Underpayment Isn’t About Budget, It’s About Control

I was 23 years old, standing at what I believed was the edge of growth.

I was transitioning out of hospitality management and into professional financial services. Think insurance broking, mortgage broking, BPO services, sales. On paper, it looked like progress. Emotionally, it felt like escape.

Escape from shift work.

Escape from being underestimated.

Escape from a version of myself I thought I had outgrown.

So when I was offered a part-time role in a small business (twelve paid hours a week) I saw it as a stepping stone. It was positioned as a replacement role for an employee they were letting go. It felt intentional. Planned. Legitimate.

I made a decision that, at the time, felt brave: I quit my full-time job to accommodate it.

That’s when the ground shifted.

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The First Bait-and-Switch

Once I’d resigned from my stable role, the offer changed.

Suddenly, the position was “commission-only due to expenses.”

I remember pushing back calmly, clearly. I explained that this wasn’t what we’d agreed to, and that I never would have accepted the role without some level of stability. I needed consistent income. I needed certainty.

What I was met with wasn’t negotiation; it was doubt.

The business owner told me he didn’t recall that conversation. That maybe it was something he could have said. That nothing was set in stone.

That moment planted the first seed of distrust, not because of the change itself, but because of how quickly accountability disappeared.

I had already taken the risk.

And now, I was being told the risk was mine alone.

When Money Becomes Leverage

During my employment, something happened that, in hindsight, still shocks me.

I lent my boss $9,500.

It was for a cryptocurrency side venture he was pursuing. something framed as an opportunity, something I trusted because of the perceived mentor relationship and power imbalance. That investment turned out to be a scam. My money was almost lost.

And instead of accountability, I was met with implication.

That I would need to work harder in the business to earn additional income to make that money back.

Let that sink in.

My personal savings were placed at risk because of his decision, and the emotional burden of recovering from that loss was quietly shifted onto me.

That was the moment anxiety set in. Not just about money; but about safety.

Loyalty Was Expected, Stability Wasn’t Given

As time went on, cracks in the business became impossible to ignore.

Mismanagement of funds and internal processes meant my pay was consistently late. Not once. Not occasionally. Consistently.

Each time, there was an excuse.

A delay.

A reason it would be “sorted soon.”

And yet, loyalty was still expected, unquestioned, unwavering; paired with promises that things would improve.

I was asked to be patient while absorbing the consequences of decisions I had no control over.

That was the last straw.

Because being paid on time isn’t a perk.

It’s a baseline.

And when a business can’t meet its most basic obligations, but still expects commitment, performance, and emotional buy-in; the issue isn’t cash flow.

It’s responsibility.

The Silence That Protects Power

At some point, I spoke up.

I confided in someone I believed was a mentor, someone who also happened to be his friend. I explained what was happening. The shifting agreements. The financial stress. The instability.

The response I received was simple and devastating:

“That sounds out of character for him.”

That was the moment I realised something important.

His image was being protected.

My lived experience was being questioned.

And in environments like this, silence isn’t neutral; it sides with power.

Working Harder Didn’t Mean Earning More

As time went on, I became increasingly reliant on bringing in new business just to survive.

I didn’t fully understand the industry yet (I was still learning) but I was resourceful. I was driven. I was willing. I brought clients in.

What I wasn’t given was support.

Clients I sourced were ignored. Dropped. Poorly serviced.

I didn’t earn the additional income; and worse, my personal reputation suffered.

I was promoting the business positively, publicly, doing additional unpaid work, all whilst quietly absorbing the damage of promises not being honoured.

Every conversation about support felt like an inconvenience.

Every ask felt like too much.

When Underpayment Crosses Legal Lines

Eventually, I was asked to change my weekly pay structure.

Not to benefit me, but so the business “didn’t have to pay superannuation.”

I was persuaded to forfeit my rights as an employee and move to contractor pay. It was framed as something that would somehow work in my favour.

It wouldn’t have.

I raised my concerns. I questioned it. Nothing changed.

This is where underpayment stops being informal and starts being strategic.

The False Hope That Confirmed Everything

When I finally found the courage to resign, the response wasn’t accountability.

It was hope.

I was told:

“That’s unfortunate, I was planning to increase your hours and your pay.”

But by then, I understood the pattern.

There had always been promises.

Always future security.

Always soon.

And yet, the actions never matched the words.

That comment wasn’t reassurance, it was a final attempt to maintain control. A false sense of security designed to keep me in place.

This time, I didn’t stay.

What I Know Now

At 23, I thought underpayment was about budget.

I thought it was circumstantial.

Temporary.

Unfortunate.

Now I know better.

Underpayment is often about:

• Maintaining leverage

• Testing compliance

• Withholding stability to avoid accountability

• Offering hope instead of structure

If it were about budget, agreements wouldn’t change after commitment.

If it were about fairness, pay wouldn’t arrive late.

If it were about growth, support would follow effort.

It took years to understand that choosing certainty over chaos isn't weakness, it's about working in alignment with your values, not someone else's promises.

The Lesson That Changed Everything

This experience forced me to unlearn a dangerous belief:

That endurance equals loyalty.

That silence equals professionalism.

That gratitude should override self-respect.

It shouldn’t.

Clarity matters.

Boundaries matter.

Being paid on time matters.

And the day I realised underpayment was about control; not budget, was the day I stopped negotiating against myself.

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