The Day I First Met My In-Laws — A Gloomy First Impression
I still remember clearly the day I met my partner’s parents for the first time, before we were married. We met at a restaurant inside a shopping complex in Tokyo.
Before entering the restaurant we had booked, I stopped by the toilets on the same floor. On my way there, I passed an older man who seemed to carry a heavy, oppressive air about him.
He was walking close to the centre of a narrow corridor. There was little space to pass, yet he showed no sign of yielding. Something about his presence felt quietly dominant.
After using the toilet, I was washing my hands when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. At that moment, for reasons I still cannot fully explain, I had a sudden, clear intuition: that man is my future father-in-law.
During our time dating, my partner had never spoken negatively about their parents. Whether they chose not to say anything, or whether they themselves had not yet recognised the issue, I do not know.
When we entered the restaurant and exchanged greetings, the man standing in front of me was indeed the same person I had passed only minutes earlier.
Parents Who Demand Obedience — A Hidden Structure of Control
In recent years, we rarely saw my partner’s parents. At most, it was a few times a year. Since I began my period of rest, I have not seen them at all. Even so, the number of uncomfortable memories is not small.
One New Year’s holiday, we were eating together at a buffet-style restaurant.
When my partner’s father stood up to collect food, a chair at the neighbouring table was sticking out slightly, making the passage narrow. At that moment, with a loud bang, he shoved the chair back forcefully.
The table belonged to a young couple with a small child. The father looked startled, his eyes wide, while the mother froze, her face tight with fear.
I was stunned. I could hardly believe what I had just seen. At the same time, I found myself silently hoping that the young father would not protest and allow the situation to escalate.
At our table sat my partner and their mother. Whether they had not noticed, or simply chose not to react, neither showed any sign of concern.
As I mentioned briefly in Chapter 5, Section 2, we were once caught up in trouble related to renovation work at our flat. At the time, our living space had become cramped, and we were already considering moving.
We visited my partner’s family home to ask for financial assistance in securing a new place. During that conversation, my partner’s father suggested that the renovation company should also be made to cover our moving costs.
I replied immediately.
“We won’t do that. We’ll accept appropriate compensation, but we won’t demand anything beyond that.”
I was genuinely taken aback by his suggestion, which felt completely out of line with basic decency, but I did not let it show. I still remember the displeased expression on his face as I responded calmly.
What troubled me even more was my partner’s mother’s reaction.
She was folding laundry in the adjoining Japanese-style room. The sliding doors were open, and she could clearly hear the exchange. Yet she said nothing.Should she not have intervened, even gently, when such an excessive demand was being voiced?
The living room of my partner’s family home was filled with belongings, cluttered to the point of being suffocating. It reminded me strongly of my own family home. Imagining my partner growing up in such an environment made my chest tighten.
From the moment we sat facing my partner’s father, my partner began to shed large, silent tears. The atmosphere was unsettling.
Now, I understand why. Asking for financial help meant bowing their head to a father they resented. It must have felt humiliating. They likely also felt anger toward me for my lack of financial means at the time.
What struck me as most disturbing was that neither parent asked why their adult child was crying so intensely. To me, it felt as though they were satisfied simply by making their child submit.
In the end, my partner’s father said, in a roundabout way, that he wanted to see a more “proper attitude” of asking. I quietly said, “Thank you. We appreciate it,” and bowed my head.
My partner later told me that they had felt a deep aversion to this kind of obedience-demanding attitude since childhood. It was only after I entered my period of rest that they began to speak openly about the pain and resentment it caused.
Throughout our marriage, we had countless arguments. Each time I stated what I believed to be a reasonable point, my partner said my figure overlapped with that of their parents.
From early in our marriage, my partner’s parents would often come to our home without prior notice. It was always my partner who dealt with them at the door. Over time, I stopped appearing altogether. The sense of unease I felt toward them accumulated until I could no longer bring myself to face them.
Only recently did I learn that my partner’s mother had been contacting them by phone at least once a week. Now that my partner has broken free from that influence, they recognise these actions as attempts to control their child.
My partner’s parents also held a spare key to our home.
Not long after we married, the intercom rang. When I checked the monitor, I was startled to see my partner’s father standing directly outside our door. A chill ran through me.
He had let himself through the building’s main entrance and come up to our floor. It was then that I learned my partner had given them a spare key.
I tried gently to express my discomfort to my partner. I no longer remember the exact words I used, but my partner reacted strongly and burst into tears.
“Here we go again,” I remember thinking. After marriage, my partner had begun to cry after even small exchanges.
At the time, I was confused. They’re crying because they’re hurt — but did I really say something that bad? Back then, I had not yet reached an understanding of the deeper psychological mechanisms at work. I blamed myself for being inexperienced in handling other people’s emotions.
My partner’s parents still hold a spare key to our current home. Now fully aware of the control they were under, my partner deeply regrets that decision.
Similar patterns of control appear throughout my partner’s extended family. Schools, career paths, even marriage partners are strongly influenced by parental wishes. Such relationships may not be rare, but they represent a value system I still struggle to understand.
It seems that my partner’s father himself was raised in a similar environment. His own parents — my partner’s grandparents — were also controlling figures. The realisation that such distortions can be passed down through generations is deeply unsettling.
As for faith, the story is slightly different. The first to join was my partner’s uncle. From there, relatives joined one by one, including my partner’s grandparents.
I have no intention of criticising religion itself. However, each time I witnessed behaviour from my partner’s relatives that conflicted sharply with ordinary standards of behaviour, I found it difficult to dismiss the possibility that their beliefs had played a role.
