I recently married a wonderful man. We are both deeply grateful to have found love again later in life. When we first met, I got along reasonably well with his sister. She spent many holidays with us and was part of our close circle during the pandemic. Over time, however, I began to notice patterns of troubling behavior: frequent criticism of others in the family, sudden outbursts, moments of self-aggrandizement and exaggerated or questionable stories that often drew attention back to herself, including flat-out lies about loved ones. It seems everyone has wronged her somehow, and the venom with which she talks about the people she claims to love disturbs me.
After my husband proposed, her hostility became directed toward me. There have been instances of verbal aggression and one episode of physical contact toward a family member that left everyone uncomfortable. She has also made inappropriate remarks and gestures toward my husband in social settings, which I found deeply disrespectful and hurtful. When I calmly confronted her about one such incident, she denied it and reacted with anger, turning the rest of the family against me for “accusing” her of something she insists never happened, even though my husband agreed with me that it had.
Since then, I have chosen to go “no contact” with her. I no longer invite her to our home or to family gatherings we host. This has caused tension with other relatives, most of whom acknowledge that she is crazy but prefer to quietly tolerate it. My husband avoids engaging in the conflict, saying that “she’s always been that way.” No one calls her out for her deceitful, violent, abusive behavior.
I struggle with guilt about upsetting family relations, but I also know I cannot allow myself to be mistreated. Do I have an ethical obligation to keep the peace for the sake of the family, or is it acceptable to maintain firm boundaries, even if that excludes us from certain gatherings? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
First, let me say that your husband ought to ask her to treat you, and everyone else, with ordinary decency. The good news is that he hasn’t pressured you to include her in your home or travels. If you encounter her at family events and she becomes abusive, you have every right to call her out and to expect his support. You don’t owe civility to someone who chronically violates it; courtesy is a reciprocal virtue.
But your situation raises a moral puzzle: How do we respond to people whose behavior makes us wonder if they’re entirely answerable for it? Most of your husband’s family has decided, implicitly, that his sister — with her grandiose claims, volatility, outlandish falsehoods and hostility — is someone with a personality disorder. It’s not that anyone has made a formal diagnosis. It’s just that, with eye-rolling resignation, they’ve accepted her behavior as unchangeable, a condition to be endured rather than misconduct to be confronted.
Philosophers often use the term “reactive attitudes,” a coinage of P.F. Strawson’s, to refer to the feelings that guide our dealings with others whom we consider moral agents: resentment, gratitude, esteem and the like. These responses make up the emotional fabric of our moral lives. By contrast, an “objective attitude” is the stance we take toward people we treat as objects of policy, or therapy — those we see more as cases to be managed than as moral peers. Many people, though, fall between these two stools. Here the philosopher and clinician Hanna Pickard talks about “responsibility without blame”: holding people to account while tempering our emotional responses. That’s roughly what’s happening among your sister-in-law’s family members. Even if you agreed that she isn’t fully in command of herself, however, it doesn’t make her conduct harmless, or oblige you to accept it.
You can try to modulate your feelings of outrage while still holding her accountable. (You might, in another formulation of Pickard’s, try to move from “affective blame” to “detached blame.”) What’s important is that accepting that she’s damaged doesn’t mean letting her damage you. So keep your distance, protect your boundaries and stop worrying that you’re violating some familial ideal. They’ve chosen accommodation. You’ve chosen self-preservation.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader who was considering moving abroad, but worried that it would affect his relationship with his children. He wrote:
“I’m in a long-distance co-parenting arrangement after a difficult separation. Because of legal barriers, I’ve had limited physical access to my children for some time. In response, I’ve built a structured, intentional form of remote parenting — weekly video calls, shared activities and in-person visits — to remain a regular, loving presence in their lives. Now I’m considering moving to the United States to live with a close family member. … The move would allow me to continue a long-overdue process of healing after years of trauma and to rebuild my life in a more grounded environment. … Is it ethically defensible to pursue personal renewal and family support abroad when it means continuing to parent remotely? How should I weigh my children’s emotional needs against my own need for healing, belonging and growth? — Name Withheld
In his response, the Ethicist noted:
Being a parent doesn’t mean subordinating your own interests entirely. You’re entitled to care for yourself, and you can’t be the parent your children deserve if you’re unwell or depleted. Even if you saw your duty as entirely to them, that duty would still include preserving your own mental health. Given that you already parent from a distance, this move may not fundamentally change your relationship. Technology allows for real intimacy and presence, even across continents. Seeing your children less often in person is a loss, yes, but it could be offset if you feel more grounded and supported. A child benefits from a parent who is emotionally steady, even from afar. (As someone who spent part of his childhood thousands of miles from home — in the age of handwritten letters — I can attest that loving relationships can surmount distance.) Your parenting, not your postal code, may matter most.
(Reread the full question and answer here.)
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I moved from the United States to England for 10 months the year my divorce was finalized. My children were under 14. I felt the same uncertainty, even anguish, that the letter writer feels. Every Sunday I called and we talked. Every week I mailed them a letter. Twice during the year abroad I flew back for a weeklong visit with them. I won’t pretend that it was easy for any of us, but we got through it. The year abroad, which was an academic sabbatical, made a huge difference in my professional life. It was, for me, the right decision. My children, as they grew up, understood. We are all close today. — Preston
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There is a big difference between meeting in person every two weeks versus every three months. In-person visits are more intimate and more serendipitous, meaning they offer unstructured opportunities for the child to converse with and confide in the parent, and for the parent to observe the child close-up and in action. Think of the difference between asking a child how their day was (“OK”) and sharing the day with them. — Jaya
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Parents think they can compensate for a long-distance relationship with their children, but in the child’s mind they are very far away. For some children, that is perceived as indifference on the part of the parent. My ex and I co-parented fairly well, until my ex moved to the other side of the country. Our child was 14 years old. Even though there were no tears when my ex moved, a decade later my son shared that he felt abandoned by the parent who moved away. Seeing his other parent for six weeks in the summer didn’t make up for the every-other-weekend visitations, plus impromptu visits, weekend trips and soccer matches. — Judith
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There is no such thing as “parenting from a distance.” Imagine if both parents did this. Would you really say the children had parents? No. The present parent is the real parent. You can have a relationship with a child you see only four times a year, but it won’t be “parenting.” There are some cases in which this is still the right thing to do, but the choice should be made with clarity about what it actually implies, which is an abdication of the parental role. — Dan
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I grew up with an absent mother who would randomly pop back into my life at odd intervals. It only confused and hurt me more as a teen. Consistency and sincerity is key here. Pretend like your kid is your pen pal: Send them small gifts, write letters about an experience you had or send pictures of places you’ve been, even if it’s just your local park or a baseball game. You can schedule video chats, watch movies together or play games. My point: Consistency and sincerity are important, and being there in the best way that you can is all that matters to a child. — Aleka
Kwame Anthony Appiah is The New York Times Magazine’s Ethicist columnist and teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. To submit a query, send an email to [email protected].
The post How Should I Deal With My Horrendous Sister-in-Law? appeared first on New York Times.
