diamond that was way too expensive for him, but it wasn’t planned.
Yes, I said. I believed in us, but not because I felt like I had to because we were a little family.
But his family—oh, they never believed in me.
When I initially met his mum, she smiled a little and asked, “So, where are you from?” She meant it as a test, but not in the usual way. It seemed like I was attempting to get into something I shouldn’t have been in.
She wore black to our wedding. Black, in the literal sense. She just smiled and said, “Isn’t every union a loss of some kind?” when someone made a joke about it being mourning clothes.
I don’t go by the name of his wife. They call me “the girl he got pregnant,” as if I were a mistake that would never go away. My son’s mother hasn’t said my name in almost three years. Not even once.
Callum sees. I know he does. But he always says, “That’s just the way she is.” Don’t let it bother you.
Don’t take it personally.
When his sister made a “joke” about my son’s curls being too “wild” for school pictures, I almost left. But I didn’t. I stayed. I smiled. To Callum. I smiled for our dear child.
But something happened over the weekend. I realised that I might have worked too hard to fit in with people who would never accept me.
I heard something in their kitchen that they never meant for me to hear.
It was his father’s birthday, and we were at his parents’ house. I was washing sippy cups at the sink while Callum helped his dad put up the same old Auburn football banner in the backyard.
He could hear his mother, his sister Helena, and Aunt Margie’s voices coming from the next room. I wasn’t even trying to hear what they were saying. To put it simply, they were loud.
“I still think he panicked,” Helena said. Would he have married her if he hadn’t gotten her pregnant?
Then his mother, his mother, said, “I don’t think so.” He was in that stage of life when he was rebellious. You know how he acts when he tries to make a point.
Aunt Margie said, “And now he’s stuck,” with a faint laugh. It’s a bad thing. He did, however, make his bed.
My hand froze on the sponge.
A time of rebellion? Like I was a test of my lifestyle?
I don’t even remember leaving the kitchen. I sat in the car for almost twenty minutes, trying not to cry, as my son watched Cocomelon in the backseat with crackers on his lap.
That night, I didn’t tell Callum. I wanted to. I almost did.
But before I started another fight with him about his family, I needed to be sure of how I felt. We’ve already had a lot of fights, and he always ends them by saying, “But they’re my family.” What do you want me to do?
This time, I knew exactly what I wanted.
Two days later, I asked Callum to meet me for coffee at a tiny café near the park. Just us. Stay away from anything that could distract you.
I told him everything I knew. I said everything I had heard exactly as it was.
He just sat there with his mouth clinched and stared at his cup.
Then he looked up and said something that I will always remember:
“I’ve let them get away with this for too long.” I think I silently let it happen because I didn’t want to lose either side. But I’ve already begun to lose you.
That really hurt me. I had been slipping away, after all. I smiled back. taking in pain to avoid having to choose.
And to be honest? It wasn’t fair to us.
That following night, Callum called his mum. I didn’t hear the whole conversation, but I did hear parts of it:
“She’s my wife. No, Mom, listen up. You can’t keep treating her like an idiot. We won’t come to see you again if you can’t respect her.
I didn’t see that coming. I didn’t, though.
And what do you know? We haven’t gone back since then.
It’s been four months.
At first, it felt unusual to forego the usual Sunday dinners. But with time, something changed. Callum got better. We felt safer at home. What about our boy? He has been doing so well that he doesn’t even ask about Nana anymore.
Last week, Helena texted me out of the blue.
“I didn’t know how much our words were hurting you,” she said. I’m sorry.
I haven’t answered yet. I’m not angry, but mending takes as long as it takes. Also, forgiving someone is not the same as forgetting.
This is what I’ve found:
People you want to like you won’t always like you. That’s okay. You don’t have to change who you are to fit their wrong template.
The most important thing is who is there for you when things go tough and if they are ready to stand up to the people who are making things harder.
Callum showed me that he liked me. I stopped going to locations where I felt unwelcome to get my point across.
Take a deep breath if you’re trying to be “enough” for people who are continuously changing the rules. You are enough. And you deserve tranquilly, not accolades.
❤️
