I used to think my daughter-in-law was simply lazy. Every time I visited, the house was a mess, she was in bed or on the couch, and my son was juggling work, cooking, and caring for the baby. One day, after finding him doing everything alone, I snapped. I stormed into their room and accused her of sleeping while my son “raised the child.” She looked broken, whispered “I’m trying,” and I walked away convinced I was right.
That night, my son quietly told me the truth: she wasn’t lazy—she was likely suffering from postpartum depression. She barely slept, barely ate, and lived in constant fear she wasn’t a good mother. My harsh words hadn’t motivated her—they had wounded her more.
The shame kept me awake. The next morning, I returned to apologize sincerely. She cried and admitted she felt like a failure. I told her she wasn’t failing—she was struggling, and she didn’t have to do it alone.
Over the following weeks, I helped with meals, the baby, and simply being there to listen. Slowly she began to recover, smiling again, laughing softly, reconnecting with her son and with herself. My son looked lighter, too.
I realized how wrong I had been. Judging is easy from the outside; understanding takes effort and humility. What I thought was laziness was a silent battle she didn’t know how to explain.
I misjudged her—but I learned, and I won’t make that mistake again.