The Ceiling

There was a woman I worked for in my early 20’s who told me, to my face, that I would never make more than fifty-five thousand dollars a year. Anywhere. Ever.

I had beaten every goal she gave me for over a year. I asked for a raise. That was her answer. A few weeks later she fired me.

I would love to tell you I walked out with a plan. I did not. I walked out carrying a number someone else had decided was the ceiling of my life, and for a while I believed her.

Then I did the only thing I have ever really known how to do. I bet everything on myself. I passed my exam and received my loan originators license and walked away from the idea of a salary entirely. No base. No floor. No net. A hundred percent commission, which is a polite way of saying I would eat what I killed and go hungry if I did not.

Well guess what…

I killed.

The first year the money got serious. $98,000 and some change. I did something I am not proud of and not the least bit sorry for. I put my W-2 in an envelope and mailed it to her. The proof. No note. The number said everything I needed to say.

I do not lie. I do not cheat. And I do not let a thing like that go unanswered.

This is not really a story about revenge. It is a story about ceilings, and who gets to decide where yours is.

Forge forward,

Julie