By: Cynthia Soita
There is a moment I often imagine—one that many working mothers live through. The day they prepare to return to work after maternity leave, stand at the door with trembling resolve, and hand their tiny, helpless baby to a nanny. I picture myself in that moment sometimes, and even the thought feels like a terrifying act of trust. The mind occasionally replays every horrifying domestic-worker story ever heard.
Even the milder cases have enough drama to unsettle anyone—nannies quietly sneaking food out to feed struggling relatives because poverty has cornered them into survival.
Then there are the scandalous stories of domestic workers becoming unexpected co-wives in homes where boundaries were already blurred. And on top of that come the “undetected interventions”—CCTV cameras capturing truths that would have remained hidden forever without evidence.
Yet even with these narratives swirling around, I’ve learned not to fall for the danger of a single story—hearing one side and assuming it is the entire truth.
Because domestic workers carry their own accounts too: mistresses treating them with cold disdain, overworking them until their bodies stiffen, or speaking in tones that chip away at their dignity. Others whisper about masters making unwanted advances behind closed doors. These stories paint a different kind of fear—a quiet, private suffering endured by women simply trying to earn a living in unfamiliar homes.
These two worlds—the anxious employer and the vulnerable worker—exist side by side, rarely understanding each other.
And yet both narratives are true.
Domestic work sounds simple until you begin listing everything expected of one person. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, childcare, meals, ironing, supervision, errands—demands that multiply silently and expand far beyond the original agreement.
This invisible load becomes even heavier when boundaries are unclear.
And wait a minute—boundaries? Can the vulnerable even afford boundaries… boundaries?
When a worker fears losing her job, she often says yes to everything. When an employer assumes every extra task is “small,” they might not notice the slow buildup of exhaustion. Clarity protects both sides. It prevents exploitation and preserves the emotional health of the household.
A home never truly stops moving. Children wake unexpectedly. Meals need timing. Laundry regenerates overnight. For domestic workers—especially live-ins—the day can stretch into one long, unbroken shift.
Live-in workers bear the highest risk of blurred boundaries. The home becomes both their workplace and their personal space, making rest elusive.
Live-out workers maintain more freedom, with a life outside the employer’s walls and clearer separation between work and rest.
The rhythm of a home should not consume the person responsible for keeping it steady.
Domestic work is anything but unskilled. Caring for an infant requires knowledge of hygiene, safety, emotional cues, and structure. Cooking requires consistency, timing, and food safety awareness. Managing children requires communication skills and emotional intelligence.
Training helps immensely. Some countries even mandate training for migrant domestic workers because skill determines safety, efficiency, and trust.
Recognizing domestic work as real labor—not an afterthought—changes everything.
Many families rely on referrals—someone who knows someone with a track record of reliability. Agencies offer structure, background checks, and training. But the most important factor isn’t where a worker comes from—it’s alignment.
A worker’s strengths must match the actual needs of the home.
That is where truly sustainable trust begins.
Most domestic workers are young women or migrants escaping poverty. They enter private homes where oversight is limited, and the employer holds most of the power. Their livelihood depends entirely on the goodwill of the person who hired them. Speaking up becomes risky—even when they face humiliation, unwanted advances, or unreasonable workloads.
Understanding these vulnerabilities is the first step toward building a humane and respectful working relationship.
Is it that she comes from your tribe?
No. Tribe does not determine character.
Stereotypes mislead. People are individuals, not categories.
Alignment comes from clarity, communication, and mutual respect.
A househelp thrives where expectations are defined, her dignity is protected, and the home offers consistency rather than suspicion or fear.
A peaceful home grows from understanding—not dominance.
And the homes that flourish are the ones that see the worker as a person first, and an employee second.
Related: Have We Normalised the Dehumanisation of Domestic Workers?
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