I’m navigating the corporate maze of Silicon Valley armed with a master’s degree and nearly a decade of experience at my job. Yet, despite my qualifications and dedication, my paycheck doesn’t match that of my male counterparts. While discussing salaries can feel like a taboo, it’s not illegal, and I’ve had candid conversations with a few male colleagues about our compensation packages. Like many American women, I earn about 77 cents for every dollar my male colleagues make.
To add to the complexity, I’m a single mom to four kids, and living in Silicon Valley isn’t exactly a walk in the park financially. My company drew me to this expensive area, but I was blindsided by the high cost of maintaining a decent lifestyle. To bridge the pay gap, I’ve taken on a part-time gig with a sports company I discovered while participating in a race. I love this job and enjoy connecting with fellow health enthusiasts, but the time I invest in it takes me away from my kids. If only I could secure that missing 23% from my main employer, I wouldn’t need to juggle two jobs.
When I first joined the corporate world, I felt a wave of gratitude washing over me. Transitioning from retail to a steady 9-to-5 role meant more family time, stability, and a better quality of life. In my eagerness, I forgot to consider that I might deserve more than the salary they offered.
After two years, when I was promoted, my manager explicitly told me not to negotiate my salary, assuring me it was the highest I’d receive for that role. I accepted it without question, feeling grateful and not wanting to appear ungrateful.
Fast forward three years, and I finally mustered the courage to ask for equal pay. I nearly apologized while making my request, as if I should feel sorry for asking for what I deserve. I stopped myself just in time, reminding myself that this wasn’t a raise but rather a request for parity with my colleagues.
Now, guilt consumes me as I worry about how my request will be perceived. I know my worth; my contributions are significant! But the irony of my hard work leading me away from my children stings deeply.
On the day I asked for a raise, I missed half of one child’s school concert because I had to attend a meeting. I also missed another child’s entire performance due to work obligations. In that meeting, I spent 45 minutes listening to presentations that had nothing to do with my work. Those minutes were the same ones my son was performing, and I felt like a piece of my heart was breaking.
My kids often come home to an empty house because I work late, and I was glued to my laptop even during my son’s baseball game. I managed to take a few videos of his at-bats, but I was mentally elsewhere. After the game, I rushed through a McDonald’s drive-thru and hurried home to remind my kids to eat, finish their homework, and get to bed—all while I had to dash back to work.
When I finally wrapped up my tasks around 9:15 p.m., I hit the gym for a quick run, tears streaming down my face in the locker room. I missed my kids so much.
It’s not that I don’t have paid time off; I do, but I fret about taking half days for school events. Which moments are truly worth my time? Will my coworkers judge me? I thought that if I could prove I don’t give less just because I’m a woman and a mom, I’d be compensated fairly. Yet, despite sacrificing precious family moments, the pay gap still looms large.
I deserve every bit of that dollar my male colleagues receive. My work is stellar, and I’ve received glowing feedback from my superiors, which only reinforces my worth. But the reality is, my children deserve an engaged mother, and it feels impossible to balance it all. If I could just focus on one job and earn what I’m truly worth, I could reclaim some of that precious time with my kids.
Time to take a deep breath. Maybe another run is in order.