“This is the journey of breaking the shadow ceiling — an invisible barrier not made of corporate rules, but of cultural expectations, inherited roles, and internalized guilt. It’s the courage to speak our truth, even when our voice is drowned by the expectations of others. And sometimes, this means breaking free from the shadows that have long defined us.” — Divya
“I am very disappointed.”
My heart sank hearing those words. My hand clutched on to the phone so tight that my knuckles turned white.
“I am very disappointed. I always thought once a daughter-in-law comes, she will cook for us and take care of us. But after seeing you for so many years, we are very disappointed!”
Every word felt like well-placed arrows piercing through my wounded ego. So many days I have felt their presence in my life quietly judging me in every step of the way, from the moment I took my husband’s hand and physically entered their world. It didn’t matter to them who I was before, or where I came from, or what I am doing with my life. What mattered the most is that my relationship was to be determined by the way I act, the way I spoke, the decisions I make with their consent, and the way I “adjusted to family life.”
I sat there letting out a shaky breath, not realising I had been holding it for this long. How do I respond to the words that have hit me like waves thrashing me to the floor bed, where I lie wounded, as my ego would? What do I even say to console myself — and to console the loved ones who are on the phone line waiting for me to respond to their outburst?
I knew I had to be very careful choosing my words here onwards because this is a relationship break-or-make moment. While my thoughts inclined towards how to defend my ego at first instance, the voices in my head were loud and clearly saying:
“But Sanskaari bahus (a term used for traditional, well-behaved daughter-in-law in Indian culture, expected to be obedient to family values) are not like this.
Sanskaari bahus do not talk back.
Sanskaari bahus do everything in their might to keep the in-laws happy.
Sanskaari bahus do not bring shame to their parents by being argumentative with their in-laws.”
While there were a million voices in my head — including those of my husband telling me to not take their words to heart — I couldn’t help but realize: how else do I take these words then?
I responded back with a quivering voice, “I am sorry Maa, I am sorry for disappointing you. I will do better.” And I kept the phone, biting back the tears that were brimming in my eyes.
Now is not the time to show this vulnerability. Not this, not now, and not here in this office where I am the boss. Not now, when I am this close to a promotion where I will be able to lead a bigger team, one overseas. I have worked so hard to get where I am at right now, and all those years of hard work and sweat have paid off. But I am not able to savour this moment because, like Nigel says in Devil Wears Prada:
“Let me know when your whole life goes up in smoke. Means it’s time for a promotion.”
As I stood up and walked into that boardroom, I was determined to ignore the multiple calls coming from my husband. Even though my husband would have only words of solace, reminding me that I shouldn’t take their words to heart and that they are of a different generation, it still doesn’t soothe my wounded ego. Because he is at a place of privilege. He is the prodigy son who can never do anything wrong — except maybe this time, when he chose me as his wife.
And that’s not all — he is also at a place of privilege in my parents’ eyes, because he is the prodigal son-in-law who is “responsible for their daughter’s future.”
How do I speak my thoughts and opinions when they are only heeded if supported by a male perspective? The world expects different things from a husband and different things from a wife after marriage. Even if they are both equal in their own eyes, they are not considered equal in the eyes of the people surrounding them.
How good a wife is, will be talked about by the town based on how well she keeps her in-laws happy, how well she feeds them, and produces babies — paving way for a new generation for them.
How good a daughter is, will be talked about by the town based on how obediently she agrees to marry at the right age and sacrifice her career or any other unnatural wants and desires — so she can now be a happy homemaker, where again her happiness is measured in the way her husband boasts about her cooking or the mother-in-law boasts about the way they are taken care of.
Her husband got her a bike to go to work: luxury.
His wife cooked for 30 guests: necessity.
Her husband gave her tickets to visit her parents for three weeks: generous.
His wife choosing to go to an important meeting instead of a religious event: unceremonious.
Her husband walking around her parents’ home in shorts: capacious.
His wife wearing salwar kameez with no dupatta, open hair with no Kumkum (vermillion on forehead signalling married status) : inauspicious.
As I came out of the boardroom, I had to give in to the impulse of picking up the phone call from my husband, as it showed already 8 missed calls.
His familiar voice came on the line asking, “So, what happened, did you get it??”
I replied reluctantly, “Yes, I got it. The job is mine if I want it.”
“Yessss!” His squeal of delight warmed my wounded heart and ego. “I knew you would get this, Neha! I can’t wait to tell my office now. Did they tell you when we have to leave?”
I fought back tears and, with my voice in quiver, said, “But I can’t! How can we leave now? After all that happened this morning!”
I could hear his raspy breath as he sighed and said, “Neha, we have worked hard to get here. You have worked hard for this. When my sister Romi decided to become a doctor and got her residency in Poland, didn’t Ramesh go with her? Did my parents or Ramesh’s parents stop them from leaving? My mom was the first person supporting my sister — saying wherever you go, Ramesh can come too. She saw that happiness in her daughter’s eyes and Ramesh and his parents respected her ambitions. Why can’t this happen for us too?”
“Because sister is different, sister-in-law is different. Just like daughter is different, daughter-in-law is different,” I blurted out.
“Who makes these differences? Who is making these rules, Neha! We don’t have to bend to these if we don’t want to. Why can’t we think for ourselves for once? Didn’t I step in and make it clear to my parents that we are not going to have a baby now and they shouldn’t rush us unnecessarily? I can speak to them again and make it clear that our move is finalised and there is nothing they can do about it.”
Oh, how my ego got wounded further. Why are these same words and thoughts not respected when they come through my voice? Why must they only be accepted if my husband speaks from his perspective?
Try as we might, the ego will get wounded time and time again when we are reminded that we cannot be equal — except maybe at a workplace, and that too only because HR tries really hard to drill the equality into the workforce.
I packed my laptop bag and told my husband we can speak more when we get home.
For now, I knew there was no looking back from here. I could hear my father-in-law’s words of defeat muttering, “Wherever you go, just stay happy. That is enough,” as a signal of their last attempt at guilt-tripping us into not moving out.
But we eventually did — because my husband made the final decision and everyone had to agree, even though it is my career move that led to this.
My husband quit his job and followed me overseas, and sometimes I think it is my privilege that he did. But in reality, we are trained to feel that way.
My sister-in-law wished me luck and reminded my mother-in-law: Had I been her sister, would she not have been supportive?
In a world where you are constantly in competition with others’ expectations, someone is bound to get disappointed and someone’s ego is bound to get hurt.
Just the difference is: love always wants to say sorry. And ego always wants to hear sorry.
And sometimes, it’s not ego — it’s self-respect.
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“In the end, it’s not just about breaking the glass ceiling in the workplace, but about breaking the shadow ceiling that follows us wherever we go — the weight of expectations, the judgement, and the constant battle between doing what is right for you versus what is expected by everyone around you.
Sometimes, breaking through that shadow means stepping into your own light, even if it’s uncomfortable. But as we break free from these constraints, we redefine who we are, not just for ourselves, but for those who are quietly watching us, hoping we’ll set the example.
Breaking the shadow ceiling isn’t about defying tradition for the sake of rebellion. It’s about self-respect, struggle towards freedom and the quiet strength to live life unapologetically, on our own terms.” — Every Woman
Where the glass ceiling is imposed by external systems, the shadow ceiling is shaped by internalized norms, family dynamics, and quiet emotional weight. In this story, the woman gets the promotion, yet feels the pull of disappointment from her in-laws, the need to apologize, the conflict between self-respect and ‘sanskaari’ duty. That’s the shadow ceiling — it’s not stopping her literally, but it’s shaping how high she feels allowed to fly.