The Worst Job I Ever Had, and How it Made Me More Confident

I know the title doesn't make much sense, but by the end of this post hopefully it'll become more clear.

Now the job that I deem my 'worst', on the surface, doesn't seem like such a bad gig: an au pair. You get to live abroad as a glorified babysitter, essentially. At the time I knew I wanted to study French art history at the doctoral level, and in order to have a better chance at being accepted into a PhD program in this subject, I needed to at least read French. I had just finished my MA program in art history up in London, so moving down to Paris as an au pair was a fairly simple move. Once I picked up my visa a month after submitting the required paperwork, I packed my bags and took the Eurostar from St Pancras Station down to Gare du Nord to meet my host family.

I was undoubtedly nervous; my French skills were basic, and I knew opening a bank account, setting up a cell phone, and taking care of 3 French boys who barely or didn't speak any English was going to be monumentally difficult. But I knew this is what I needed to do to learn French: total immersion. And I was lucky enough to be able to do it (despite already having loads of student debt, I managed to max out my credit card to pay for my visa and ticket to Paris). My host mom picked me up from the station, loaded my suitcases up in her car, and we drove to the apartment where she and her family lived.

The first day was welcoming and sweet, as I would hope most positions like this would be. The boys seemed excited to have an American nanny from California watch over them, and both parents made sure I had food in my apartment and showed me around their neighborhood. Afterwards, we went to their tennis club where I played with the 4-year-old at the on-site playground. It all seemed way less nerve-wracking than I had thought, and it was like this for about the first month (despite the obvious challenges of communicating in broken French and not understanding half of what the boys would tell me). After the first month, I think the novelty of the American au pair wore off, and the boys started acting up.

Now, I want to emphasize before I go into the details of how the boys behaved with me, that I don't believe they were inherently bad kids. They had good hearts, and there were some sweet moments with them that were unfortunately few and far between. But those small moments are the ones that I look back on fondly in trying not to focus on the bad ones.

The oldest boy, who turned 12 while I was there, was generally capable of taking care of himself. All I needed to do was tell him to do his homework, pick up after himself, and be nice to his brothers. The younger two, on the other hand, proved to be the reasons I cried nearly every single day after work.

The 10-year-old had ADHD, so understandably that was going to be a difficulty on my end in trying to help him and his needs, especially in French. He was undoubtedly energetic, full of life, and loved doing all sorts of sports and activities to help expel some of that pent-up energy. But due to his condition, there were countless moments of extreme tantrums that involved throwing chairs, screaming in my face, and outright disrespect. The parents would listen to my concerns, but at the end of the day, I "needed to control him", were their words. He was seeing a psychologist who prescribed him medication to help with his focus at school, but as soon as it was time for me to come watch him and his brothers, the medication had worn off, and he was in full ADHD mode.

I had to say his name 10 or more times in order for him to actually pay attention to what I was saying. He would sneak out of the apartment to go to the neighbor's multiple times, no matter how many times me or his mom told him he needed to ask permission. There was also the time he purposely left his tennis gear on the bus so he wouldn't have to go to practice, and I was the one who got blamed for it by his mom. When he lied to me about completing a homework assignment, his mom got mad at me for not knowing that he was lying (?). I felt like no matter what I did, I was consistently blamed for his behavior. It made me feel disrespected to the highest degree. Then there was the 4-year-old.

This little boy had to have had a goal to try and push me to my limits each and every day. Getting him to put his socks on was a battle in and of itself. Anything I asked him to do was met by screaming and crying, and sometimes a punch in the stomach if he felt like it. Again, his parents told me I "needed to control him." There was only so much I could do as the nanny; outright disrespect was something his parents needed to reprimand, since there was no way he was going to listen to me. It seemed like anything I tried to do for him, with him, or have him do was the last straw for him, and he would have a meltdown. I had to hide in the bathroom multiple times in order to try and stifle tears.

Then there were the parents. Kind as they were to furnish an apartment upstairs for me, they blamed me for countless things that were out of my control. They had me move into the apartment before it was finished, so the bathroom just had a shower head and no door or curtain to contain the water. They told me to be careful to not let the water seep out onto the wood floor outside the bathroom, and to keep towels on hand until the door was installed. The first time I took a shower, I realized that the bathroom floor had not been slanted towards the drain, so all the water immediately spread out all over the bathroom. I quickly rinsed off the last of the suds on my body and began frantically mopping up the water with my one towel, desperate to not get blamed for yet another mishap. I told the dad about it, and he said he would call the contractor to get it fixed.

One week passed, no contractor. I was taking showers at light speed in order to keep the water from shooting out all over the floor, and would be on my hands and knees afterwards mopping up the disaster. By the second week, a wood plank just outside the bathroom door had lifted off completely. I sent a picture of it to the dad saying the contractor and his workers needed to get here immediately to fix the bathroom floor, because now there was water damage thanks to the contractor not slanting said floor. A few days later, he and his wife sat me down and told me that they should be asking me to pay for the damage, but they "weren't going to do that." EXCUSE ME?

I worked incredibly hard to be the best au pair I could be. There of course was a language barrier, but I studied day and night in order to learn the language as fast as I could. I was on time every day; said 'yes' to every hour asked of me to work; and never complained ONCE. I only ever told my concerns involving the boys and their behavior, and aspects of the apartment that needed to be fixed (like the heater that was broken during 27 degree Fahrenheit weather, and after telling the dad the day it broke that it needed to be fixed, he didn't have anyone fix it for TWO WEEKS. I shivered myself to sleep, huddled in four layers of clothes and crying because I couldn't get warm). On top of that, any guest that the parents had over was never introduced to me. I was treated like I didn't exist; it was only when the guests would ask who I was that they would quickly say my name and that I was the au pair, then tell me to go watch the boys. And any time I tried to start a conversation with the mom, she seemed to be typing away on her phone, or pretended I didn't say anything and just talk to the boys. And if the boys ever interrupted me, she never told them to let me finish; she let them talk and change the conversation, never letting me finish what I was saying. The two times the boys ran away from me in public, refusing to answer my calls for them to stop, I was the one who was blamed. I felt so unwanted and disrespected, like who I was as a person didn't matter to them: I was just the nanny.

I had this job for 9 months as part of a contract. The only reason I stayed was because I wanted so badly to learn French to jump start my career, and feel a sense of major accomplishment. I attended a three-hour French class, three times per week, where I made my one friend: a sweet, smart German girl who had similar issues as an au pair. She made me sane during this time of feeling neglected and uncared for, and I am so incredibly thankful for her friendship. I don't think I would have made it without her. By the end, we were so happy to finally be done with this shit job and go back to our families with French certificates under our belts.

When I returned home—feeling the greatest sense of relief that I would never have to work for that family ever again—I gave myself time to reflect on my experience. I knew my knee-jerk reaction was "fuck that job, I'm so glad to be done" and "What was the point of that, nothing!"—but I knew there was more to my 9 months as an au pair, other than the obvious part that it was absolutely shitty in every way. I let myself enjoy the reunion with my family as I processed the past year.

Within a month or two of being home, I realized that my time feeling unwanted and disrespected made me feel that I knew I deserved better. If this job had happened when I was 18, I wouldn't have batted an eye. My self-esteem was so low at that time that I felt any bad treatment towards me was probably deserved. But after years of therapy, self-reflection, travel, and education, I came to understand that I am far more worthy of love and respect than I ever understood as an insecure teenager. I met people from all over the world who showed me what friendship and kindness was, in any language. There were many interactions with genuinely kind people who I shared deep and meaningful conversations with, who showed me that I have thoughts and ideas worth sharing. I was Zoë Paris, goddammit.

The shift from MA student who completed a thesis surrounded by incredibly smart, interesting, and genuine classmates—to an au pair who was treated like a lowly servant with nothing worthy to say was a punch to my self-esteem at first. "I don't understand", I would think, "How did I go from that, to this? Why is this happening to me?" I believe it happened to show me that no matter what circumstance I'm in, no matter how shitty things seem or how badly I'm treated, I am Zoë motherfucking Paris, badass extraordinaire who isn't going to let myself be torn down by people who don't know me and my story.

This isn't to say that I'm this perfect person—I of course have my flaws like everyone else—but I think everyone should see the greatness in themselves no matter the circumstance. I've had low moments of self-loathing, and I've had extraordinary moments of self-love and happiness. But at either end of the spectrum, I need to remember who I am. I need to remember all that I've been through and accomplished despite severe anxiety, depression, and other hardships that I won't divulge in in this blog for privacy reasons. And everyone who reads this should remember this, too.

My au pair job is something I feel both happy and angry about. Angry because I didn't deserve to be treated that way, and happy because I knew I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I had come so far in my mental health journey to know that I am a human being worthy of respect; we all are. And I learned that next time I have a shitty job like this, I need to speak up. I bit my tongue to finish out my contract and finish my French classes because that was my end goal; but I also should have stood up for myself more. I had every right to ask for respect, instead of avoiding conflict (which is a major character flaw of mine that I'm still working on). If you are being mistreated, speak up. Know your worth and stand up for yourself.

I hope this post didn't sound over complain-y; I wanted to make sure I gave enough details/context about my job to explain the feelings I had at that time, and why the job was so difficult for me. I am thankful I had this experience for the reasons mentioned above, and thankful that I got to live in PARIS. Paris! For almost a year. Every day was a language challenge, and it made me learn the language I desperately wanted to learn since childhood. I am glad, though, that at the end, I got to return home to my family who greeted me with love. That was all that was missing during my time as an au pair.