Closed to clients: My own case study against accepting them

(Editor’s note: An earlier version of this story was posted November 2022. It has been deleted and updated with this version.)

Willis Wharf, VA. May 26, 2020. I'm an earth sign but water grounds me.

It was the four question marks that were sent 24 minutes after the initial text message that did it this time.

I tell myself I’m not an on-call doctor, emergency personnel like a firefighter or a police officer or even a tow truck driver where a call warrants immediate attention because someone else’s life is on the line or their safety is potentially in danger. I’m not a funeral director, receptionist, switchboard operator or call center representative, either. I mean, I know this, of course, but I felt I needed a reminder because folks keep trying me, making me doubt who TF I am. What I am is a storyteller, a bona fide writer, one with multiple creative projects that I dream to launch in this lifetime. 

Sometimes I choose to stay in a zone because once I lose my train of thought, it’s nearly impossible to recapture it. And while I’m occasionally a perpetual scroller with a high screen time—half of which is now coming from Libby and Kindle, thank goodness—I don’t swipe or pick up my phone for every single beep or ding. I have a system. When I’m focused on writing and editing, I ignore my phone. And when I break—which admittedly is frequently because I don’t produce at my highest potential by working straight-through for long hours—I usually read something. (I use the Pomodoro Technique because I’m a human, not a mule.) Or perhaps life simply summons me. I might be in the restroom or on the other line, on a Zoom, in a workshop. My hands might be wet. Or maybe I was in the middle of typing a sentence and forgot my phone even chimed until the next time someone called or texted.

For whatever reason this time, I missed the initial text that asked if I was still looking for work. I guess the perception is I’m supposed to be waiting desperately by my phone for this particular offer, or any gig for that matter, because I’m unemployed. But not to be cliched, I know that any opportunities meant for me aren’t going to miss me. I’m not going to lose a job because I didn’t respond to one call or answer a text 24 minutes earlier. And those opportunities that are divinely assigned to me, those that are absolutely mine, don’t come with empty promises, messy drama or angst. I’d already been there, done that a few times helping other folks with their ventures like some intern or apprentice and those four question marks reminded me that I wasn’t doing this anymore.  

Six years ago, I launched a pop-up studio in copywriting and web design to formally value my knowledge and time instead of continually giving them both away for practically free.99. I’d spent an exorbitant amount of time playing student on countless webinars and online courses to level-up my own skills for my own endeavors and soon graduated to the oh-I-know-how-to-do-that alum. I didn’t mind helping other entrepreneurs—especially those who looked like me because I always want us to win—but it came to a point where I needed to be paid for it, especially when I was putting in real work.

The first client was a referral, who subsequently referred three other small business owners, with the last referral wanting two websites. But I was immediately annoyed because he coached them all to say, “I don’t have much money!” during our initial calls. It was rehearsed. Same scripts, same inflections, same tones, at the same point during each of the consultations. Yet I kinda felt obligated to follow through anyway, not wanting to offend or disappoint the person who made the original referral, even when certain persons offended me. 

Client one wanted to meet to explain final adjustments to his website, which he said would be easier face-to-face. I didn’t think this was strange or unreasonable because I’m a visual person myself but it was what he said about discussing some “personal” stuff on my blog and the way he said it that made me uncomfortable. It was the written message that made me pause and decide that I wasn’t Janet and we weren’t meeting any time, any place. 

“It has to be our secret,” he texted, adding the cool emoji.

I was appalled because was this mofo trying to negotiate his penis as payment or bonus or something? Because why couldn’t I tell anyone about a meeting? It was almost like he was grooming me except I was 45 years old. I never worked for him again. 

And I never billed him for the few hundred bucks, either. 

However, I still had the next three clients that he referred to me, even though my level of trust in this entire group had severely diminished. I stand by the birds-of-a-feather adage. But I wanted to keep my word and, honestly, I needed the money that I had now calculated and spent in my head. So I convinced myself that client one was surely an anomaly. 

Client two was a duo who was having problems with their existing design company; if I remember correctly, the company didn’t always respond timely or when they did, they didn’t always fully make the requested changes. They might do one of four things so I acted as the representative or mediator on some items since there was still an active contract. And since liaising has always been one of my strengths, this wasn’t particularly problematic. Therefore most of my energy was spent on revamping the web copy, which the cofounders promptly approved to publish. But days later one of them forwarded me a practical rewrite from her sibling, who wasn’t even affiliated with the organization, who marked up nearly every single word I wrote complete with carats and comments like a professor or PhD advisor. I couldn’t help but wonder if they did this to the other designer. In retrospect, perhaps the sibling was the one who wrote the original content and I came along and discarded everything that she wrote. Maybe I’d struck a nerve.

I barely remember client three. Working with him was seamless and straightforward. I honestly forgot about him until he recently popped up in my Facebook friend suggestions.

On the other hand, I still remember the day I met the fourth client mainly because a few things stood out to me as she spoke. She was a Black woman who declared that she doesn’t like to work with other Black people. Some stereotype about us not putting in the work when in reality we do work twice as hard. Maybe three times if the person crafting the to-do list is appreciative because that’s how Black folk are built. We do extra. She also told me that she’d recently fired her marketing person because he didn’t market. And she mentioned that she had previously collaborated with someone else in this associate circle but they weren’t working together on a future event. However I dismissed the things she said, even laughed as she spoke, because I come from a fast-paced corporate background with major responsibility and stellar annual reviews. We had real problems that required swift solutions and follow-through because it involved real money. I performed multiple jobs, too, without the salary and title of some of the roles I assumed. My work ethic and quality of work were never a problem. But those qualities were secondary to my survival when it came to working with client four. My 15-year work experience of dealing with difficult people was minimal. More like nonexistent because there’s no place for that foolishness in a work environment unless it’s toxic. This client, however, was too challenging for my toolbox.

“Well, the first website is already set up and shouldn’t cost the same as the second one,” she stated.

But I wasn’t only changing fonts and colors or doing minor cosmetics like centering an image from left-justified; there was also copywriting, coming up with a tagline*, formatting and creating new aesthetically-pleasing, proportional images** that take the website from amateurish to professional, reorganizing the gallery and slideshows, creating links, not to forget hours of effort to make it happen. So, yes ma’am, both websites should absolutely cost the same.

July 23, 2025. Apple says this is Rocktrumpet. The tag reads, "Zinnia."

She took two weeks to pay the deposit, the average equivalent of seven hard-cover new releases. Or half of the amount that I didn’t charge client one. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not mocking her bank account balance; I, myself, was converting that money into books while someone else in my position would’ve had the gumption and sense to command an amount that would’ve at least paid their rent! But it’s worth mentioning considering the remaining chain of events.

Client four swiftly shifted into we-need-to-get-this-done mode the moment the deposit left her account. Suddenly, she really needed to start soliciting donations for her upcoming fundraising event—and that required establishing a presence by producing receipts from prior years like images and media clips—and time was running out, which somehow became my fault, not the fact that she squandered the prior weeks away. I wasn’t publishing anything until I received my money, of course, although I had already started creating assets on my own behind the scenes because I do prepare and I like to finish ahead of schedule.

I pulled an all-nighter to get her first website live per the approved mockups, which were .pdf replicas of both websites. But then she feigned concern that the header photo created from a company image I got from her Facebook business page possibly misrepresented her business.

“They might think I do masquerade parties,” she said.

But, you did host a masquerade party. 

She then decided that everything on this first website should really be on the second website. We hadn’t even formally contracted the second website yet; still I moved the content and drafted new copy for the About Us page.

“You call yourself a storyteller,” she said, referencing my own tagline, “so let me read a tear-jerker.” There may or may not have been a chuckle at the end, not that that made her comment acceptable.

A side note about this: Folks really felt compelled to utter some version of this statement, even those who come to me repeatedly for their last-minute persuasive letters that I don’t even like to do in the first place. I’m not a letter-writer, though I still deliver. But whether a joke or not, it grates my nerves. It’s offensive AF, actually, as if I cannot tailor the verbiage and tone based on the intent or overall purpose of the correspondence. So naturally, I was livid, especially when I began to read random words on the web page that I didn’t remember typing. At first I thought I was losing my mind; then I realized I really didn’t write that shit at all! She did! She was going into the backend and adding her own words and sentences, disjointing the flow, making it look as if person one was interjecting person two while person one was still speaking.

One thing about me is I don’t play about work. I’m serious because it’s attached to a paycheck, yes, but it’s also simply who I am. I like to get it done and I don’t want it manipulated or tampered with, especially when my name is on it. And I don’t need to be micromanged. If you want me to do it, let me do it. Give me the desired outcome and I’ll get you the desired result in the least amount of time. And while we’re on the topic, don’t issue commands and demands and utter phrases and sentences beginning with verbs to me. Like who the fuck you think you talkin’ to? 

Furthermore, I’m not new to writing. I wrote short stories and a play in my pre-teen and teenage years. And we performed the play. In my corporate days, I drafted manuals, training documents, IT requirements and other business collateral because I knew how to translate from complex to layman and engage an audience. I wasn’t even in internal communications and never have been; I was a manager in finance and revenue when I did all of this business writing. And post-9-to-5, I wrote trending articles and personal essays—producing one of the most-shared articles at the beginning of one of those publications—and earned recognition as blogger of the month at Martha Stewart’s Whole Living magazine before I even became an official published writer. So while I wasn’t currently on the masthead of a national magazine, I still came with receipts.

But client number four wanted to prove that I didn’t know my way with words or websites, perhaps to justify why she didn’t work with Black people. Her complaints became more and more trivial. Nitpicking. The company pink was more of a pastel but perhaps it should reflect more Pepto on the website. (Who haphazardly changes company colors?) The website didn’t glitter and bling enough. Where’s the confetti? The jewels? The 18 bottle caps in the shareable image from a different site advertising collection for charity were blue. Or yellow. Or whatever they were. Why couldn’t they be pink, too? And why doesn’t the website have a shopping cart?

Because it isn’t an e-commerce site.*** 

I contemplated ending the work relationship on the night client four refused to understand that the reCAPTCHA feature was actually active even though she didn’t specifically see the words “I am not a robot” on the page. She was using Wix and this particular plugin didn’t require users to retype a string of letters or numbers and check the not-a-robot box. Instead it was the one that required users to select the appropriate photos from the grid, like all the photos containing a bicycle or a car or a bridge.  

What was equally aggravating was that she felt she—as well as client one—could call me at 8, 9, 10 close to 11 p.m. and I was supposed to answer. And if I didn’t, she’d call right back until I did. (Or, in client one’s case, he’d reach out to the person who referred him and ask that person to tell me to call him ASAP like a principal calling a parent because the child hasn’t been turning in her homework or something.) And I was supposed to make changes right then instead of waiting until morning when I resumed work. 

In my head, I finally said, Fuck you and that little balance, too when she emailed me brand new company logos one week before the date I was set to turn over the site. This was the first I’d heard of any new logos. At that point, I contemplated snatching all my shit off of the website permanently.**** For nearly two months, I worked with images I customized using the old logos yet she sent me new shit on week seven? To delete, edit and reupload? Girl, bye.

Jolly Roger at the Pier, Ocean City, MD. July 31, 2022.

One thing I’ve observed over the years is this occasional air of superiority when it comes to one running his or her own company. Some folks feel the need to establish a crystal clear hierarchy or convey the message that I am the boss and you are my employee. It’s weird and very telling that they want to seem smart, capable, maybe powerful and important like some authority figure. And it’s often indicative of whether or not they’ve had prior corporate and leadership experience and how well they work with people. What they don’t get is that it doesn’t deliver the desired impact. It kinda says insecure and inexperienced. It’s not necessary to put on airs, pull rank or create chaos and perpetuate some sense of urgency only to extinguish fake fires just to prove they’re in charge. It ain’t a flex and nobody’s impressed. 

Another observation is that outside of a corporate setting, folks like these really think I’m the meek community weakling simpin’ for their shitty business and fragile egos. Like do you know what I did before you? While I’m confident in my capabilities and I can lead both projects and people, I don’t match the condescension these clients initially direct towards me. I don’t know how to react to that. And that’s probably because I’ve generally experienced a reciprocation of respect in the traditional workplace whether it’s with a CEO or an executive assistant. But because I don’t speak with arrogance doesn’t mean I can’t have a seat at your boardroom table—personally I don’t want to, for real, for real because that’s not sustainable long-term, at least not for me—or that I’m unintelligent and can be manipulated and used. I speak the same way I’d talk to any peer and I can hold my own without pretending I’m a boss. I am a boss. But to someone who equates a leader as someone who talks down to others and treats people like they’re disposable, I’m no more than a dusty, desperate subordinate. 

Folks also assume I’m willing to overperform, overcompensate, on-demand and that I’m okay with whatever little bit of tip dollars they decide to toss my way—because my rate is obviously pay what you can. $20. $30. They rarely recommend me for the type of work I actually do to someone who’s willing to actually pay me the going rate at that. Never mind that I want to live and eat, too. It’s so wild to me how they feel someone else can deserve their full-price for their labor but I’m only worth a fraction for thrice the labor.

It’s equally wild how many of these same folks actually throw in the potential for a position for me within their company as some negotiation tactic as if my business is just a hobby or just isn’t viable or as if I gave up my job with the good pay, good benefits, good PTO to go slave 24/7 for their fledgling firm. Ma’ams and sirs, you can’t or won’t even pay my full fee, yet I’m supposed to trust you to pay me a livable salary? Laughable. And extremely offensive. 

Back then, I never fully peeped this direct correlation between charging and/or accepting a discounted fee and attracting the shittiest of clients. We’re often encouraged to charge a bit less, offer discounts, throw in perks and bonuses to prove our worth. Poor advice, BTW. Add in not having a job, well, ‘a little bit is better than nothing’ and ‘graciousness shows humility and nobility’ become strategies for those looking for our expertise for next to nothing. It also turns out to be disadvantageous to those of us who intend to genuinely build respectable networks and compete fairly in our respective markets over time. Truthfully, potential clients aren’t exactly impressed with price breaks or even feel as special as we’d like to think. In fact, they side-eye us because trust, they’ve done their due diligence and know how much a particular task costs, and it’s often the catalyst for them to (mis)treat us accordingly.***** 

A few years later, author, TV writer and cultural commentator Demetria Lucas spoke about this very scenario, of taking less money than you normally would because you’re thinking it’ll lead to something grand only to find yourself working much harder to complete dissatisfaction. In an earlier episode of her podcast, Ratchet and Respectable—one I wish I thought to link to when I first heard it but I instead wrote down her words—Lucas said:

Whenever I’ve been like ‘Oh, I’m just so happy to be here’ and I take a rate lower than what I know I should be getting paid? They also know that it’s lower; they know I don’t know my worth and they run me! Like nothing’s quite good enough. They often have a bunch of complaints that they’ve always, in every situation, treated me like shit. And my thought was, ‘If only I can get myself in this door, get this opportunity, then it’ll lead to bigger opportunities.’ And what I’ve always found is they’ll run me, they’ll actually recommend me to someone else and tell them basically, ‘She works for nothing.’ And they’ll go and work with someone else who might not even be at the same level I am and actually pay them!

I realized how I fed into these clients’ perceptions and inadvertently reinforced their belief that I’m the one who’s insecure and unworthy. And not only did I severely undercut my fee but I also allowed continued disrespect and a total disregard of my boundaries. It was me who let things go way, way too far instead of speaking up and shutting shit down immediately after the first violation. (Oddly, I would’ve never tolerated this in the corporate world. When I really think about it, I upheld my boundaries there no matter how trivial—blocking off my calendar to deter meetings at certain times; not taking work home with me; not discussing work at happy hours and dinners; not letting another colleague think of talking to me sideways—and perhaps that’s why folks never tried me but instead respected me.) 

I should’ve vetted all of these clients. Vetting is not a one-way process. I had the right to say, “This isn’t going to be a good fit.” I should’ve set normal business hours and enforced them with the exception of true emergencies. I should’ve collected all monies and contracted additional fees and penalties that clients generally incur for major changes beyond the second or third one. I should’ve imposed an “asshole tax,” something I later learned from another freelance designer who built that figure into her pricing. Or better yet, I should’ve fired all of their asses knowing that they were all on the same page about how they were going to interact with me in each of their projects. 

It’s no mystery how this current client is going to act in the future. He’s no different from the others. It’s not the first time he’s called and texted until I responded only for me to find it was never a blazing fire but rather a fire drill. I already know he expects me to anticipate his texts and calls and be available within four rings or one ding. But I also know that isn’t how I move. I don’t have to remind myself that I’m no one’s puppet or puppy who responds to prompts like four question marks like finger snaps. I’m never again living and working at the mercy of anyone else. I left my job for bigger and better, freedom and peace, not lower and lesser, restriction and unease. 

I’m no longer sacrificing my work, my creativity, my talent, my own business endeavors, my dignity for random gigs that don't even propel my career forward or buy me a two for $25 plus tax and gratuity. This ain’t it. Unless I’m going to collaborate on something that resonates with me or feels purposeful and generates an invoice that includes at least a comma in it, I’m officially closed to clients. 

Years later a huge part of me wants to tell all of ‘em, “Y’all got me all the way fucked up.” But, it’s all past tense now and for the most part, I’m always gonna keep it classy.

“I’m actually working on my own projects now,” I texted back.

*Two taglines, actually. I came up with one for each website.

**One thing I can’t stand is to look at side-by-side photos or grids and galleries with varying sized pictures. I wouldn’t purchase anything from a site that didn’t look clean or polished. But it’s not my personal preference that matters here. That shit really does look crazy and uncredible.

***One of the websites was for company information purposes. She wasn’t selling a damn thing. The second website was for promotional purposes of her annual event but she’d planned to continue to sell tickets via Eventbrite. Although I threw the idea of a PayPal integration out there, I quickly walked that back because I didn’t want the added hassle. Plus I didn’t want to have to login and thus have access to that account because I didn’t trust her behavior at that point. Next thing I’d know, I’d be accused of stealing money.

****I didn’t have to resort to digital repossession and vandalism. The last time I checked, she removed my custom images but it left her website looking like something someone threw together, not a cause a donor would want to support. And the funny part? In 2025, that new logo still isn’t reflected anywhere on the website.

*****I did accept two more website clients—outside of the aforementioned circle, of course—after the fiascoes. Both paid full price and both requested reasonable changes as I built their sites, wrote their content and, for one of them, wrote product descriptions and created cute little business cards, too. And, yep, that site had a shopping cart. Clients five and six were professional, respectful and pleasant.