The first day I became a daughter-in-law, my mother-in-law brought out all the dishes, pots and pans and told me to wash them, then said: if I didn’t do it, I would “send them back to my parents’ house” and then…
I had just arrived at my husband’s house in a neighborhood in Quezon City. The night before, I was still getting used to the strange land, when the next morning, Mama-in-law called me to the kitchen. I thought she would just ask me to make tea or prepare breakfast. Unexpectedly, she brought out the entire cupboard of dishes, old pots and pans from the kitchen corner, things that hadn’t been used for a long time and placed them in the middle of the yard.

She spoke coldly, without a smile:
– New daughter-in-law must learn, wash everything — small to big. Don’t miss a single piece.

I was stunned. My husband — Juan — was still sleeping upstairs, completely unaware. I felt hurt, but I didn’t dare disobey my mother-in-law. Cold water, slippery soap — I sat down and washed each black pot; My fingernails were bleeding from rubbing hard. The steam reddened my hands, making them tremble with cold.

Sometimes Mama-in-law would come down to “check”. She would use her finger to scratch the edge of the bowl, and when she saw a faint trace, she would sarcastically say:
– “Sino pa ang nagpalaki sa’yo? Paano ka makakabuhay ng iba kung ganito ka?”

My heart felt like it was being squeezed. I tried to bite my lips, swallowing my tears. When Juan came down, I hoped he would ask; instead, he just stood leaning against the railing, calmly pouring water to drink, then turned away as if it were nothing.

I raised my face, my hands were wet and trembling. Looking at my husband’s back, I choked up — for the first time, I understood: the path of being a daughter-in-law here is not just about food and clothing, but also a challenge with harsh prejudices right in one’s own home.

Juan sighed, said indifferently – “Sige na lang, mama sabi nga niya, yun ang sabi niya. Konting bungkag lang iyan, hugasan mo then magpahinga ka.”

His words were like a knife cutting straight into my heart. “A few bowls”? It wasn’t a few bowls. It was a pile of rusty pots and pans, piled up plates, dust and mold from years of use. I had washed them until my hands were cracked, but he considered it a small matter.

Mama-in-law heard that and lifted her chin:
– “See? Husband says so. New daughter must endure. Don’t whine.”

I bowed my head, choking, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Tears mixed with the murky dishwashing liquid. On the very first day, I realized I had to protect myself. If my husband just stood by and watched, who would be by my side?

Indignation welled up. I couldn’t keep on enduring it. A tear fell — then a determination flashed: if my husband didn’t defend me, I would find a way to stand up straight in this house.

I put down my chopsticks, my hands trembling, burning from soaking in the water for so long. “Mama, pagod na po ako. Baka mamaya na lang ko ituloy…” – I mumbled and dragged myself upstairs, my whole body limp as if drained of all my energy.

Before I could lie down, the sound of dishes clanging rang out from the kitchen, then Mama-in-law’s shrill voice tore through the air:
– “Ang tamad naman ng bagong manugang! Kung hindi ka marunong sumunod, ibabalik kita sa bahay ninyo! Hindi ka namin kailangan magkalat dito!”

I was stunned. The words “ibabalik sa bahay” were like a knife piercing deep into my self-esteem. Juan still sat calmly scrolling through his phone, not saying a word in my defense.

My heart ached. I wasn’t afraid of washing dishes — I was afraid of being looked down upon, afraid of being trampled upon in the very house I had just entered. I swallowed my tears, thinking: if I was threatened with eviction today, what would my future here be like?

But amidst all that pain, one thing was clear: I would not let myself be buried in cold dishwater and harsh words forever. I swore to myself: I would learn to stand up, protect my dignity, seek respect — even if it had to start with the smallest things.