My best friend from high school is slowly draining my life

I need to get something off my chest, and I'm hoping some of you ladies might understand what I'm going through. Because right now, I feel like I'm drowning, and I'm not even sure how I got here.

My friend Sarah and I go way back — we met in high school in our small Ohio town. After graduation, I moved to Columbus for college while she stayed behind. You know how it goes: we texted, we called, and then... life happened. New friends, new goals, new everything. We didn't have a falling out or anything dramatic. We just drifted apart.

I ended up staying in Columbus after college. It's bigger than my hometown, more opportunities, and honestly, it just felt like home. My parents helped me with a down payment on a tiny studio apartment, and I spent the next six years working like crazy to pay off my mortgage. During that time, I barely had energy to visit my own family, let alone think about old friends.

Then, about three years ago, Sarah found me on Facebook. She and her husband had just moved to Columbus, and she wanted to reconnect. I was finally coming out of my work-obsessed shell, so I jumped at the chance. We met for coffee, talked for hours, and it felt like no time had passed at all. She had a husband and a little girl named Emma, who was two at the time. We promised to stay in touch this time.

I was one of the first people Sarah told when her marriage fell apart. They'd been struggling for a while, but still — divorce is hard. She'd just finished her maternity leave, was job hunting, and suddenly couldn't afford rent. Her ex moved back to their hometown and basically disappeared from Emma's life.

What was I supposed to do? I offered to let them stay with me. Yes, my apartment is tiny. Yes, it was crowded. But I couldn't let my friend and her little girl end up homeless.

They lived with me for about six months until Sarah found a job and got her own place. I was genuinely happy for her. I figured I'd still help out here and there — that's what friends do, right?

I didn't realize "here and there" would turn into every single weekend.

It started because Sarah had an unpredictable work schedule. Retail, you know how it is. Sometimes she had to work Saturdays and Sundays when daycare was closed. Could I watch Emma? Of course I could. The kid and I had bonded while they lived with me. She's a sweetheart — curious, funny, loves when I read to her.

But here's the thing about watching a five-year-old: it's exhausting. Sarah would drop Emma off at seven in the morning before her shift. That meant no sleeping in for me. Then it's breakfast, playing, going to the park, lunch, trying to get her to nap, more playing, dinner, bath time... By the time Sarah picked her up, I was ready to collapse. And then Monday morning would hit, and I'd drag myself to work feeling like I never had a weekend at all.

Sarah kept promising she'd find a better job with normal hours. I believed her. I didn't complain. I told myself this was temporary, that she needed me, that she had no one else.

She did eventually get a new job with a regular Monday-through-Friday schedule. For a few glorious weeks, I had my weekends back. I actually went to brunch with other friends. I slept until nine. I remembered what it felt like to have my own life.

Then the requests started again.

"I picked up some extra shifts for the overtime pay. Can you take Emma Saturday?"

"There's a training session I really need to attend. Sunday work for you?"

"My coworkers invited me to happy hour. Could Emma stay with you for a few hours?"

"I have a date tonight. He seems really great. Please?"

And every single time, it's urgent. It's important. It's just this once. Except it's never just once. It's every weekend, every holiday. I haven't had a free Saturday in months. I can't make plans with anyone because I never know when Sarah will show up at my door with those desperate eyes, begging me to help her out.

Last Fourth of July? I spent it watching Emma while Sarah went to a barbecue with some guy she'd been seeing. Labor Day weekend? All three days with Emma because Sarah had "plans." My own birthday fell on a Sunday this year, and guess who spent it playing princess tea party instead of doing anything I actually wanted to do?

I love Emma. I really do. She calls me "Auntie" and her face lights up when she sees me. That makes this even harder.

But I'm exhausted. I'm resentful. And I'm starting to realize something that makes me feel sick to my stomach: I think Sarah sees me less as a friend and more as a free babysitting service.

When we talk, it's always about her problems, her schedule, her needs. She never asks how I'm doing. She never offers to return the favor somehow — not that I have kids, but maybe she could treat me to dinner? Help me with something? Acknowledge that I've basically given up my personal life for nearly a year?

The worst part is, I know this is partly my fault. I never said no. I kept telling myself that good friends help each other, that she's a single mom, that life is hard for her. All of that is true. But does her life being hard mean mine has to be hard too?

I've started dreading Friday afternoons because I know my phone is going to buzz with another "emergency" request. I've canceled dates because Sarah needed me. I've missed my book club meetings. I haven't visited my parents in months because I can't commit to anything.

The other day, I caught myself fantasizing about moving to another city just so I'd have an excuse to stop this madness. That's when I knew something had to change.

But how do I even bring this up? Every time I think about setting a boundary, I picture Emma's face. I think about Sarah trying to juggle everything alone. I feel guilty before I even open my mouth.

My mom says I'm being taken advantage of. My coworker says I need to start saying no. They're probably right. But when you've been the "helpful one" for so long, how do you stop without feeling like a terrible person?

I'm not asking for my friend to disappear from my life. I just want to actually have a life again. Is that so wrong?

Someone please tell me I'm not crazy for wanting my weekends back.