Now I realize that a lot of the time, I was simply afraid to charge.
Recently, I did a fairly substantial piece of research for a friend. I pulled the data together, found several ideas that could genuinely make his business money, packaged everything neatly, and sent it over.
The response? Almost nothing.
At first, I felt hurt. Seriously? I put so much into this. Why couldn’t he at least reply and discuss what I’d found?
Then I had an uncomfortable realization: we had never agreed on anything. No price, no next step. I had chosen to work in this fog.
What was I hoping for? I guess I’d prove my value, he’d see how good the work was, and then the money, the project, and everything else would somehow follow.
Naive?
Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve done it. I can happily spend days digging through data, but I struggle to write one simple sentence:
“This work costs X.”
Because somewhere in my head, naming a price instantly turns me from a serious professional into someone who’s only in it for the money. And this strategy works brilliantly — if the goal is to avoid rejection.
As long as you’re just helping, nobody can reject your offer. You get to be generous, smart, and useful. The money conversation can wait.
Then generosity turns into resentment. You start expecting gratitude, a reply, maybe even a deal.
Meanwhile, your friend has no idea that any of those expectations exist.
A lot of my unpaid work was really a way to avoid an honest conversation. I kept trying to earn the right to be paid, even though I already knew how to do valuable work.
Now I’m learning to agree on the terms before I rush in to rescue someone else’s business.
Otherwise, I try to buy someone’s approval with my work and then get angry at myself and the whole world.
Even though I created the entire arrangement myself.
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