After what seems like a very long time, in reality probably about 3 1/2 years, I quit my ‘job’.
It was a great job for me. Assisting small business owners, entrepreneurs chasing their dreams. I didn’t make a lot of money, but I was doing something for myself while being a housewife and mom.
The job was not just helping one person grow a business. I was helping close to 100 people pursue their passion, from food to art, it was all about creating.
I loved everyone, even the person I was working for. I bent over backward to help, do, lift, carry, set up, take down, haul away and store whatever was necessary to take the burden off of the boss, off of anyone I felt I could help by just being there and saying yes.
When I first took the job, the business was just starting so I understood money could be tight. Because I believed in the purpose, I offered my services for a mere pittance and the owner eagerly accepted my help. Of course, I was cheap work-horse labor.
There had already been two before me who’d bailed quickly. I should have paid attention to their exits, but I didn’t. Instead, I stepped up to help, as a volunteer if need be, like I always do.
At the beginning of the second season, I attempted to negotiate for a whopping $50 more a month. I didn’t get the raise. I got accolades and promises. “Just stick with me a little longer, we’ll get there,” to a place where I could be paid more.
I believed it.
I stuck with it, through another season, and midway through I got the $50 a month raise. I was also given a lot more responsibility.
‘Opportunities’ to do more when other…