Sessions

Let me tell you about the moment everything changed for me. I was on a call with a potential client. Big company. Dream project. The kind of work I'd been waiting years to do. We talked for an hour. They loved my ideas. Then came the question. "So... what would this cost?" And I felt it. That tightening in my chest. That voice in my head doing frantic math — not about the work, but about myself. Can I really ask for that much? What if they say no? What if they laugh? What if they find someone cheaper? I named a number. It was low. I knew it was low even as the words left my mouth. And they said yes immediately. No negotiation. No pushback. Just... yes. I should have felt happy. Instead, I felt sick. Because I realized something. They would have paid more. Maybe much more. And I had just told them — without meaning to — that I didn't believe I was worth it. That was the day I understood something that took me years to fully accept: the price you name is the story you tell about yourself. And people believe the story you tell. Let's talk about why pricing is so hard — and what's really going on when we struggle to charge what we're worth. Here's the first thing to understand. Pricing isn't a math problem. We pretend it is. We make spreadsheets. We calculate hours. We research "market rates." But when the moment comes to actually say the number out loud to another human being, all that logic disappears. What's left is pure emotion. And that emotion? It's not really about money. It's about worth. It's about whether we believe — truly believe — that we deserve to be paid well for what we do. Most of us carry invisible price ceilings in our heads. They come from all sorts of places. Maybe you grew up hearing that money was tight, that asking for more was greedy. Maybe you had a boss once who made you feel replaceable. Maybe you've been rejected before, and the rejection hurt so much that you'd rather underprice than risk it again. These ceilings are real. They're powerful. And they have nothing to do with your actual skill or the value you create. Here's what I've learned. When you underprice yourself, you're not being humble. You're not being realistic. You're making a statement. You're saying: don't expect too much from me. And the cruel irony is that clients often believe you. There's a psychological phenomenon called "price-quality inference." When something costs more, we assume it's better. When a consultant charges twice as much, we assume they must know something the cheaper one doesn't. When a service is priced at a premium, we pay more attention. We value the outcome more. We take it more seriously. This means that by underpricing, you're not just leaving money on the table — you're actually making clients value your work less. They invest less emotionally. They're more likely to ignore your recommendations. They're more likely to treat you as a vendor instead of a partner. You're training them to see you as less than you are. So how do you actually charge more? Let me give you a framework that works. First, separate your identity from your price. This is the hardest part. When a client says "that's too expensive," your brain hears "you're not good enough." But those are not the same thing. Price is a business decision. It involves their budget, their priorities, their timing, their alternatives. It is almost never a referendum on your worth as a human being. Practice saying this to yourself: "A no to my price is not a no to me." Say it until you believe it. Second, anchor high. Before you ever get on a pricing call, decide on a number that feels slightly uncomfortable. Not ridiculous — but uncomfortable. That discomfort is information. It means you're pushing against your invisible ceiling. Then, when you name your price, say it simply. Say it once. And then stop talking. Don't explain. Don't justify. Don't fill the silence with discounts. Just let the number sit there. The silence will feel eternal. It might be five seconds. It will feel like five minutes. That's okay. Whoever speaks next has lost a little power in the negotiation. Don't let it be you. Third, practice the walk-away. Before any pricing conversation, ask yourself: at what point would I rather not do this project than do it at the price they're offering? Know that number. Write it down. That's your floor. Having a floor changes everything. It means you're not desperate. It means you have options — even if those options are just "I'll wait for a better opportunity." That energy comes through. Clients can feel it. And counterintuitively, it makes them want to work with you more. Fourth — and this is the one nobody talks about — raise your prices on existing clients. I know. It feels terrifying. These are people who trust you. Who took a chance on you. You don't want to seem greedy or ungrateful. But here's the thing. If you've been delivering value, your clients already know you're worth more than you're charging. Many of them are quietly waiting for you to realize it yourself. A price increase, communicated professionally, is not betrayal. It's growth. It signals that you're in demand, that you're investing in yourself, that working with you is a privilege that's becoming more scarce. The ones who can't afford it will say so, and you can decide what to do case by case. The ones who can? They'll respect you more. Now. I want to tell you something important about rejection. You will lose some opportunities because of your prices. This is supposed to happen. If you never hear "that's out of our budget," you are underpriced. Period. The goal is not to win every project. The goal is to win the right projects — the ones that pay well, respect your time, and let you do your best work. Every "no" to your price is filtering out clients who would have undervalued you, questioned your judgment, and nickel-and-dimed you on every invoice. Those clients still exist. They're just hiring your competitors now. Let them. I want to leave you with something that took me too long to learn. Charging what you're worth isn't just about money. It's about respect. It's about standing in your own value and asking others to meet you there. It's about building a business that sustains you — not one that slowly drains you while you tell yourself it's fine. You are not a commodity. You are not interchangeable with the cheapest option on the market. You have years of experience, hard-won skills, and a perspective that nobody else has. The price you name is the story you tell. So tell a better story. Tell the story of someone who knows what they bring to the table. Someone who respects their own time and energy. Someone who understands that being well-paid isn't a luxury — it's a foundation for doing great work. You've already done the hard part. You've built the skills. You've served the clients. You've earned the right to charge more. Now you just have to believe it enough to say it out loud.

You sent the proposal. They said they loved it. Then... silence. You follow up once. Twice. Nothing. You're not crazy. And you're not alone. This happens to every freelancer, every consultant, every business owner. Today, let's understand why clients ghost — and what you can actually do about it. First, let's get something straight. When a client goes silent, your brain immediately goes to the worst place. "They hated it." "I'm not good enough." "I said something wrong." But here's the truth: their silence is almost never about you. It's about them. Let's talk about why people avoid confrontation. Most people — and I mean most — would rather disappear than have an uncomfortable conversation. Saying "no" feels hard. Saying "we went with someone else" feels harder. Saying "actually, we don't have the budget anymore" feels embarrassing. So they say nothing. They convince themselves they'll reply later. And later never comes. This isn't malice. It's human nature. We're wired to avoid social discomfort. Your client isn't evil — they're just human. Now let's look at the real reasons behind the silence. Reason one: Budget disappeared. This is the most common. Someone above them cut the project. The quarter ended. Priorities shifted. They're embarrassed to tell you the money vanished, so they say nothing. Reason two: Internal politics. You might have been talking to someone who didn't have final decision-making power. They championed your proposal internally, got shut down, and now they feel awkward. Reason three: They got busy. Not busy as an excuse — genuinely overwhelmed. Your project, which felt urgent last week, is now buried under twelve other fires. You're not forgotten. You're just not on fire. Reason four: They're comparison shopping. They're talking to three other people. They haven't decided yet. Responding to you means committing, and they're not ready. Reason five: And yes, sometimes... they just changed their mind. It happens. It's rarely personal. So what do you actually do when you're ghosted? Here's a follow-up framework that works. First follow-up: Three to five business days after your proposal. Keep it simple. "Hi, just checking if you had any questions about the proposal. Happy to hop on a quick call if helpful." Second follow-up: One week later. Add value. Share a relevant article, a case study, or an idea related to their project. Show you're still thinking about them. Third follow-up: Two weeks later. Give them an out. This is important. Say something like: "I know priorities shift. If the timing isn't right, no hard feelings at all — just let me know and I'll close out my notes on this." That last line is magic. You're giving them permission to say no without confrontation. Many will take it. And honestly? A clear "no" is a gift. It frees you to move on. After three follow-ups with no response, stop. You've done your part. Continuing makes you look desperate and doesn't change anything. Now let's talk prevention. How do you reduce ghosting before it happens? Qualify harder upfront. Before you write a proposal, ask direct questions. "What's your budget range?" "Who else is involved in this decision?" "What's your timeline for deciding?" If they're vague on all three, that's a red flag. You might be talking to the wrong person, or the project might not be real yet. Set expectations early. At the end of your discovery call, say: "I'll send the proposal by Friday. Would it be okay if I follow up next Tuesday to see where you're at?" Now you have permission to follow up, and they've committed to a timeline. Create urgency — but don't fake it. If you have limited availability, say so. "I have two project slots open for January. If this timeline works for you, I'd love to hold one." Real scarcity, not manufactured pressure. Here's the mindset shift that changed everything for me. Ghosting is information, not rejection. When someone ghosts, they're telling you something. Maybe they weren't the right fit. Maybe the project wasn't real. Maybe your qualifying process needs work. Every ghost is a data point. The worst thing you can do is take it personally and spiral. The best thing you can do is note what happened, adjust if needed, and keep moving. One more thing. The clients who ghost you? They're doing you a favor. If someone can't communicate a simple "no," imagine what working with them would be like. Imagine chasing them for feedback. For approvals. For payment. The ghosts are filtering themselves out. Let them. Your only job is to keep showing up. Keep sending proposals. Keep following up with grace. Keep qualifying better. The right clients — the ones who respect your time and communicate clearly — they're out there. And they're worth waiting for. You're not crazy. You're not bad at this. You're just in a game where ghosting is part of the terrain. Now you know how to navigate it.