The Boss of You

Everybody’s blogging about the BlogHer Conference — those who were there, that is, and sadly we were not among the attendees this year. (Maybe next time?) It sounds like it was pretty fantastic overall, with a few reservations here and there about the event sponsors.

Susie Bright has an illuminating post on why women’s blogs are revolutionary — in a nutshell, they’re taking the “personal is political” to a whole new medium and audience, and it’s easier than ever to find a voice, an audience, and a community online. Susie writes, “Every time a woman’s blog proclaims her intellect, her sexuality, and her nurture — all on the same page — she has diced the dominant paradigm. She has motherfucked her way into new consciousness, with the radiant touch of real life, the opposite of all those ridiculous ‘women’s’ magazines, TV shows, and celebu-crap.”

Susie, of course, is one of my favourite writers and bloggers, and I love the way she has encapsulated this aspect of online feminism, which is one of the things that got me excited about the web back in the mid-90s. Personal sites by riot-grrls were some of the first websites I fell in love with, and they inspired me to learn HTML and start expressing myself, too. At the time, I was living in northern BC, in a redneck town, and my online companions were what kept me sane, grounded in the knowledge I was not alone. I think this combination of creative, diverse self-expression and community is one of the hugest potentials the internet has for real change.

On a different, but related note, I also want to call attention to Jory Des Jardins’ post about “selling out” — in it, she somewhat obliquely addresses some of the concerns raised by BlogHer conference attendees about advertiser/sponsor presence, but expands the discussion to the broader topic of money vs. values, and how to find that elusive balance between the two.

What I’d like to focus in on is Jory’s comments on “selling out”, and how that phrase is often misused to label anyone who earns decent money doing something that requires “authenticity”. I’ve come up against this time and time again, within myself and in others, and I’m frankly really tired of it. I think we need to get really clear about the fact that rich people don’t have a monopoly on stupidity, ignorance, power-mongering, cronyism, or out-and-out evil. Certainly, power corrupts, and I think that a lot of CEOs’ salaries out there are unconscionable — but I’ve seen people pilloried by their peers just because they took steps to make sure they could afford to buy a house.

This is particularly relevant to women, who still don’t earn nearly as much as men, and who seem to have trouble demanding what we’re worth, whether it be as a salaried employee or as business owners. I know many female entrepreneurs who keep their prices low out of misplaced humility, and although there’s something admirable about that quality, I get really frustrated when I see the effects of those choices (i.e. lower standards of living, fewer savings, and less capital for investing in personal or professional ventures).

I think there are two sides of this equation: One, the resentment we harbour towards others who are earning more than us (i.e. they’re earning what we think we deserve), and two, the fear of failure that keeps us from demanding more. At least, those are the two big elements I’ve experienced.

This is a topic dear to my heart, for many reasons. For one, I grew up in a lower-middle class household, but in an upper-class neighbourhood. My mom and dad grew up dirt-poor and fairly poor, respectively. So I’ve always been aware of the power dynamics of money, from both the perspective of having more (than grandma & grandpa) & of having less (than the neighbours).

I confess I grew up with a bit of knee-jerk resentment towards wealthy people. This was based for the most part in sheer envy, mixed with a good dose of self-righteousness (fuelled by my parents’ intense protestant work ethic, i.e. life is hard work, and if you haven’t worked hard for what you’ve got, you don’t deserve it).

I’m going to skip the in-depth analysis here, for the sake of time, but here’s where I’ve ended up: I’m a businessperson, and one of my measures of success is that my business is profitable. (It took me a good long time to reconcile myself to that.) I’m also passionate about being paid what I’m worth, and that’s in no small part a feminist issue for me. I wonder what the world might look like if women earned as much as men ’ and I’d like to see that day. (Sure, it might not change much, but I figure let’s give it a shot and see what happens.)

One thing I had to come to terms with was what I think of as class inertia. It was really difficult for me to imagine earning more than my dad had made. I just didn’t have the imaginative power to see myself doing it — his earnings were basically what I thought might be possible once I’d been working for twenty years. But when I sat down and did the math, I soon figured out I’′d like to be earning at least that much, and soon.

Here’s what helped me make the transition from my old money belief system to my new one: I looked at Emira, and thought about what she deserved to be earning. I considered what she could make if she worked for a bigger, more “corporate” company, and then I considered the added responsibility she has as a partner in our business. It was obvious she deserves to reap huge financial rewards!

It was much easier to picture a serious compensation package for Emira than it was to figure out what I deserved. So that’s where I started. And that’s still, often, how I get out of my habit of resenting what others have, and move towards being creative about how I can earn the same rewards.

I encourage anyone who’s stuck in a money-resentment rut to try this out. Think of your best friend, your partner, or anyone else you know and love and want only the best for. Imagine them earning what they deserve — a good salary, a generous benefits package, and a healthy vacation plan. Get specific: how much would they be earning gross? Net? How many weeks of vacation? How much would that increase each year?

Now picture yourself earning all that. How do you feel?

If it seems like too much, I know exactly how you feel. But I really urge you to sit with it for a while, and ask yourself what’s stopping you from earning what you’re worth.