Since I got pregnant, my MIL was trying to scare me about how “painful and agonizing” childbirth is. She’d go on and on about “the ring of fire” and how I’d scream so loud the whole hospital would hear me. It was like she was waiting for me to fail. After I gave birth and they allowed her into the room, she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Stop pretending that you gave birth!” Shocked, I replied, “Sure I did! YOU drove me here yourself!” She just froze for a second, then left without a word.

Later, my husband came in, looking rattled. He was almost hysterical, asking, “What on earth happened? Mom just stormed out and won’t talk to me!” I was exhausted, sweaty, and holding our newborn daughter against my chest, so I barely had the energy to explain. But I told him exactly what she said. His face darkened. He muttered something under his breath and shook his head.

The truth is, this wasn’t the first time she tried to undermine me. From the moment we announced the pregnancy, she treated it like some kind of competition between her and me. She’d say things like, “Well, my labor was thirty hours, and I didn’t even get an epidural. Women today are too soft.” Or, “You’ll never understand what real motherhood is until you’ve raised three kids without help.” It was like every conversation was a reminder that she thought I wasn’t cut out for this.

The whole “stop pretending” jab stung more than I wanted to admit. I mean, she drove me to the hospital! She saw me doubled over in the passenger seat, breathing through contractions. She watched the nurses wheel me into the delivery room. And yet, the moment she walked in afterward, she acted like I’d just been lounging around eating snacks.

I brushed it off in the moment because honestly, I had no energy to fight. But over the next few days, while we were home with the baby, I kept thinking about it. My husband tried to smooth things over, saying maybe she was just “joking” or “didn’t mean it like that.” But I’ve known her long enough to know that wasn’t a joke. That was her trying to chip away at me in front of my husband, maybe even plant seeds of doubt.

A week later, she called wanting to “check on the baby.” I hesitated, but I also didn’t want to be the bad guy keeping her from her granddaughter. She came over, holding a casserole dish like it was some kind of peace offering. We made small talk, but I could feel the tension under the surface. She didn’t apologize for what she’d said in the hospital. Not even close.

Then, halfway through her visit, she made another dig. She said, “You look too good for someone who just gave birth. Are you sure you didn’t have it easy?” I laughed it off, but inside, I felt my patience snap. This wasn’t concern. This was her trying to discredit me.

The real twist came a few weeks later when my husband’s sister, Larissa, came to visit from out of town. Larissa’s always been pretty chill, but she’s also the only one in the family who sees through their mom’s antics. She sat on the couch with me while I fed the baby and whispered, “Mom’s been telling people you had a C-section and they gave you something so you didn’t feel anything. She says you ‘don’t know what real labor is.’”

I felt my jaw tighten. That explained the weird look I got from my husband’s aunt when she visited last weekend. MIL had been spreading her version of the story to make me look weak or fake.

When my husband came home that night, I told him exactly what Larissa said. His reaction was immediate—he picked up the phone and called his mom. I only heard his side, but his voice was sharp. “Why are you lying about how the birth went? Why are you making my wife sound like she didn’t go through labor?” There was a pause, and then he said, “No, Mom. You were there. You know she did. Stop it.”

Apparently, her excuse was that she “didn’t think it was a big deal” and that she was “just telling her version.” That made me realize she wasn’t going to change.

But here’s where karma slipped in quietly. A couple of months later, Larissa—who had been trying for a baby for years—finally got pregnant. Everyone was thrilled, even my MIL, who immediately started giving her the same “labor horror stories” she gave me. Only this time, Larissa didn’t take it quietly. She told her, “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. And by the way, you owe my sister-in-law an apology for what you said after she gave birth.”

The apology never came directly. But I did notice something shift. She stopped making comments about whether I “really” gave birth. She started showing up with meals instead of critiques. And one day, out of nowhere, she told a family friend in front of me, “Oh, she handled labor so well. Much stronger than I was.” I almost dropped my coffee.

The real kicker? When Larissa gave birth, she ended up needing an emergency C-section. My MIL didn’t dare say a word about her “not knowing real labor.” She sat quietly in the hospital room, holding her new grandson, looking oddly subdued. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was finally realizing that birth is birth, no matter how it happens.

I’ve learned something through all of this: some people will never give you the validation you hope for. And that’s okay. You can’t live your life chasing approval from someone who’s determined not to give it. I didn’t need my MIL to acknowledge my pain or effort for it to be real. I knew what I went through. My husband knew. My daughter will grow up knowing her mom brought her into the world with strength and love.

And maybe—just maybe—people like my MIL get humbled in their own time. Not because you fight them, but because life hands them a mirror they can’t avoid. In the end, I realized that I didn’t need to win her over. I just needed to live my truth and let her deal with hers.

If you’ve ever had someone downplay your experience, remember this: your truth doesn’t get smaller just because they can’t handle it. Keep standing in it. And when karma does its quiet work, you’ll be too busy living your life to even say “I told you so.”

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