The unspoken agreement when I took this job was that they would stretch on their salary range for me and not ride my ass about anything at all, and in return I would give them some of my Director knowledge without the full Director salary, title, or responsibilities. But this company listens, and they're Black-owned and female-owned and family-owned. Instead of lining another corporation's pockets, this helps a family pay for their daughter's dance classes, their son's college, while I get Fridays off and they let me bring my daughter to work with me whenever I need.
This week, one boss pulled me aside to ask me about the current market rates for people with my certification here. The answer I had to give him was that it varies wildly depending on experience, caseload, level of micromanagement, hours expectations, and other benefits, and while he was not unsatisfied with that answer, I was. So I sat down and screenshotted job postings and typed up an analysis of what I was seeing and what the language meant, then when I was almost done, I stopped. I asked my husband if it was stupid to share salary information and show my hand.
My husband, brilliant man, said it was a risk, and it might not work out. But he said so far my bosses have taken care of me. When I surprise had to get my wisdom teeth out, they didn't push back at all. They don't delegate tasks to me, they ask me for favors, and make clear that it's not a responsibility I have to take if it's going to interfere with time with my daughter. They're going to keep paying me my full salary for me to go to Disneyland next week. My husband said the deal was I take care of them, they take care of me, and so far they've given me no reason doubt that relationship.
You're right, I told him. I want to live in a world where I do the right thing, and they do the right thing, and I help when they need, and they help when I need. So I sent it. And I thanked my husband for pushing me to do the right thing, because he was right.
"I only told you to do it because you thought it was a good idea," he said. "You spent the time and typed it all up because you believed it was a good call. YOU were right."
I sent the email just past midnight, then my boss answered first thing in the morning, Amanda!!!! You are appreciated indeed!!!! Five exclamation points in lieu of his usual period.
A couple of days later he took me aside during supervision. He said he sees how hard I work. He said all he has to do is ask a simple question and I come back with an entire field analysis. He said I didn't have to do that, but he sees it and he values it and he's thrilled with how well I take care of them, so he's going to take care of me too. He says he's sending me some extra money that should appear in my account before Disneyland next week. "Buy your daughter whatever she wants," he says, "the ears, the shirt, the toys, everything. She deserves it and so do you." He transfers money into my account, and a few minutes later his partner does the same. The money they sent me, combined, is enough to cover our hotel stay while we are there. More than all the Starbucks cards and pizza parties and Amazon gifts cards I've ever received from all my previous jobs combined.
I've been reflecting lately on love languages, and my family (or lack of family), and how I think my love language is gifts because so early in my life I was aware that money means safety. Dad's favorite threat was "find somewhere else to live" so as young as 12 I had a contingency plan for what I would do if he kicked me out. I prioritized saving my money so I could buy a car at 18 in cash so that when home became unsafe, at least I could sleep in my car.
This job makes me feel like buying that car felt, like a safety net, like no matter what happens I will be okay. My husband will be okay. My daughter will be okay.
We will make us okay.