It’s Not My Home

People often ask me what it’s like working inside private homes.

Most imagine beautiful houses, expensive furnishings and a glamorous lifestyle.

Some of that is true.

Years ago, when I managed luxury hotels, friends would often say, “You are so lucky to enjoy all that luxury every day.”

You only notice the luxury for a little while.

After that, you don’t experience a luxury hotel the way guests do.

Sure, you still notice the marble, the chandeliers and the beautiful surroundings…

But your attention shifts.

To the people.

The detail.

The maintenance.

The things that need attention.

Working in private homes is much the same.

What surprised me most had nothing to do with the homes.

It was the silence.

After spending most of my career in hospitality, surrounded by guests and teams, I was used to constant conversation. Team meetings. Phones ringing. Music in the background. Someone stopping by for a chat, asking a question or sharing a story about the weekend.

Then I walked into my first private home.

There was none of that.

You work alongside your team, but there’s rarely banter

You arrive, exchange a polite greeting, and simply begin your work.

There are no coffee breaks with colleagues. No stories shared across a coffee break….mostly just silence.

At first, I found it surprisingly lonely.

I wondered why the family rarely asked about my weekend, my children or my life.

Eventually, I realised I’d misunderstood the relationship.

It’s their home… I just happen to work there.

That simple realisation changed the way I saw everything.

Professional distance isn’t coldness. It’s often how families preserve the feeling that their home remains their own.

The next lesson took a little longer.

I arrived with my own “high” luxury” standards.

Years in hospitality had taught me what excellence looked like… or so I thought.

Then I discovered something genuinely simple… every home has its own standards, routines and priorities…its’ own idea of excellence.

And it never textbook right… it’s personal to the home.

I remember replacing every clothes hanger so they all matched perfectly. To me, it created order and consistency… a five-star standard.

The owner saw something different. I had spent time improving something they considered completely unimportant.

Lesson learned. Really

Another time, I had the gardeners trimming the hedges perfectly every week. Crisp lines. Beautiful presentation.

Again, the owner saw it differently.

A slight imperfection was perfectly acceptable if it avoided unnecessary cost.

Once again, I learned.

So I stopped trying to be right and started to understand their home and their thinking.

I learnt to work to my own high standards, but always through the lens of theirs.

Understand first. Deliver consistently. Earn trust.

Only then, with consideration, communication and care, can you gently introduce ideas that may improve the home or the way it runs.

Sometimes those ideas are welcomed.

Sometimes the existing way remains in place.

Both can be right.

Every household is different.

Some owners will happily spend money to achieve perfection.

Others see that as wasteful.

Neither is right.

It’s simply their home.

Some owners want every detail before making a decision.

Others only want the big picture and a recommendation.

I’ve learnt not to assume.

I ask.

I listen.

I repeat back my understanding before spending someone else’s money.

A simple email confirming what I believe we’ve agreed avoids misunderstandings later.

I’ve also learnt that timing matters.

The issue sitting at the top of my list may be the last thing on theirs.

If it can wait, it often should.

But you still need to know what’s happening.

You need to understand every project, every contractor, every maintenance issue and every detail well enough that, if asked, you can answer with confidence.

That’s how trust is built.

Perhaps the greatest lesson, though, is discretion.

Working inside someone’s home means you’ll inevitably witness moments that were never intended for you.

Arguments. Celebrations. Disappointments. Private family conversations.

Life simply unfolds around you.

You learn not to stare. Not to listen. Not to comment… Never to repeat.

Discretion isn’t only about keeping secrets.

It’s allowing people to feel completely comfortable living their lives exactly as they always have, knowing their privacy is respected.

People often assume working in extraordinary homes must involve extraordinary moments.

In truth, it’s mostly about ordinary moments… good moments that make your day happen.

Quietly noticing.

Quietly organising.

Quietly solving problems.

Quietly adapting.

Quietly protecting someone else’s way of living.

And quietly earning enough trust that your presence makes their life easier without ever becoming the focus.

Looking back, private house management hasn’t just taught me how to run a home.

It’s taught me humility.

Because no matter how much experience you bring, the first thing you need to learn is this…

It isn’t your home.

Your role is to understand how they want it to feel… and then quietly help make that happen….seamlessly.