When I decided to apply to become a live-in carer, I read one of those so-called guides about what to expect. It laid out the tasks and responsibilities clearly enough, but it didn’t prepare me for living where you work—how complex and emotionally demanding the job can be. Providing care while trying to maintain professional boundaries isn’t always easy. The truth is, we don’t just work with someone—we become part of their life.
The 24/7 Reality
My contract gives me two hours off each day to leave the house and take a break. But even when I step out, I find it hard to fully switch off. I’m always half-listening for a phone call or wondering if I’ll be needed.
This isn’t a nine-to-five job where you shut the door and leave your work behind. My bedroom often doubles as my office, where I fill out paperwork or do other care-related tasks.
Some people say they see too much of their colleagues. I’m the opposite. I only see my manager during supervision, and I usually run into other carers when I’m heading off on leave.
Isolation is part of the job. Yes, I’m around people all day—but most of our conversations revolve around care tasks, medications, or routines. Rarely do I get to chat about books, art, or the little things that make us feel human.
The Emotional Labour
In training, we’re told to stay professional and keep clear boundaries (I’ll write more on that in a separate post). But when you live in someone’s home and they begin to trust you, those lines start to blur—whether you want them to or not.
There’s a certain intimacy to this work. We’re entrusted with the most private aspects of someone’s life. We witness vulnerable moments, complex family dynamics, and sometimes end-of-life experiences that stay with us long after we leave the room.
It takes a toll. We’re not just carrying out care duties—we’re navigating family politics, personal preferences, and the emotional weight of caring for someone in decline.
Despite the closeness, there’s always a distance. We are guests. We learn to live in the space between being “part of the household” and never truly belonging to it.
What they don’t tell you about living where you work is that it can make you feel like you’re always performing—never quite off-duty, never fully at home.
Live-in Care – The Invisible Workforce
Working in someone’s home, we’re not part of a traditional workplace structure. Unlike nurses in hospitals or carers in residential homes, we work in isolation—without colleagues or witnesses to our actions. HR policies might exist to protect all parties, but when disputes arise, these protections often leave us vulnerable. There’s no one to vouch for us. In most instances, it comes down to the carer’s word against the client’s, creating an imbalance that can lead to false accusations, unfair dismissal, or reputational damage.
We also face unique limitations when it comes to professional development. Without mentorship, peer learning, or exposure to a range of cases, we miss out on critical growth opportunities. The lack of interaction and structured training impacts our long-term prospects. It’s disheartening when management assumes that unless you’re aiming to climb the career ladder, there’s no need for additional training. Since when is learning only for those seeking promotion? Continuous development should be available to all carers, regardless of their goals.
The Long-Term Cost of Sacrificing Personal Space
Yes, the live-in care arrangement provides housing—something that might otherwise be difficult to afford. But it comes at a cost that isn’t measured in financial terms, but in personal autonomy and privacy. We trade our independence for job security, and over time, that trade-off can wear you down.
There’s constant change from one location to another as clients change. That makes it difficult to build lasting friendships or put down roots. I know we live in the 21st century and there are countless ways to stay connected—but sometimes it’s nice to simply meet face to face.
This constant adaptation affects our sense of self. Over time, it becomes harder to maintain a clear identity separate from the role we perform.
What they don’t tell you about living where you work is that the lines blur so completely, you risk losing track of where the job ends and you begin.
Live-in care reveals the most extreme version of what happens when living and working spaces merge—not by choice or for convenience, but as an economic necessity. And that necessity places an enormous personal cost on the carers.
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