#InvisibleInMyOwnHome

[thejourneyofastrangerlife]

When Home Feels Like Nowhere

Lately, I’ve been thinking seriously about moving back home.

I’ve tried — so hard — to build a life here. To make this house feel like mine. To be a daughter-in-law that fits the mold my mother-in-law wants. But no matter what I do — how much I clean, help, cook, serve — it never seems to be enough.

Some days she’s kind. Some days, she acts as if I shouldn’t even exist here. It’s like walking on glass — one wrong step, and the quiet breaks.

Maybe she really does want me out of this house. Maybe she never accepted me from the start.

I keep hoping — maybe with more patience, more effort, more compromise — things would change. But after almost a year of trying, all I feel is tired. So tired. I gave up my job, my friends, my old life — the one where I worked hard for my future, built dreams of my own — just to be here, to be part of this marriage, this family.

But now it feels like I gave it all up... for what?

My husband tells me to be patient. To accept the way things are. He says, “We’re not forcing you to do anything.”

But his mother makes sure I feel her silent force every single day — watching, judging, controlling... like she’s waiting for me to fail.

I see it in her eyes — every time I sit at my laptop, every time I pause, every time I simply exist. “Look at her. Sitting again. Doing nothing useful.” Her gaze says more than words ever could.

What hurts more is knowing my husband doesn’t truly see this. To him, it’s fine. Normal. Acceptable. “Don’t complicate things.” “Be grateful.” “Why can’t you compromise with my mum? She’s not forcing you.”

But she is. Every moment. Every sigh. Every glance.

And I’m starting to feel... invisible. Not a wife. Not a partner. Just a presence. A shadow. A live-in maid who isn’t good enough.

I left everything for this marriage. And somehow, I feel lonelier now than I ever did living alone.

I miss my job. I miss my independence. I miss myself.

I see other immigrant families — their kindness, their warmth. Even strangers show more understanding than those in this house. Why is it that my own home feels like the most unwelcoming place?

And the saddest part is — I can’t even tell my parents. They already worry enough about me living so far away. My mum always said, “You’re big enough to make your own life. Enjoy it. Build your world.” And here I am — stuck in someone else’s world, holding my breath.

I think about leaving. Going home. Starting fresh.

But then fear creeps in... What will happen to my marriage if I walk away — even just to rebuild myself? Will distance destroy the fragile threads that barely hold us now?

Or... has it already been destroyed?

I don’t know the answer. I only know that this — this sadness, this exhaustion, this loneliness — can’t go on forever. I want to live. To breathe. To grow again.

But here? Here feels like nowhere.

"You can give your all to the wrong place and still feel empty. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is leave and refill your soul elsewhere."