The first time I sent someone an invoice for editing work, I stared at the number for a long time before hitting send.
It wasn’t a huge amount, but it was my first paid project after years of helping people for free.
It felt enormous. It felt like I was asking for something I didn’t deserve.
What if they thought I was overcharging?
What if they said no?
What if they realized I wasn’t worth it?
They paid—with no hesitation, no questions asked.
I sat there, realizing how strange it was that getting paid fairly felt so uncomfortable.
The training we don’t talk about
Academia trains you to work for free.
Not explicitly, of course. Nobody says, “Your labor has no value,” but that’s the message that seeps in.
You review papers for journals without pay, mentor students outside office hours, attend countless events to promote your department and program, and write grants that benefit the department more than you.
All this “free” work is simply expected. And after years of that, you start to believe that your work isn’t the kind of work people pay for.
Why academics don’t charge
We’ve been socialized into a gift economy. You help me, I help you. We all contribute to the collective good, and nobody keeps score.
It sounds generous—and often is—but it also means you spend years giving away your expertise without ever learning to value it.
Then, when you try to start a freelance editing or coaching business, you freeze because charging means admitting your work has monetary value.
And everything in your training has taught you that attaching a price to intellectual labor is somehow crass or mercenary.
What happened when I started charging
I’d been editing informally for years—friends’ articles, colleagues’ chapters, students’ job materials.
Sometimes they’d buy me coffee. Sometimes they’d just say thank you.
Charging felt wrong, like I was turning generosity into a transaction.
But when I left academia and needed income, I didn’t have a choice.
The first time I quoted a price, I immediately made excuses for it.
“I know this might be a lot…”
“If this doesn’t work for your budget, we can figure something out…”
I was giving them every possible way out because I still felt guilty asking to be paid for something I’d always done for free.
What finally changed for me
While I searched for editing agencies and presses that paid better rates (spoiler alert: they don’t exist), I kept seeing posts from other editors talking about how they worked with private clients. I kept telling myself that I could never figure out how to attract clients on my own.
But one day, I decided to give it a try. I asked to be added to university lists of editors. I started learning about marketing and copy writing. And I spruced up my website for SEO (search engine optimization), including starting a blog.It worked. I started getting inquiries and clients. With my very first client, I earned double the per-word rate I had been making at editing agencies. I was in shock. Thrilled, but in shock.
What I tell my students now
When people join my program, Becoming an Academic Editor, one of the first questions they ask is “What should I charge?”
I give them ranges based on current market standards for academic editing and coaching.
But I also tell them: the exact number doesn’t fix the real issue. The real work is about unlearning the belief that your labor is only worth a thank-you email. That takes time and getting uncomfortable.
The shift you have to make
Here’s a mindset shift that will change everything for you: You’re not charging for the hours it takes to make edits to a document.
You’re charging for the insight experience that let you see what needs fixing—the years of research, writing, and mentoring that sharpened your skills.
That has real, measurable value that clients will pay for.
But only if you stop apologizing for asking.
Ready to start getting paid for your academic training and skills?
My free workbook, Map Your Academic Business, walks you through how to develop your business niche and land your first clients, without apologizing for it.