'When my friend lost her job, I invited her to move in. It destroyed our friendship.'

I met Kelly* when I first moved to Melbourne. She was a coach and entrepreneur like me, and I'd seen a post she had put up looking for local networking opportunities. When I responded and we then met, we hit it off instantly.

Fast forward through the COVID years, and they had been pretty tough on her. We all remember how hard it was, in one way or another, and depending on the vaccination choices you made, some of the ripple effects were devastating on people's livelihoods and ability to support themselves. My friend Kelly was one of these people.

Watch: Unsolicited advice may be one of the many signs of a toxic friendship. Post continues after video.

In early 2022 Melbourne had a rental vacancy rate of less than 1 per cent. It was tough out there. So, when Kelly's rent went through the roof at lease renewal time and she didn't know where she was going to go, I offered for her to come and stay in my spare room for a couple of weeks - until she could work out her next move. I only charged a stupidly small amount of rent, hoping that I was "paying it forward", and the financial breather would give her a chance to get back on her feet. And it was only for a couple of weeks, right?

I also generously offered for her to use my car whenever she liked, as I was predominantly working from home. I thought this was a nice thing to do, especially if it meant not having to lug bags of her food and groceries on the bus or walk with them the kilometre or so from the shops.

The arrangement worked well, and I actually enjoyed the company after living on my own for so long that I asked her to stay on. Stupidly, I didn't have the conversation at the time about increasing the rent to a more equitable share, nor did I ask for bond security. I also didn't have the discussion about contributing to household bills and everyday items such as dishwashing powder, salt and pepper, toilet paper, paper towels, hand soap and so on.

Maybe I'm a soft touch, and at the time I was doing well and I could afford it, so I let it go.

Big mistake.

I lost my job.

But nothing at home changed. The kindness I had shown was not returned, and there was not once an offer of buying household items, or contributing to the electricity bill, or offering to pay a bit more of the $950 a week rent bill.

Her work started to peter off as well, so I can imagine it must have been hard; but I was sinking fast too - and all of the financial responsibility was on my shoulders. The lease was in my name, as were all the utility bills, and I'm not the type of person who was going to quibble over a squirt of morning fresh.

To make matters worse, she decided the way that she was going move forward would be to freelance as a content creator and influencer. So while I went out and got a minimum wage job (of which there were hundreds available) to make sure I could pay my bills, she stayed at home writing and videoing herself, only taking one or two shifts per week at her hospitality gig.

I felt like I was 'the breadwinner' of the family (when we weren't actually a family at all), and that I was her financial safe space until she hit the big time. It was about this time that the resentment started. I felt like a mum supporting a teenage daughter. Which, if it had been my daughter (I don't have a daughter, but I do have a son), I would have happily supported her. But this was a mid-40s grown-arse woman. She was totally taking advantage.

She went and housesat over the Christmas period, and it was only when I asked her when I could expect to see her rent in my account (nearly two weeks after it was due), that she paid it. She clearly didn't think that she needed to pay rent when she wasn't sleeping in her bedroom.

When she came back, I decided to gently start introducing some equity into the living arrangements.

"Do you think you could pick up some toilet paper while you are out?"

"Sure," Kelly said; "but you do use more than me."

Now I know I get up to pee three times a night, but seriously! Was she counting?

The sense of entitlement completely bowled me over. And I am the kind of person that I will give and I will give and I will give, until I won't.

The toilet paper comment cemented her fate.

I am someone who has had to pull herself up by the bootstraps over and over again. I am an adult, and if bills need to be paid, I find a way to pay them. I have had people be kind and pay it forward to me in the past, and I have always been so very thankful and have shown that appreciation loud and clear.

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And I realised after the toilet paper incident that not once at any time had Kelly said thank you to me. Not when I gave her a place to stay, not when I gave her the spare set of keys to my car, not when I gave her the financial space in so many forms to get back on her feet.

And I hadn't done any of this for thanks, but it would have been nice to hear it at least once.

I wondered was this a generational thing? Were millennials actually as self absorbed and unaware as pop culture literature eschewed? I didn't think that to be true; I don't put much faith into generalisations.

And then I wondered, was this my fault? Was I too soft? Had I been too generous? Was I wrong in expecting equity and a level of adulting in a friendship and living arrangement between two 40-something women?

I decided no; this was not my fault.

Eventually, Kelly moved out after many arguments and copious amounts of tears.

I have learnt a lesson.

I doubt that I will ever invite anyone to live with me again, but I know that if I do - I will be damn sure that I set the ground rules before they get a key.

*Name has been changed due to privacy.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.

Feature Image: Getty.