The Proposal That Taught Me My Worth

Early this month at the FIERCE Leadership Summit, I listened to accomplished leaders share their battles with imposter syndrome. Their honesty was striking - these were people at the top of their game, still questioning whether they belonged there.

Their vulnerability inspired me to share a lesson I learned the hard way. It's a story about intellectual property, self-worth, and the invisible baggage we carry from our past professional lives into new ventures. If my mistake can help even one woman avoid the same pitfall, it's worth telling.

Here's what happened when I gave away my expertise for free—and what I wish I'd known before I walked into that first conversation.

For years, I worked with various non-profits - I developed programs, created frameworks, designed interventions—all valuable work, but none of it was ever "mine." Intellectual property belonged to the organization. That mindset became so ingrained that I didn't even realize I was carrying it into my new venture.

When a potential client who was familiar with my work reached out, asking if I could "help" them develop a concept for a series of facilitated sessions. I said yes immediately. I was excited. I was honored. And I was generous to a fault. I didn't send them my approach and methodology. I didn't outline my qualifications and share case studies - they knew me. I provided them with a comprehensive proposal, including detailed session designs, an implementation timeline, and complete financial details. I called it a gift.

Then they requested multiple meetings to refine my ideas - adding details, making changes, and getting clarification. The back-and-forth felt collaborative and promising. We refined the concept together. They prepared for a board presentation, and I was thinking it was the natural progression toward a partnership, while keeping my schedule open.

Then came the message: "We're moving forward with the concept, but we've decided to go with a different consultancy."

The reason? Something transparent from our very first conversation - a fact that was known before we'd invested all this time. Then the questions came, fast and relentless.

Am I good enough? Am I worthy of this work? Should I stay silent and gracious, or tell them how this feels? What did I do wrong?

Imposter syndrome didn't just knock on my door - it walked right in, sat down, and started making itself comfortable. For a moment, a real moment, I considered giving up. But here's what I finally realized, sitting with disappointment.

They didn't undervalue me. I undervalued myself from the very beginning.

I had handed them the roadmap, so they didn't need me for the journey.

I had confused - helping them - with working for free. I had brought my nonprofit conditioning into a for-profit context without questioning whether that served me - or even served them.

The coastal iris that inspired my brand doesn't bloom despite the harsh Newfoundland weather. It blooms because it's rooted in its own worth, regardless of the conditions around it. I needed to learn the same lesson.

So what would I tell other new entrepreneurs, especially women transitioning from backgrounds where their work belonged to someone else? Here's what I hope helps you avoid learning this lesson the expensive way.

Your value exists before the proposal, not after.

Your expertise, your strategic thinking, your years of experience - these have worth before anyone says yes. A discovery call is not a working session. "Help" in a business context should mean paid consultation, not free labor.

Know the difference between a pitch and a gift.

A pitch shows your high-level approach, your methodology, and why you're uniquely qualified. A gift is a detailed implementation plan someone can execute without you. I gave a gift when I should have given a pitch.

Intellectual property is yours - claim it.

In nonprofits, I learned to see my ideas as communal property. But in consulting, your frameworks and approaches ARE your product. Protect them accordingly. Value them appropriately.

Before you share detailed concepts, frameworks, or implementation plans:

• Consider having clients sign a simple NDA for substantive discovery work

• Clearly state in writing what's being shared as "sample methodology" versus a full proposal

• If they want detailed solutions before engagement, remember that it IS the engagement and should be compensated accordingly

• Document your frameworks and approaches - even informally - so you have a record of your intellectual property

• Remember that in consulting, your ideas aren't just nice-to-haves. They're your inventory.

I'm not a lawyer, and I encourage you to seek proper legal advice for your specific situation. But I can tell you this - protecting your IP isn't about being distrustful - it's about being professional.

Imposter syndrome lies, but it reveals truth.

The lie it told me: "You're not good enough." The truth it revealed: "You didn't claim your worth from the start."

The imposter syndrome wasn't about their rejection - it was about my own failure to establish boundaries that honored my self-worth.

Your response matters more than their action.

You get to decide how to move forward. You can acknowledge how it made you feel - to them or just to yourself. You can set different boundaries next time. But you don't abandon your dream because of one painful lesson. Resilience isn't about avoiding storms; it's about how you stand afterward.

The questions I now ask myself are a little different:

• Where else am I giving away my expertise under the guise of "helping"?

• What boundaries do I need to establish before the next conversation begins?

• How would I advise my best friend in this situation—and why am I not giving myself that same wisdom?

If you're a woman building something of your own, especially if you're coming from a background where your work belonged to someone else, I want you to know: Your worth isn't up for negotiation. It's not determined by who says yes or who walks away with your ideas.

Know your value before you walk into the room. Set boundaries that honor your expertise. And remember - the coastal iris doesn't ask the wind for permission to bloom. Neither should we.