Dear Picklepedia: My Mother-in-Law Says I’ve “Stolen Her Son” By Getting Him Into Pickleball

By Picklepedia’s Patsy – Pickleball Coach & Retired Therapist

Dear Picklepedia,

I’m 38 and I’ve been married to Tom for six years. Last spring, I finally convinced him to try pickleball with me after months of begging. He was reluctant at first—said it looked like “ping pong for people who gave up on real sports”—but after his first game, he was completely hooked.

Now we play together four times a week, we’ve joined a league, and honestly? Our marriage has never been better. We laugh more, we have this shared thing we’re both passionate about, and we’ve made all these new friends together.

Here’s the problem: Tom’s mother, Diane, is FURIOUS. She called me last week and said—I’m not exaggerating—”You’ve stolen my son from me.” Tom used to have Sunday brunch with her every single week for the past fifteen years, and now he “conveniently” has league play on Sunday mornings. She says we’re “always at that ridiculous court” and that I’ve “brainwashed” him into this “cult sport.”

Last month she showed up at the courts during our league play and literally stood on the sideline with her arms crossed, watching us like a disapproving referee. When we finished, she said “This is what you choose over family?” right in front of everyone.

Tom told her we could do brunch on Saturdays instead, but she said “it’s not the same” and that Sundays were “their special tradition” that I’m destroying. She won’t accept any other day. She’s now telling Tom’s sister that I’m “controlling” and have “isolated him from his family.”

We still see her twice a month! Am I being unreasonable, or is she?

—Jessica in Ohio

Dear Jessica,

Oh honey. I know exactly what’s happening here, and it’s not really about pickleball. Let me tell you about Margaret.

Margaret was my mother-in-law for forty-six years, and for about thirty of those years, I was convinced she hated me. This woman kept a framed photo of Richard’s ex-girlfriend on her mantle until 1987. When I mentioned it—very politely!—she said “Well, Deborah was family for two years. You don’t just erase people.”

We’d been married for eight years at that point.

When I got serious about pickleball in my late sixties, Richard started playing too. And suddenly we had this whole new social world that didn’t include Margaret.

Before pickleball, Richard would call his mother every Wednesday at 7 PM. Like clockwork. Thirty-three years of Wednesday calls. Then one Wednesday, we had a tournament that ran late, and Richard completely forgot to call.

Margaret left four voicemails. FOUR. The last one said “I’m calling the police if I don’t hear from you by 10.”

When Richard finally called back and explained about the tournament, she went silent. Then she said, “Well. I guess I know where I rank now.”

The next week, she didn’t answer his call. Didn’t answer for three weeks. When she finally picked up, she said “Oh, I didn’t think you’d have time for me anymore with your little paddle game.

Here’s what I learned after six months of this: Margaret wasn’t mad that Richard was playing pickleball. She was terrified that she was becoming optional.

For divorced women of Margaret’s generation—she and Richard’s dad split when Richard was twelve—their kids weren’t just their kids. They were their purpose, their proof that they’d done something right. Richard calling every Wednesday wasn’t just a phone call. It was evidence that she still mattered.

And then pickleball gave her son something new to care about, and suddenly that standing date was “negotiable.” To her, that felt like erasure.

Now, let me be clear: that doesn’t make Diane’s behavior okay. Standing at the courts with her arms crossed? Unhinged. Calling you controlling? Out of line. But understanding where it’s coming from might help you fix it.

The Sunday brunch thing is particularly telling. She won’t accept Saturdays? That’s not about scheduling. That’s about control. She’s testing whether Tom will choose her or you.

When Richard and I dealt with Margaret, we tried everything. We invited her to watch—she said it was “too loud and undignified.” We offered different times—she said we were “accommodating everyone but her.” Finally, Richard sat her down and said something that actually worked.

He said: “Mom, I’m not leaving you. I’m just adding something to my life. You’re not being replaced. You’re just not the only thing anymore.”

She cried. Told him about how his father left her for someone “more exciting” and how she’d spent thirty years making sure Richard never left her too. Said she knew she was being ridiculous but couldn’t help feeling like she was losing him all over again.

That conversation didn’t fix everything overnight, but it cracked something open. Richard started calling her Monday evenings instead of Wednesdays—a new tradition, not a substitution. And about once a month, we’d skip league and do Sunday brunch. Not every week, but enough that she felt considered.

Here’s what I wish I’d understood earlier: sometimes people need reassurance that they’re not being erased, even when you think it’s obvious.

Now, your situation: Tom needs to have this conversation with his mother, not you. If you do it, you’re the controlling daughter-in-law. If he does it, he’s a grown man setting boundaries.

He needs to tell her: “Mom, I love our time together. But I’m also allowed to have hobbies that don’t include you. That doesn’t mean I love you less.”

And then—this is important—he needs to create a new tradition with her. Not Sunday brunch, because trying to go back now sets a precedent that she can guilt-trip you both into compliance. But something else. Maybe coffee every other Tuesday. Maybe a monthly dinner. Something scheduled, reliable, that she can count on.

Because here’s the thing: she spent eighteen years being the most important woman in his life. You don’t get over that just because he got married. Some part of her will always be measuring whether she matters as much as she used to. And the answer is no, she doesn’t—but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t matter at all.

Oh, and since this is supposed to be about pickleball: if Tom’s joining you on court four times a week, make sure you’re rotating partners sometimes. Playing with your spouse exclusively can create bad habits because you start anticipating each other’s weaknesses instead of covering them. Mix it up. You’ll both improve faster.

After Margaret and I finally made peace, she actually came to watch one of my tournaments. Didn’t understand a single rule, kept asking why we were “playing tennis wrong,” but she stayed for two hours and brought homemade cookies for the whole team.

Coming from Margaret, that was basically a declaration of love.

Patsy’s Pickleball Truth: The best way to win against someone who’s trying to control the game is to refuse to play by their rules—but sometimes you have to let them save face while you do it.

Your mother-in-law is behaving badly. But underneath the theatrics, she’s probably just scared. Scared she’s being replaced, scared she’s not needed anymore, scared her son is moving on without her.

Tom needs to set the boundary. You need to step back and let him. And if Diane can’t accept that her grown son has a life that includes but doesn’t revolve around her? That’s her work to do, not yours.

Patsy