My mother-in-law has schizophrenia. She was diagnosed years ago, and now, on top of that, she’s been told she has cancer.
I wish I could say I feel sympathy. But last night, she faked her own death. On Facebook.
She literally posted, “She’s gone. Heaven gained an angel.” Then signed it off as if someone else had written it.
There were crying emojis. People left condolences. My husband started panicking.
And when we drove over in the middle of the night, scared out of our minds, she opened the door in her pajamas — sipping hot cocoa, annoyed we “woke her up.”
Me: “Are you seriously not going to talk about the post?”
MIL: “What post?”
Me:“The one where you announced your own death. On Facebook. To 300 people.”
MIL: “Oh that. I was just having a bad day. I wanted to see who cared.”
Me: “You had your son thinking you DIED.”
MIL: “He never calls me back. Now he knows how it feels.”
Me: “This isn’t a game. People were messaging us. Mourning you. You had church ladies in the comments offering to cook casseroles.”
MIL: “Wasn’t that sweet?”
Me: “No. It was manipulative. Cruel. Disturbing.”
MIL: “I have cancer. You should be a little nicer.”
Me: “You also have schizophrenia. And instead of getting help, you’re pulling stunts for attention.”
MIL: “You don’t understand what it’s like to be me.”
Me: “No, I don’t. But I do understand what it’s like to explain to my kids why Grandma’s ‘ghost’ just liked their soccer photos.”
MIL: “Why are you always judging me? He’s my son. I’m allowed to need him.”
Me: “And I’m allowed to protect him from being emotionally blackmailed by someone who thinks death is a social media experiment.”
MIL: “One day I will die. And maybe then you’ll be sorry.”
Me: “Maybe. But I won’t be surprised.”
Husband: “Mom… what the hell is this?” (holds up his phone) “Why are people texting me condolences?”
MIL: “Sweetheart, I was just—trying something. It wasn’t serious.”
Me : “She faked her own death. On Facebook. She signed it off as someone named ‘Marilyn from the cancer group.’”
Husband (to MIL): “Why would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”
MIL: “Wrong with me? You’re asking what’s wrong with me? I’ve got cancer, I’m alone, I live in a house where I feel like a ghost—”
Me: “Then why not talk to us like a normal person? Why manipulate everyone into grieving you just to get attention?”
MIL: “Because no one listens unless I’m a tragedy!”
Husband: “Jesus, Mom…”
MIL: “You think she’d even let you see me if I didn’t pull stunts like this? She wants to erase me from your life.”
Me: “I want boundaries. That’s not erasure. That’s survival.”
MIL (turning to him): “She’s making you choose. Right now. Between me, your mother, or her.”
Husband: “I—” (pauses, torn) “This isn’t fair.”
Me: “What’s not fair is watching my kids cry because their grandma 'died.' What’s not fair is constantly living on edge, waiting for the next crisis you manufacture.”
Husband (holding up his phone, scrolling through posts, his voice shaking with disbelief): “I don’t even know where to start, Mom. You’ve been posting everything. Family secrets. Private conversations. And it’s all... twisted. Here... listen to this one.”
(He reads aloud, his voice growing more incredulous)
“‘My son’s wife is trying to poison me by overdosing me on my meds... she’s slowly killing me and no one cares!’”
MIL: “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean to—people need to know the truth.”
Me (interrupting): “Mom, you’re not just telling the truth, you’re making up lies! Why are you saying I’m trying to poison you? I’ve been giving you your medication, just like the doctor prescribed!”
Husband (scrolling more, voice getting more strained): “Then here, this one... ‘My son doesn’t care about me anymore, he’s too busy with his wife, and she’s the one pulling the strings. She’s isolating me from everyone. She wants me gone. She’ll stop at nothing to get rid of me.’”
Me (eyes wide with disbelief, her anger rising): “Why would you say that, Mom? I’ve been here for you when no one else was!”
MIL: “I was just trying to tell the truth... no one cares unless I’m dying. They’ll listen when I’m gone.”
Husband: “This one... ‘I can’t breathe without her watching me, she’s always hovering over me, keeping me from being independent. She’s taking my life away.’
Me: What the hell, Mom?! I’ve been checking on you because you’ve been sick, but I’m not suffocating you! You want to be independent, but you keep doing things like this—posting lies online about us.”
MIL (softly, almost defensively): “It’s my only way to be heard.”
Me (frustration boiling over): “And here’s another one. ‘The truth is, they want to control everything I do. I can’t even pick up the phone to talk to my friends anymore. They say I’m not allowed to talk about anything, and when I do, I get punished.’”
Husband (voice cracking, staring at the phone screen): “Punished? What the hell are you talking about? No one’s punishing you, we’ve been
Me (tears in her eyes): “This is what I’ve been dealing with. You post everything we talk about—our private matters, our family issues—on these support groups. You’re even posting about things we’ve never discussed with anyone else. You’re airing our dirty laundry for strangers to see. It’s embarrassing. And then you claim I’m trying to take control of you, to destroy you. All I’m doing is taking care of you, trying to keep you safe, trying to make sure you’re okay!”
MIL (softly, almost defensively): “It’s my only way to be heard.”
Me (frustration boiling over): “And here’s another one. ‘The truth is, they want to control everything I do. I can’t even pick up the phone to talk to my friends anymore. They say I’m not allowed to talk about anything, and when I do, I get punished.’”
Husband (voice cracking, staring at the phone screen): “Punished? What the hell are you talking about? No one’s punishing you, we’ve been
Me (tears in her eyes): “This is what I’ve been dealing with. You post everything we talk about—our private matters, our family issues—on these support groups. You’re even posting about things we’ve never discussed with anyone else. You’re airing our dirty laundry for strangers to see. It’s embarrassing. And then you claim I’m trying to take control of you, to destroy you. All I’m doing is taking care of you, trying to keep you safe, trying to make sure you’re okay!”
MIL (eyes widening with a mix of confusion and paranoia): “Because I’m not okay! You don’t understand what I’m going through! You’re all trying to trap me, to silence me. I’m just trying to survive here!”
Husband: “And look at this, Mom. Look at what you posted about me. ‘My son doesn’t love me. He’s afraid of me. He doesn’t want to deal with me because I’m too much. He’s a coward.’”
MIL: “Because it’s true. You don’t get it. You just want to push me away, don’t you?”
Me: “That’s not what’s happening. We’ve been trying to help you. But every time we do, you twist it, and then you go online and start telling people that we’re abusive, that we’re trying to control you. Do you hear yourself, Mom? It’s not healthy. You’re making up conspiracies in your head, and then you’re dragging our family into it.”
Husband (looking between his wife and mother, exhausted, confused, and hurt): “I didn’t know what was going on until now. I thought you were just upset, but this... this is beyond anything I imagined. Why didn’t you just come to me?”
MIL: “Because you wouldn’t listen! None of you would! No one cares about me unless I’m a victim. And this is what it takes for you to see me. To get you to pay attention to me. If I don’t do something extreme, you won’t even notice I’m here!”
Me: “That’s not the way to get attention, Mom. That’s not love. That’s manipulation, and it’s hurting all of us. We’re not ignoring you, we’re trying to help, but this... this needs to stop. We can’t keep going in circles like this. We can’t keep letting you air our dirty laundry online, making everyone think I’m the villain. You’ve crossed a line.”
Husband (torn between his mother and his wife, his voice cracking under the pressure): “I don’t know how to fix this... I don’t know where to go from here.”
Me (standing, arms crossed): “Mom, I’m done with this. The Facebook posts, the guilt trips, pretending you’re dead—this is too much.”
MIL: “I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I just wanted attention... you never listen to me. I’m sick, I’m alone...”
Me: “That’s the problem. It’s always about you. Every time something doesn’t go your way, you start manipulating everyone. Posting lies about me online, telling the family I’m ‘isolating’ your son, pretending you’re dead just to get sympathy—it’s not okay anymore.”
MIL (defensive): “I’m just trying to make people care. To make him see how hard it is for me...”
Me: “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep manipulating us with your illness. It’s not love. It’s control.”
MIL (desperately): “But you can’t just throw me away! What if I need you?”
Me: “You want help? Real help, not fake sympathy. Stop turning our family into your battleground. You’re not going to get away with this anymore. I love you, but I can’t keep cleaning up your mess.”
MIL: “So, what now?”
Me: “Now, you get the help you need. Or you stay in your misery alone. I’m done enabling this.”
The couple returns home that night, when the wife sits on the couch.
Me: "We have to stop letting her control us with this. I can’t keep being the villain here, and you can’t keep enabling it."
Husband: "I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t want to lose you either."
Me: "I’m not asking you to choose me over her. But I am asking for your support in setting boundaries. I’ve tried—we’ve tried—to manage it. But this isn’t just about her illness anymore. It’s about her manipulating our lives and using guilt to tear us apart."
Husband: "I know… but what if she really is going to be alone?"
Me: "She’s not alone. She’s choosing to be. And I’ve been here for her, I’ve cared for her, I’ve tried everything. But I can’t keep sacrificing myself—sacrificing us—just because she’s unhappy."
[There’s a long pause, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. The husband sits beside her, taking a deep breath.]
Husband: (resolute) "Okay. You’re right. We have to stop letting her tear us apart."
Me: "It’s going to be hard. But I can’t keep feeling like the bad guy just because I want peace."
As the days pass, I no longer feels tethered to my MIL’s manipulations.
As the days pass, I no longer feels tethered to my MIL’s manipulations.
To set clear boundaries, I started by turning off notifications for my MIL’s Facebook posts and muting her account to avoid constant emotional triggers. I blocked any phone numbers or emails that are used for manipulative messages and set strict limits on when I’ll respond, only engaging during pre-arranged family meetings or specific times of the week.
I also spoke with my husband, urging him to help enforce these boundaries, ensuring they both agree on how to handle any future crisis or post.
With the kids, I gently explained that certain topics, like the Facebook posts, are not for discussion in their home.
I also started using a journal to process my feelings privately. This helped me avoid the emotional drain of responding directly to my MIL’s posts.
Nostalgia takes time to brew—help keep the kettle on?
What story should I post next? Toxic in-laws, friendship betrayals, or family secrets that spiraled out of control? Email me your wild ideas at hello@nostalgicgrandma.com
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