Taking my writing dream seriously meant charging like I meant it. Because wealth isn’t just personal: it's political.
Like a lot of bookworm kids, I dreamed of being a writer someday.
When I told adults this, they smiled the same way they did to my peers who wanted to become the next Spice Girl (my solid backup plan).
And maybe they had a point - in my small town, the odds of making it as a professional writer seemed about as likely as winning a Grammy.
So somewhere between university and my stable job as an operations manager in Vancouver, I filed that dream away with other "unrealistic" aspirations.
Safe, sensible careers only, please. So the years went on, and thoughts of writing as a career faded into the background.
Then, life threw me a plot twist.
After years of stalling, I finally acted on a different long-held dream: moving to Berlin.
I'd been drawn to Germany since childhood, fascinated by its dressage scene and language. When I first visited Berlin in 2011, the city's mix of grit and creative expression hooked me, and I knew someday I'd call it home.
The catch?
My visa options were limited.
As a Canadian trying to enter the EU, there was only one path that fit my circumstances: Germany's Freelance Artist Visa. I immediately thought, "Well, I'm not a professional artist. I’m screwed."
But then it hit me: the dream I'd spent years dismissing as impossible had suddenly become my most practical path forward – the very thing that would enable me to build a life in Berlin.
I'd buried my ambitions so deep, it took a visa requirement to dig them out.
So I applied for the visa, eventually got approved, and leapt into life as a freelance writer in Berlin.
As it turned out, reality was waiting patiently on the other side.
In the early days, I accepted painfully low-paying jobs and dug deep into my savings to get by.
I wince to admit it, but my first writing job paid $0.02 a word.
And since landlords don't accept portfolio pieces as rent, I had to get serious about valuing my work.
Freelancing meant setting rates, negotiating contracts, and actively pursuing growth. Every time I named my price, a voice in my head whispered "is that too much? What if they laugh in my face?"
When I landed projects, I'd wonder if I should have asked for more. Each time I negotiated rates, I felt pangs of shame.
I wasn't just learning to write professionally and run a business.
I was learning to stop apologizing for wanting to be paid well for my work.
Meanwhile, the gap between what I was charging and what I needed to build sustainable independence was considerable.
I'd underquote projects out of fear of rejection, rather than what my work was actually worth.
All while dreaming about a future where I could work from different cities, buy a home, and choose projects based on interest rather than necessity.
I realized fair compensation wasn't selfish - it was the foundation of the secure and flexible life I envisioned.
I'm not alone in my experience of undervaluing my work as a woman freelancer. Across industries and borders, the gender pay gap in freelancing is stark and persistent.
Research shows men charge 48% more than women on average for equivalent freelance work.
A 2025 analysis of over 7,000 U.S.-based freelancers found women charge about 15% less per hour than men overall, with gaps up to 25% in some sectors like Sales & Marketing.
But this pattern isn’t limited to freelancing:
Globally, women hold 30–40% less wealth than men, even when controlling for income.
In the U.S., women retire with about 30% less in retirement savings than men, often due to wage gaps, career interruptions, and fewer opportunities for advancement.
Social norms and expectations reinforce these disparities - nearly two-thirds of women feel pressure to downplay their financial ambitions to avoid being seen as greedy.
The pattern is clear: we aren't just undercharging, we're undervaluing our right to build wealth at all.
Being a "good girl" might earn social approval, but it comes with a lifelong financial penalty.
For years, I internalized those expectations, becoming my own financial gatekeeper.
I felt guilty about wanting a high level of financial security in a world of such stark inequality.
Was it selfish or ethical to invest in myself, when so many people around the globe can’t meet their basic needs?
But I've come to understand that this guilt is just another way society keeps women from building real economic power.
The real danger of this collective financial modesty goes far beyond unfair paychecks.
Without financial independence, women's choices shrink dramatically.
We stay in toxic relationships, endure hostile workplaces, and make compromises that men simply don't have to make.
The lack of economic power translates directly into lack of autonomy over our own lives.
When women do build wealth, the positive ripple effects are profound.
Research shows that when women control their own money, they transform entire communities - investing more in education, health, and breaking cycles of poverty.
Despite these clear benefits, the barriers remain formidable, and the current earnings gap between men and women is a staggering $172 trillion.
Even as a freelancer setting my own rates, I found systemic biases and client expectations constantly pushing against fair compensation.
What became increasingly clear to me was that nothing about staying financially small helps create a more equitable world.
Recognizing this, I now see that seeking financial security as a woman freelancer isn’t greed - it’s a necessary step toward closing these gaps and claiming the economic power women deserve.
Five years into freelancing, I've come to recognize that my relationship with money reflects something much larger than personal finance.
And yes, the voice questioning whether I'm asking for too much still whispers occasionally.
But I've learned to answer it with a better question:
"Am I charging enough to build the life, and world, I want to see?”
So when quoting projects, I stopped padding my emails with "I understand if this is outside your budget" or apologetic phrases softening my rates.
Or, I cut back at least 50% - I am Canadian, after all. Baby steps.
Every time a woman pursues financial independence - whether by raising her rates, investing in assets, or building a business - she's not just changing her own circumstances.
She's challenging a status quo that benefits from keeping women financially dependent.
And when we stop apologizing for wanting more, it's not just a personal win, it's a crack in the system.
Because women don't need permission to build wealth. We don't need to justify wanting financial power. And we definitely don't need to apologize for wanting more.
What would change if you stopped minimizing your ambitions? Join the conversation in the comments below.
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