Wall Street is notoriously a tough place to be pregnant.  For me, it was a tough place to be on maternity leave.  Bonuses were decided while I was birthing, nursing, and recovering from my first child.  And I ran head on into one of the greatest disappointments and opportunities of my career.

For months leading up to my maternity leave, I pulled long, grueling hours.  So much so that my doctor issued stern warnings about the effects of stress and fatigue on my pregnancy.  But I wanted to earn my maternity leave, guarantee myself a solid bonus, and dismiss management’s fears that I would lose my drive or not return to work.  I went on maternity leave in December, having received stellar performance reviews and clear guidance from my boss and human resources that my bonus would be at the high end of a certain range.  (My firm surprised me on pay once before.)  In the middle of my maternity leave, my boss gave me my compensation numbers over lunch.  To get the jist, just know that her first words to me were “I’m sorry.”  Despite my having received excellent reviews and our group having blown the socks off our budgeted revenue, I was being paid not one dollar more than the BOTTOM of the range.

I remember that day at the little French bistro, sitting across from my boss as she pulled out the piece of paper with my numbers on it.  I had prepared myself for something below what I thought I was worth and below what I could get at a direct competitor not to mention a more lucrative firm.  I also knew that, whatever the number, I was still getting paid more than 99% of the rest of the world.  But on Wall Street, what matters is the market.  And when I saw the number and heard my boss’s apologies, I knew my firm was no longer credible.  To this day, I don’t know why I got underpaid.  Was it because I was a new mother?  Was it because my firm was being ‘penny wise and pound foolish’?  Were my expectations mismanaged?  Was it simply a random outcome to which no meaning should be assigned?   I’ll provide just a little conjecture (without assigning or assuming liability, of course).

I worked in a large, conservative firm led by a less than visionary management team that was almost completely male (and white) with less than progressive sensibilities.  In recent years, there had been an exodus of highly talented professionals, many of whom were women who may have felt the firm had been unfair.  I had not had any problems to date, but it’s not difficult to imagine that a new mom like me might not get a fair shake. I decided to hang on because the actual work product of the firm was stimulating and the financial compensation adequate.

Part of my desire to stay with the firm was a belief in meritocracy and the idea that my contributions were valued.  If I was honest with my manager about my objective to return after maternity leave, and if I worked hard enough and performed high enough to prove it beforehand, I would not hit the maternal wall.  Certainly, I was slightly ambivalent about how everything would play out once my daughter was born.  In my experience, management seemed to value face time (and upward ego management), over and above talent, ingenuity, or excellence.  With tele-commuting and flexible work-weeks taboo, pursuing coveted flexibility in my job would be unlikely and that concerned me as a new mom, particularly if I wasn’t really getting paid at market.  But the firm could have been a great place to a build a long-term, relatively relaxed and stimulating career if I could accept the boys club mentality.  When I embarked on my maternity leave, I thought I could.  The tradeoffs seemed worth it.

The minute I got my number from my boss, the value proposition was no longer there.   A quiet, deep disappointment filled me, even though a part of me was delighted that the firm had made my decision easy.  I knew I had to quit.  Of course, I couldn’t resign immediately – I needed to return to the firm after my maternity leave to collect the bonus I earned the previous year (yes, they held my bonus hostage).  But not one minute after I collected my bonus I was going to quit, and I did.

Leaving my firm was the best career decision I have made.  First, I took a risk.  While I had hedged my bets and interviewed at other more flexible and lucrative places, I didn’t yet know exactly how my new job would unfold.  I had accepted a position that would provide me great stimulation and satisfaction, but the details were still coming together when I quit.  Consequently, quitting was more about leaving the firm than about going somewhere else.  And no matter which explanation of why I got underpaid is “true,” I quit the firm because I no longer respected or trusted senior management to be a partner to my career. 

Second, I stood up for myself.  When I announced my resignation, I explained professionally that my decision stemmed first and foremost from the firm’s decision to underpay and second from the interesting opportunity I’d found.  The tradeoffs at the firm no longer made sense to me, particularly given my suspicion that my being underpaid was a systemic issue. (The person the firm hired after I left was (a) junior and less-qualified, (b) a single man without children, and (c) paid more than me by a substantial margin.)  In a delicious twist of justice, the firm needed me to close several deals, so I had them over a barrel.  I didn’t shy from using my leverage to negotiate a better exit contract, but I did so fairly – I worked hard and with integrity to close my deals for the firm (and I did so working flextime!).  I cannot say I got every dollar back they’d failed to pay me at year end, but I did get a few back.  And I proved that flex-time can work for professionals.  Standing up for myself felt good.

Third, I decided to make my own opportunities.  I knew what I was worth, by market standards as well as my own, and I relished my ability to live that truth.  I took my career into my own hands and made of it what I could.  Yes, I pulled the short end of the stick at bonus time, but I had the last laugh.  I got a few dollars and more experience walking out the door, I got the privilege of saying my peace, and I ended up in a better professional situation.  Without the short sightedness of my firm, I might still be there, languishing in what was for me a less than stellar work environment.  What’s especially ironic is that, in leaving my firm, I made more money, worked more family-friendly hours, and was more challenged and satisfied!  I also worked with managers I respect and trust. It’s not that my new situation ended up being perfect; it just ended up being a better match.

In sum, we as women have a choice when confronted with professional disappointments of suspicious origin:  we can be victims, or we can choose to make a better life for ourselves.  I choose a better life.  Certainly, there’s a role for formally fighting discrimination – and I applaud the women who do so when merited.  But I think women’s greatest power comes from repeated and ingenious triumphs in the face of others' misjudgments and miscalculations.  I left a firm that failed to deliver on its promise, and joined one that could.  It now has the benefit of my talent and loyalty.  If we all continue to make such choices, and handle ourselves well in the process, then the natural laws of economics shall prevail.  Demand for employers who support the advancement of women will finally be matched by supply.