I Quit My 9-5 Job With Only $130 in Savings. Here's What Happened (Part 1)

This is the raw, unfiltered story of how a talented software engineer’s $130 monthly salary became the wake-up call that changed everything. It’s about the moment when survival instinct meets self-respect, when desperation transforms into determination, and when a young developer realizes that sometimes the biggest risk isn’t jumping into the unknown, it’s staying where you’re undervalued.

What started as a “stepping stone” job became a prison of low expectations and crushing demands. But sometimes, it takes hitting rock bottom to discover what you’re truly capable of. This is that story, a journey from acceptance to awakening, from $130 monthly paychecks to betting everything on a dream that seemed impossible to everyone else.

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If you’ve ever felt trapped in a job that doesn’t value your worth, if you’ve ever wondered whether you have what it takes to make it on your own, or if you’re curious about what happens when someone with nothing left to lose decides to risk it all—this story is for you.

The Beginning: Dreams vs. Reality

I’m a software engineer with a passion for building digital solutions. My expertise spans TypeScript, JavaScript, HTML, CSS, and various modern web development utilities. Like many developers starting their careers, I believed that any opportunity was better than no opportunity.

That mindset led me to accept a position at a startup with a monthly salary of $130.

Yes, you read that right. One hundred and thirty dollars.

Why I Said Yes to $130

When the offer came through a hastily scheduled video call, I stared at the number on my screen: $120 monthly salary. My heart sank for a moment, but then something else kicked in hope.

I didn’t see the low pay as an insult, I saw it as an investment in my future. This wasn’t just about the money; it was about transformation. Here I was, a developer with skills in TypeScript, JavaScript, HTML, CSS, and modern web utilities, but lacking that crucial element every employer seemed to demand: professional experience.

The startup world had always fascinated me. I’d read countless stories of developers who started at small companies and grew alongside them, eventually becoming senior engineers, team leads, or even co-founders. This felt like my ticket into that world.

“This is my entry point,” I told myself. “My chance to prove what I can do in a real-world environment.”

The hiring manager spoke about growth opportunities, about how they valued talent over credentials, about how the right person could make a real impact. Every word felt like validation of a decision I had already made in my heart.

I convinced myself that growth was inevitable. The money would come later, right? After all, once they saw what I could deliver, once I proved my worth through results rather than resumes, the compensation would naturally follow.

Looking back, I realize I was operating from a place of scarcity, so grateful for any opportunity that I didn’t stop to question whether the opportunity was grateful for me.

When Dreams Meet Reality

The first few weeks felt like a honeymoon period. I was finally a professional developer! Every morning, I woke up excited to tackle new challenges, to write cleaner code, to solve problems that real users would interact with.

For months, I threw myself into the work with the enthusiasm of someone proving themselves. I stayed late learning new technologies that weren’t even in my job description. React hooks, advanced TypeScript patterns, CSS Grid, Flexbox I devoured everything that could make me more valuable to the team.

I solved complex API integration problems that had been lingering for weeks. I refactored legacy code that other developers had avoided. I took on responsibilities that far exceeded my job description, from frontend development to database optimization, from bug fixing to feature planning.

The startup environment meant wearing multiple hats, and I wore them proudly. One day I was a frontend developer, the next I was debugging server issues, and by Friday I might be designing user interfaces. I told myself this was accelerated learning—the kind of experience you couldn’t get at a large corporation.

But as time passed, something shifted in the atmosphere.

The company’s vision began to change almost monthly. New responsibilities kept piling on my desk like papers in an overwhelmed office, but my compensation remained frozen at that initial $130. What started as “temporary startup constraints” began to feel permanent.

I found myself working longer hours, handling increasingly critical tasks, bearing more responsibility for the product’s success, yet earning what many people spend on a single dinner date. The mathematical reality became impossible to ignore: I was generating thousands of dollars of value while being paid what amounted to pocket change.

The worst part wasn’t just the low pay, it was watching my skills and contributions be taken for granted. Every solution I provided, every late night I invested, every extra responsibility I shouldered became the new normal, not a stepping stone to better compensation.

I began to realize that “growth” and “experience” had become euphemisms for exploitation.

The Breaking Point

Everything changed on a Tuesday afternoon that I’ll never forget.

I was working in the co-working space we used as our office when it happened. The company laptop, my primary work machine loaded with months of code, client projects, and sensitive company data was stolen right from under our noses.

It happened so fast. One moment I was in a team meeting, the laptop on the desk beside me, and the next moment it was gone. The thief had walked in casually, probably posing as another freelancer using the space, and made off with company property worth several months of my salary.

The weight of that incident crushed my confidence in ways I didn’t expect. Suddenly, I wasn’t just an underpaid developer, I was an underpaid developer who had been present during a security incident. The guilt was overwhelming, even though logically I knew I wasn’t responsible for someone else’s criminal behavior.

But here’s what really broke me: How could I approach my boss about a salary increase when company property had been lost under my watch? The timing felt impossible, even though the theft wasn’t my fault. I felt like I had lost any leverage I might have had in future compensation discussions.

The laptop situation became a symbol of everything wrong with my position. Here I was, so dedicated to helping the company succeed that I had even given my personal laptop to a colleague to help with project work. Now I was left without proper equipment while carrying the emotional burden of the stolen company device.

I found myself working on borrowed laptops, using my phone for certain tasks, constantly reminded of that day when everything went wrong. The incident became a cloud hanging over every interaction with my boss, every project deadline, every moment when I might have spoken up for myself.

In hindsight, I realize the laptop theft wasn’t really the problem, it was the excuse I gave myself to stay silent about my worth.

The 24/7 Expectation

If the laptop incident damaged my confidence, my boss’s escalating demands nearly destroyed my sense of self-worth.

His expectations became increasingly unreasonable, crossing every boundary between professional responsibility and personal exploitation. He expected me to work around the clock literally 24/7. Not just during crunch periods or important launches, but as a standard operating procedure.

Weekend coding sessions became mandatory, not optional. Evening calls stretched past midnight. Morning messages started arriving before dawn. “The startup life,” he called it, as if grinding employees into exhaustion was a badge of honor rather than a management failure.

As a young professional trying to build my future, I needed time for more than just this one job. I had online courses I wanted to take, side projects that could diversify my skills, networking events that might open doors, and yes—I needed time to explore additional income streams because $130 wasn’t covering my basic living expenses.

But there was no room for personal growth in his vision of success.

When I tried to balance my responsibilities with personal development, taking an hour here or there for a webinar, spending Sunday morning on a tutorial instead of company work, conflicts arose immediately. I was labeled as “not committed enough” or “lacking the startup mindset.”

The irony was maddening. He wanted me to be fully dedicated to a company that was paying me less than minimum wage, while simultaneously expecting me to somehow survive on that amount without seeking other opportunities.

The tension reached a breaking point during a particularly exhausting week when I had worked six consecutive 14-hour days. I had mentioned needing Sunday morning for a professional development workshop, and his response was swift and harsh:

“Keep working like this, and we’ll see at the end of the month if you’re staying.”

The ultimatum hit me like a slap. Here I was, pouring my life into this company, and my reward was a threat? The message was clear: conform to impossible expectations or face termination.

The Moment of Clarity

Sitting alone that night, a powerful realization hit me like lightning:

“What I’m doing for $130, other developers are doing for thousands.”

The same skills I was applying, the same problems I was solving, the same value I was creating other professionals were being compensated fairly for this work. Why was I settling for scraps?

I started asking myself hard questions:

If other developers can work independently and serve high-paying clients, why can’t I?
Why am I allowing someone to diminish my worth?
When did I stop believing in my own abilities?

The “Think Outside the Box” Paradox

The final straw came during a particularly frustrating team meeting that I replay in my mind whenever I need motivation to never settle again.

We were discussing a feature implementation that I had spent weeks researching and planning. I had created detailed technical specifications, considered multiple approaches, and even built a small prototype to demonstrate feasibility. I was proud of the work and excited to present my solution.

But before I could finish explaining my approach, my boss interrupted with criticism that would haunt me for months: “You need to think outside the box. This solution is too conventional.”

The words stung, but what came next was even more crushing. When I asked him to define what “thinking outside the box” meant in the context of our project, a reasonable question for any developer trying to understand requirements, his explanation made absolutely no sense.

He rambled about “innovative disruption” and “paradigm shifts” without offering a single concrete suggestion. It became clear that “think outside the box” was just corporate jargon meant to dismiss my work without providing constructive feedback.

Here’s the irony that took me weeks to fully understand: How can someone think outside the box when they’re never given the freedom to contribute ideas in the first place?

My boss had the first and final say on every technical decision, every design choice, every implementation detail. There was no room for creativity, innovation, or independent thinking because any deviation from his vision, no matter how well-reasoned was shot down immediately.

I had tried multiple times to suggest alternative approaches, more efficient algorithms, better user experience patterns. Each time, I was told to stick to the plan. But then when I did exactly that, I was criticized for not being innovative enough.

The “box” they wanted me to think outside of was actually the box they had trapped me in—a box where my technical expertise was simultaneously essential and unwelcome, where my solutions were both desperately needed and constantly criticized.

That meeting crystallized something important: I wasn’t failing to meet their standards. Their standards were designed to be unmeetable, creating a perpetual state of inadequacy that justified continued undervaluation.

It was a classic manipulation tactic, and I had fallen for it completely.

The Decision That Changed Everything

I realized I had two choices:

Stay, continue being undervalued, and watch my confidence erode
Leave, take control of my career, and bet on myself

The decision became clear. I trusted my abilities, my skills, and my potential in the market. If I could create value for a startup paying me $130, imagine what I could accomplish working directly with clients who understood my worth.

Packing My Bags

Before the month-end evaluation that would supposedly determine my fate, I had already made up my mind. Nothing, not fear, not uncertainty, not well-meaning advice from family and friends was going to stop me from leaving.

The decision felt both impulsive and inevitable. Impulsive because I was walking away from guaranteed income (however meager) without another job lined up. Inevitable because every fiber of my being knew I couldn’t survive another month in that toxic environment.

I started packing my few personal belongings from the workspace: a coffee mug, some notebooks filled with code snippets and ideas, a small plant that had somehow thrived despite the hostile environment. Each item I packed felt symbolic—I wasn’t just leaving a job, I was reclaiming my professional identity.

The irony of my situation wasn’t lost on me: I didn’t even have a laptop to work with initially. The company laptop was gone, stolen weeks earlier, and I had given my personal laptop to a colleague to help with project work. Here I was, a software engineer about to strike out on my own, without the basic tool of my trade.

But somehow, that felt symbolic rather than limiting. I was starting fresh, with nothing but my skills, my determination, and a burning desire to prove that I was worth more than $130 a month.

The lack of equipment forced me to confront an important question: What was I really taking with me? Not laptops or office chairs or company email addresses. I was taking years of problem-solving experience, countless hours of learning and growth, a portfolio of successful projects, and most importantly, the hard-won knowledge of what I would never accept again.

I realized that everything I truly needed to succeed my technical knowledge, my problem-solving abilities, my work ethic, my creativity couldn’t be stolen or taken away. These assets were mine, developed through my own effort and investment.

As I walked out of that workspace for the final time, carrying my small box of belongings, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in months: excitement about my professional future.

The Aftermath

After I left and sent my resignation message, my former boss claimed his harsh words were just meant to “trigger me to put more effort.”

But that response only confirmed I had made the right choice. How can anyone work 24/7 without time to sleep, eat, rest, or exercise? How can a human being be expected to function as a machine?

His explanation felt like damage control, not genuine leadership.

Looking Forward

This experience taught me valuable lessons about self-worth, professional boundaries, and the difference between growth opportunities and exploitation.

I don’t share this story to create negativity or burn bridges. Every experience, even difficult ones, shapes who we become. But I also won’t pretend that accepting undervaluation is noble or necessary.

The truth is, working for others isn’t inherently bad, but working for someone who doesn’t respect your worth, your time, or your humanity is a mistake I won’t make again.

I Quit My 9-5 Job With Only $130 in Savings. Here’s What Happened (Part 1)