Why do my closest friends treat me like staff?

I pulled up in the driveway of a close friend’s country estate in Norfolk for a relaxing weekend – and became the unpaid hired help.

It was 9pm. Within minutes, my friend had set off down the motorway to London, where I’d just come from, and unfortunately, took the live-in nanny with her, who had a dental appointment.

It was done in that breezy, casual upper-class way that has no malice. I was left to look after her three children, all under seven, including a two-year-old toddler and my two children, Lola, nine, and Liberty, seven.

Her husband was on a fishing trip, and the issue, she said, was that there are no babysitters in the country.

“The baby is potty trained – nearly,” she said as she flew out of the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” She was genuinely apologetic and did offer to cancel her plans.

I locked all the doors. I put my children to bed in an empty bedroom and checked on hers so I could do a head count and make sure they were asleep.

I was woken at 5.30am by her hungry five-year-old, and then grabbed the toddler out of the cot who was calling out. I made them toast. By 6am, all five children were awake and excited to see each other, which is partly why I’d agreed to the unusual last-minute plan. I ended up making pancakes. I cleared up all the breakfast mess. It was helpful that all the drawers were clearly labelled “babygrows”, “socks” and “trousers”, as otherwise I’d have gone out of my mind.

I ran a bath for the toddler in a lavish free-standing bathtub and located clean towels. I even got the hang of when he needed to pee, before it was too late. I walked around picking stuff up off the floor.

By late morning, the toddler had flooded the bathroom by leaving the tap on. I texted my friend in London, who told me I’d find all the mops and cleaning equipment in the pantry cupboard. I hung all the wet rugs out to dry.

I made snacks, lunch, and tea. I cleaned up all the clay and paint. I plied myself with coffee. By the time my friend returned late the following afternoon, I felt like I’d been run over by a lorry and went to bed for four hours. Oh no, I’d been downgraded to staff – again!

It had happened with another friend, who came to stay with me while going through a messy divorce and ended up speaking to me like Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada, as I morphed into her legal secretary/PA/nursery worker.

Waltzing around my two-bed flat as if she were still at her ex’s Holland Park mansion, she asked me to go through a file of her handwritten notes to pull out good examples of her husband’s wrongdoings in one big trauma dump for the solicitor. She had to rush out for an “emergency appointment” – and it needed to be in her inbox asap.

I felt sorry for her – she had a young baby. I’d let her stay for a few weeks to give her refuge. But as she unpacked more and more baby equipment, I got cold feet. Deep down, I sensed she was the type to turn me into an au pair in my own home, but without the perks.

My hunch was right. When she returned five hours later, demanding a progress report, I noticed her long hair was brighter blonde and the five-inch black roots had vanished from her scalp. She left me to do all the work while she went to the hairdresser's!

It was the final straw. Sick to death of her arrogance and feeling more like a member of her staff by the day, I helped her pack all her stuff up – and dropped her at a local Travelodge.

Another friend, whose child had recently transitioned from private to state education due to the VAT increase, asked me to tutor her child for free by offering a playdate every Thursday when the homework was due, so the nanny, who could barely speak English, wouldn’t have to do it.

She’d ask me to update her on her child’s progress weekly via text. When the mum replaced me with Mathnasium maths tutoring in Notting Hill, where kids are rewarded with Squishmallows, I was ecstatic. Quite frankly, I’ve had enough.

Why do my closest friends treat me like staff? It’s often harmless, due either to a lack of awareness on their part, or that they are so used to having multiple nannies, cooks, dog walkers, and gardeners that I get caught up in it all. Of course, if you’re a “pushover”, which I’m not, it leads some friends to take advantage of your kindness.

But it can also be a sign of a toxic, one-sided dynamic in which a friend does not see you as an equal, which is the worst form of it. Insecure friends may belittle you to boost their own self-esteem or feel more powerful. Treating a friend like a subordinate can be an unconscious way to exert control. It can also be because somebody feels entitled and expects everyone around them to serve them.

Of course, mistakes happen. I was mixed up as the nanny on holiday in Corsica by the villa’s owner, who said: “I guess you’re here stuck with the baby.” And, during a visit to a care home in Cardiff in 2020, the Princess of Wales was once mistaken for her husband, Prince William’s, assistant.

But then there is simply bad behaviour. The mums who don’t work are often lumbered with other people’s kids after school, and used as a free babysitting service. Parents text instructions as if they are in a standard employer-employee relationship – and turn up two hours late after a playdate because they’ve nipped out for an after-work drink.

My aunt and her husband were once reduced to the status of housekeeper and butler during a four-week stay as their visiting friend complained about the shower, asked them to do her laundry, and insisted on drinking tea only out of porcelain.

One of my neighbours told me she feels like her best friend’s backup Siri, as she is expected to answer easily Google-able questions 24/7, and is even asked to call her in the mornings to make sure she’s awake.

However, while I’m not a pushover, I can only blame myself for my predicament: it’s about a lack of boundaries. I just need to say “no”. It might be a bit of people-pleasing, taking on too much, or being naive – and it’s easy to get blindsided – but next time a friend wants me as an unpaid member of staff, I’m going to resign on the spot.