This Christmas, my husband’s entire family is staying with us for a week. I don’t mind it, honestly. In fact, I’ve come to appreciate how my husband transforms when his family is around. He becomes this caring, attentive, and nice fellow—someone who seems to genuinely enjoy hosting and interacting. It’s a side of him I wish I saw more often when it’s just us.
Having his family over also gives me the chance to piece together more about him and his childhood, one subtle detail at a time. Observing his interactions with them feels like holding pieces of a puzzle, trying to understand the dynamics that shaped him into the man he is today. So far, so good—until yesterday, when something all too familiar happened.
In addition to the family, we also hosted some friends who came over for dinner: a couple with a daughter who’s a few years older than ours. My daughter has been sick all week, poor thing, and it’s been tough to get her to eat much of anything. It’s completely understandable—she’s sick, she’s tired, and she just doesn’t have much of an appetite. But the other girl, healthy and lively, was eating heartily, enjoying the meal we prepared.
Enter my mother-in-law. She couldn’t stop praising this other child for her appetite. It was constant: how much she ate, how wonderful it was to see her enjoy her food. At first, I let it slide. I get it—she’s trying to be complimentary. But when it went on and on, I felt a line was being crossed. It wasn’t just praise; it was a comparison, even if subtly veiled.
I decided to address it. Politely, I asked her, “Could we not compare the kids, please? Let’s not make this a competition.” My tone was calm, and I thought my request was clear. She responded quickly with a dismissive, “I’m not doing that,” as if the very idea was absurd.
But, of course, not five minutes later, I overheard her loudly remarking to her husband about how much the other girl had eaten compared to her granddaughter. She didn’t direct it at me, but it was loud enough to be heard. The message landed exactly where she wanted it to: in the air, sharp and unavoidable. I said nothing in return.
This, to me, is classic narcissistic behavior. A toxic family pattern. It’s not about outright defiance; it’s about finding ways to assert control, to say what they want to say, even after being explicitly asked not to. It’s the subtle undermining, the deliberate act of turning a situation into a quiet power play.
For my daughter, who’s been sick and struggling to eat, those comparisons don’t go unnoticed. Kids hear more than we realize, and those seemingly innocent remarks can leave their mark. My daughter doesn’t need to feel like she’s in a race to be “better” or “more” than someone else, especially when she’s already feeling vulnerable.
This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered this dynamic, and sadly, I doubt it will be the last. But moments like these remind me to stay vigilant, to advocate for my children, and to model the kind of validation and understanding they deserve.
It also reinforces what I’ve come to understand about narcissism: the need to center themselves, to control the narrative, and to undermine others in subtle, often deniable ways. Whether it’s through comparisons, backhanded compliments, or dismissive remarks, the goal is always the same—to assert power while maintaining the appearance of innocence.
The holidays are supposed to be about connection, joy, and togetherness. And while I’m determined to create that environment for my kids, navigating these dynamics is a constant balancing act. But here’s the thing: I refuse to let these behaviors define the way my children see themselves—or the way I see myself, for that matter.
So while my mother-in-law may continue her remarks, I’ll continue to set boundaries and advocate for what matters most: creating a home where my kids feel valued for exactly who they are.
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