Beyond Getting By

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Moving Beyond Getting By Is a Practice, Not a Challenge

In May of 2016, I took a web editor job I found on Craigslist. I know you must be thinking, Girl, I could have told you not to do that. But bear with me.

I was twenty-four, barely scraping by after years of temp work, unpaid media internships, short stints in corporate “real jobs,” and various freelance writing and editing gigs. I was sick of not knowing how much I was going to make in a given month and having to hunt down paychecks from the crappy entertainment news websites and SEO factories I was working for. I wanted so badly to find my dream job, doing creatively fulfilling writing and editing, but I also just wanted to know when my next check was coming. And I wanted to take a nap.

Finding that job listing felt like fate. The company was an early-phase, membership-based start-up that would be putting on events with local artists. It was an actual full-time position, not just a contractor role operating on a “we’ll pay you when we feel like it” timeline. The work I would be doing sounded genuinely compelling: interviewing artists for the website to drive interest in the membership program. Best of all, it was self-funded by the founder—my boss, who had previously worked on Wall Street—who explained how great it was that we wouldn’t be beholden to the expectations of outside investors.

As with any start-up lacking a clear business plan, the situation was inevitably too good to be true. After getting paid for precisely one week of work (in cash, because he was having “bank issues” and wouldn’t be able to get me a check for a while), I never saw a cent that the company owed me. Yet I stuck around for two more months, for a few reasons. My boss was exceptionally charismatic and personable. He bought us lunch every single day! How could someone who always treats you to lunch, including a one o’clock beer, possibly be scamming you?

Plus, when I asked more questions about the status of my paycheck while apologizing for being pushy, he insisted I should never be sorry for insisting on getting paid what I was owed. He made me truly believe he cared about me, and he seemed to go out of his way to show me that the delays were genuine. He once even took me to a legit brick-and-mortar bank to meet with his banker, who basically reiterated the same reasons why my pay was being delayed (reasons that were likely made up but sounded way over my head). Looking back, I can see that he used that feeling of connection to manipulate me into staying, even when I’d gone weeks, then months, without seeing a paycheck.

I was also stubborn. I quickly emptied the meager emergency fund I’d managed to save up in the months prior to finding that fated job ad, and I landed myself back in credit card debt to cover my bills. I’d update my mom on the situation almost every day, trying to downplay her anxiety and reiterate that my boss was a good guy who wouldn’t just not pay me. I’d insist to my then-boyfriend, now-husband, Peter, that everything would turn out fine—that I’d eventually be paid and life would return to normal. But even I didn’t believe what I was telling them, and deep down, I just didn’t want to admit that I’d made a colossal mistake. And as I was digging myself deeper and deeper into a financial hole, I’d already given so much of my time to this “company.” If I left, there was a better possibility that I’d never see what I was owed.

But there was something else going on. Up until that point in my career, I’d taken part-time and freelance editor contracts, and I had worked as a blog editor at a women’s magazine, but I’d never been offered a full-time, salaried position with “editor” in the title. I didn’t really believe I was experienced enough to get the job in the first place, even though I’d been editing in various capacities for years. I’d never worked for a mainstream media outlet, so why was I being trusted with the content of a totally new website? So, even when I went day after day not being paid, I didn’t feel like my own time was valuable enough to cut my losses and leave.

Now, years later, I can look back and laugh about how naive I was. I left after finding out that another young woman, who had been at the company when I joined and was let go just a few weeks into my tenure, also didn’t see a paycheck after her first one. It finally clicked that staying wasn’t the answer, and that the longer I spent working toward nothing, the more time I would lose trying to get work that, you know, actually paid me. Thankfully, it was just a blip in my financial growth; after getting paying work again, I slowly built back my emergency savings. And luckily, I had good credit thanks to parents who encouraged me to open my first credit card and start building a credit history in college. If you’ve read the first TFD book, you know that good credit means you simply have more options; I quickly got approved for a new balance-transfer credit card with a 0% APR period for fifteen months, which allowed me to pay off the (admittedly small) debt I accrued without paying exorbitant interest.

I still have no idea what my former boss was up to—I’ve never gotten any answers on why I wasn’t paid, or what that “business” must have been a front for. And yes, those unanswered questions occasionally keep me up at night. But I mostly feel awful for the person I was then, who didn’t value herself enough to see when she was clearly being manipulated. I wanted to be paid what I was owed, yes, but I also thought I owed my boss (a total stranger whom I to this day can’t find on the internet) my time, simply because he offered me a job when I was feeling down on myself. I hadn’t yet learned when to walk away.

Needless to say, starting my job at The Financial Diet in the fall of 2016 was quite a boon for me. I had been checking the blog daily, seeking solace as I was getting back on my feet after such a huge-seeming setback, when I came across the job listing for a new managing editor. I shot my shot, and it worked out—I’ve been here ever since.

In those early days at TFD, I’d assign, edit, and write articles on every possible money topic, from the difference between a Roth and traditional IRA to the cost of a heart-shattering breakup. I was part-time for those first few years, making as much as the company could afford to pay me (which was. . . . still quite a bit more than many NYC media companies seem to pay). I’ve since moved up to my current position as creative director, where we still talk about money, though the context and format have evolved.

We’ve shifted away from the blog and now publish to an audience of millions across YouTube, podcasting, social media, and our semiweekly newsletter. We have an entire events department that didn’t even exist when I joined, but that now makes up a significant portion of our revenue. Our staff has more than doubled in size. And instead of just covering the basics of getting your money right (although we’ll always do that!), our content ranges from dismantling the myths that capitalism has implanted into our brains to what our cultural obsession with “TikTok face” is costing us.

Back in 2016, our core audience was (mostly) women in the same spot I had been in: fumbling their way through the professional world and starting out on their journeys with money. As our readers and viewers were learning about investing in retirement and opening their own accounts for the first time, I was right there with them, figuring out how to save and invest and still have enough left over to buy overpriced pastries and visit my beloved Broadway sing-along bar every month.

By certain metrics, my financial life remains unimpressive: I don’t own a home and, considering I live in New York City with no desire to move, don’t know if I ever will. I’ve stuck it out with one company for a long time instead of job-hopping to maximize my earning potential. I haven’t invested in an Airbnb empire or raised millions in venture capital for a start-up. And the amount of money I spend on dining out each month would make the FIRE bros of the world nauseous with anxiety. I’m not a millionaire, let alone a billionaire.

But by most metrics, I’m quite financially successful. I earn well over the average household income for the U.S., even excluding my husband’s income. I’m able to max out my yearly 401(k) contributions.

I have paid off all my debt, live in a totally debt-free household now that we’ve finished paying off my husband’s student loans, and am investing in other long-term goals besides retirement.