We are the post-Title IX generation, the ultimate you go girls, brought up to believe we can do anything boys can – if not better. We are also the Nike generation, taught to just do it. You could also say we are the Obama generation – we know that yes we can! In short, we are a confused generation that is nonetheless ready to stand up for our values and defend our feminist ideals. What we aren’t always prepared for is the fresh slap in the face we can get in return.

Certainly ‘Bilingual Nanny Sacked for Standing Up for Her Rights’ doesn’t have the same international and feminist importance as Hilary Clinton’s run for president. However, it’s still a relevant reminder of the risks we face when defending our principles, however insignificant others may find them.

I’ve been living in France for about a year now, taking language classes and pursuing a long-awaited writing career. It’s a croissant-eating, beret-wearing dream come true, though the starving artist part is too close for comfort. To supplement my income, I took a part-time job as a nanny. Though I am the first to admit that I am not instinctively maternal, I clicked immediately with my future protégés (they obviously sensed that I am also an enfant in hiding).

My first week on the job, the unpleasant surprises started popping up. My eight-hour days stretched into eleven hours (which I’m sure can’t be legal). I was asked to provide a daily stipend for the one meal I ate with the children, wear hygienic slippers at all times, and fill in a daily log of my activities. But the final straw to break this nanny’s back was the housework. The light ‘ménage’ I agreed to in my interview quickly surpassed cleaning up after my charges. What started as a regimen bathing, teaching, entertaining, and disciplining two little girls, expanded to include Wednesday mopping, Thursday window washing, and Friday vacuuming.

My nanny gig appeared to have taken an unwelcome detour into maid extraordinaire. And though my boyfriend always entertained a French maid fantasy, it wasn’t exactly like this… After some self-reflection, and seeking advice from my loved ones, I decided to stand up for myself Erin Brockovich style. After all, I was already getting a crap salary for molding the impressionable minds of a family’s beloved children – it’s only fair that if they had expected a maid, they should have requested one in the job description.

So I did. With eloquently constructed arguments, and reasoning, and examples. Two days later, I was fired. Despite my excellent rapport with their children (acknowledged and applauded on their end), the parents wanted someone to clean their house more. I honestly didn’t expect my employers to prioritise housework to such an extent. But they did, and I found myself on the street. (Well, walking down their suburban street to my bus stop crying beautifully French existential tears.)

Although I’m proud of myself in retrospect, I did make painful mistakes. Most importantly, I didn’t have a plan B. If you are going to take a stand, make sure you can ahem – stand behind it. Be prepared to walk away – have another job prospect lined up (or at least enough cash to cover that week’s groceries). Practice what you’re going to say and don’t back down. Once you’ve made up your mind, you may as well go through with it and exit with your self-respect in one piece.

As long as you’re prepared to suffer the consequences, standing up for yourself can feel very empowering. After I lost my job, I bemoaned the summer vacation I couldn’t take. But ultimately, I was proud of myself for questioning the situation and for sticking to my guns.

In the end, the parents didn’t agree with my stand. They wanted a nanny and a maid for the price of one. So once I received my pink slip, I grabbed my dinosaur drawing, removed my hygienic Mickey Mouse slippers, and escorted myself out. With my dignity (alas, not my bank account) intact.