The company can be in the green while Jane Cooper, sole proprietor, is in the grocery aisle doing mental calculus over which greens are on sale.
Five years ago, at twenty-one, I convinced a bank I was credible enough for a small business loan. It bridged the gap between “receivables” and “reality.”
There was a market for my services. The contracts were small enough that most clients didn’t ghost me like a bad Tinder date.
I hustled for every account. Made the rookie mistake of not vetting all of them. A few turned into bad debts with excellent excuses and zero wire transfers.
Lesson learned.
I stopped chasing revenue and started protecting cash flow.
Deposits upfront.
Milestone payments instead of hopeful invoices.
Smaller, faster jobs threaded between long hauls so my cash cycle wasn’t based on vibes and good intentions.
And honestly? The business behaves like a model citizen.
It pays office rent on time.
Covers software subscriptions without blinking.
The loan payment leaves on the first of every month—automatic, disciplined, undramatic.
The principal shrinks a little more each quarter.
Taxes filed like a responsible citizen with a functioning frontal lobe.
Vendors kept happy.
From the outside, Jane of All Services looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Then I pay myself.
That’s when the math stops being math and starts being… choreography.
On paper, my salary looks perfectly reasonable.
In real life, it has to stretch across:
An apartment I’m always five days late on.
Grace’s tuition.Grace’s textbooks.
Groceries. Healthcare. Insurance. Taxes.
And the five-month-old ceiling leak that’s been dripping into a bucket since October like a slow, sarcastic applause track.
So I get creative. I buy time in inches.
Tuition goes on the school’s installment plan.
I call the insurance company twice a year to “review coverage,” which is code for please lower something.
Grace supplements her campus meal plan. I supplement what the meal plan pretends is nutrition. We meal-plan like two generals mapping a battlefield.
Rice stretches. Chicken rotates. Soup becomes three meals if you season it with conviction.
