I just... I gotta say it somewhere. Anywhere. I’m so TIRED. Every single day it’s the same. My kid, right? My son. He’s a good boy. A sweet boy. And I love him. More than anything. But my MIL. Oh god my MIL. She’s... she’s always there. Always watching. Not like in a creepy way, but like, you know, judging. Every single thing I do with him. Every day. She grew up so different. Strict. NO NONSENSE. That’s her favorite thing to say. No nonsense. And I get it. I get that’s how she was raised, how she raised her own kids. Including my husband. Who is, like, pretty great. But I just don't... I just don't believe it. I don't believe in hitting kids. Or yelling at them for crying. Or making them feel like they gotta be perfect all the time. That just feels... WRONG. In my gut. It just feels wrong. But what am I supposed to do? What the HELL am I supposed to do? She’s over here all the time. EVERY single day. And if my kid cries for too long, or makes a mess, or just acts like a normal kid and I don’t immediately “handle it” her way, I can feel her eyes on me. Like daggers. She doesn't even have to say anything. Just that LOOK. And then she’ll say something like “Oh, in my day, we wouldn't have tolerated that.” Or “He’s a boy, he needs a firm hand.” A firm hand. Like she wants me to just... smack him. Or make him sit in a corner for hours. And I just can’t. I CANNOT do it. It goes against everything I think is right. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I don't want him to be scared of me. I want him to know I love him. Always. Even when he’s being a pain in the ass. But then I think of her, and I think of what she’ll say to my husband. Or what she’ll think of me. A bad mother. A weak mother. God, it just makes my stomach hurt. So I do it. I do what she expects. I yell sometimes. I make him sit there even though I can see his little chin wobbling and I just want to hug him. I try to make him hide his feelings, like she always says. “Don’t be so sensitive.” And then later, when she’s gone, I feel like absolute DOG SHIT. The worst mother in the world. And my poor kid. He looks at me like he doesn't know who I am anymore. And I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m just this... fake person. All the time. Pretending to be someone I’m not just so this old lady won’t think I’m a screw-up. It's just... it's too much. Every day. Too much.