My mother-in-law, Brenda, always wears this overwhelming perfume. For the family, it’s almost a joke—but for me, it’s a nightmare. Every visit leaves me with a scratchy throat, pounding headaches, and sometimes dizziness. I’m not sure if it’s an allergy, but the scent knocks me out.
At first, I kept quiet, not wanting to be rude. But after repeatedly needing to escape to lie down during her visits, I finally asked my husband, Marcus, to say something. He tried, but Brenda just laughed it off, calling it nonsense and accusing people of being “too sensitive.” Next time, she wore it even stronger—almost like a challenge.
I tried everything—opening windows, lighting candles—but nothing helped. So I spoke to Brenda directly, explaining my physical reaction and asking if she could wear less or switch to a milder scent. She refused, saying it was her “signature,” passed down from her late mother.
Hearing this softened me. I hadn’t realized the perfume was more than a scent—it was a connection to her mom, who had passed years ago. I told Brenda I respected that, but asked for compromise so we could enjoy time together.
Marcus suggested she use just a little. Brenda hesitated but agreed to think about it. Over the next visits, she wore the perfume lightly, and I could breathe easier. She even found a lighter version of the scent, which felt strange to her at first but allowed her to keep the memory alive without causing me pain.
That small change made a big difference. It taught me that behind stubbornness often lies a deeper story, and compassion means trying to understand it. We found a middle ground that works, reminding me that speaking up doesn’t mean being harsh—and listening doesn’t mean giving in.
Family can be complicated, but a little patience and empathy can go a long way.
