She came back the next day with $58,000, described as their final number.
I asked for a day to think.
I thought about $58,000. It was more than $54,000. It was $7,000 less than what I’d been making. It was $7,000 less than market rate for the role and the experience. It was a director title and a salary that said: we think you’re worth a little more than we first offered but not quite as much as you said you were.
Sophie said: “What’s your floor?”
I said I thought $65,000 was accurate for the role and my background.
She said: “Then you have your answer about whether to take $58,000.”
I said $58,000 would pay the bills.
She said: “So would $65,000. Bills aren’t the question.”
The question, she was right, was whether I was going to start this chapter of my professional life by accepting a number that was wrong because I was afraid to hold out for the right one. After a conference room meeting where my work was described as administrative. After a handover document that nobody had asked for and I’d written anyway. After eighteen years of flexible and accommodating and not pushing.
I called Patricia and said I couldn’t accept below $65,000 for a director-level role and asked if that was possible.
She said she’d check.
She came back and said no.
I thanked her and declined.
This cost me runway. I was aware that it cost me runway and I made the decision anyway, because some costs are worth paying and understanding your own value is something you pay for in the short term.