The Invisible Labor Tax of Ambition

I almost didn’t write this.

Or I wrote it, but I almost didn’t publish it.

Some part of me still whispers: Be quiet. Be patient. Wait your turn.

But that’s the exact reason I am publishing this. Because waiting until you’ve “earned” the right to speak is just another version of the invisible labor tax.

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There’s a tax no one warns you about when you’re a young creative.

It’s not a line item or a percentage of your paycheck. It doesn’t show up on paper at all.

But you pay it.

You pay it every time you show up to a “collaborative” call with no contract in place.

Every time you spend nights and weekends shaping a proposal that promises to be huge–if it lands.

Every time someone says, “Let’s build something together,” but doesn’t offer to pay you for your time.

It’s called the invisible labor tax.

And the currency they collect is your ambition.

You pay it every time someone dangles an opportunity just out of reach– if the project moves forward, if the proposal gets approved, if the client signs.

You pay it every time you show up to the early calls, shape the pitch deck, throw your best ideas into the room because you believe in the potential of the work, in the people involved, in the project’s possibility.

You tell yourself it’s worth it. That this is how it works. That if you show up hungry enough, helpful enough, even grateful enough, eventually you’ll be brought to the table.

But the thing they never tell you is this: you are the table.

You’re the energy, the ideas, the scaffolding that holds up the early stages of the work.

You are the process.

Ambition as Currency

Here’s how the cycle goes:

1. Someone with power reaches out. A name you recognize. A project that feels big. You’re flattered to be included, even loosely.

2. The details are vague. “We’ll figure it out later.” “Let’s get the proposal in first.” “Trust the process.”

3. You show up with your best thinking, your time, your weekends, your excitement.

4. You ask about your role, about compensation. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

5. You cross the bridge. They pull it up behind them.

They got what they needed. You paid the tax.

Why It Happens

The creative industries thrive on this kind of unspoken economy. They’re built on access and networks–who you know, who you can call in, who you can lean on when there’s no budget yet, but might be later.

They know there’s a steady supply of ambitious young creatives who will say yes to the possibility of being part of something bigger. Who will work for exposure, visibility, the chance to build with the right people.

Because that’s how we’re conditioned: Be grateful for the opportunity. Be patient with the process. Don’t ask too many questions, or you might lose the chance altogether.

But here’s the truth: If they weren’t planning to pay you, it will always feel too soon to talk about money.

The Emotional Toll

The worst part isn’t the unpaid work. It’s the self-doubt that creeps in afterward.

You ask yourself: Was I naïve? Did I ruin it by asking too soon? Was I difficult?

You replay the moments when you knew you should’ve pushed harder for clarity, but didn’t want to seem ungrateful. You feel the anger, but it turns inward. You start to distrust yourself.

Not just them–but your own instincts.

That’s the real tax.

It’s not just labor–it’s emotional erosion.

The Moment It Shifts

But then it happens. You hit the wall hard enough to leave a mark. You send the email asking for what you’re owed, and watch the tone shift.

The once-warm collaborators turn cold. Suddenly, you’re the problem. Suddenly, it’s you who misunderstood. Now you’re being greedy and impatient.

That’s when you realize: You don’t have to pay the invisible labor tax anymore. You’re the one making the work real. The people telling you to “trust the process” were just trusting you to work for free.

A New Way Forward

But let me be clear: This is not a cautionary tale about losing faith in the work or the people.

I still believe in building great things with others. I still believe in showing up with excitement and thoughtful ideas.

But I don’t believe in working for free anymore.

I don’t believe in “opportunities” that don’t value my time.

And I definitely don’t believe in trusting the process, unless the process trusts me back.

I’ve stopped paying the tax. And I won’t ask anyone else to pay it either. I think about this now with my own collaborators: the young people I work with, the ones just starting out, full of ideas and energy.

I make sure the bridge is there before they cross it. I name the numbers. I set the expectations. Because I know what it feels like to be left waiting on the other side.

Trusting the process only works when the process values the people who make it possible.