We know it happens, but when it hits, it still feels like a personal betrayal. The human brain is wired to feel losses more intensely than gains—a little quirk called loss aversion that makes setbacks feel like the end of the world, even when they’re just temporary data points.
So I did something unconventional—I took my biggest loss and turned it into a mathematical problem.
How much did I really lose? Not just in dollars, but in time, mental health, and future opportunity. And more importantly, how long would it take to get me back to "baseline"—the state I was in before this loss occurred?
The Reality of Losing
One minute, I had a stable paycheck. The next, I didn’t.
Throw in legal fees, an existential crisis, and a brief loss of freedom, and you’ve got yourself a story. But instead of letting the weight of it crush me, I wanted to quantify it. Because if I could measure the loss, I could also measure the way back.
The Psychology of Loss
Humans hate losing. In fact, psychological studies show that we feel the pain of a loss twice as strongly as we feel the joy of an equivalent gain.
That means even if I made all my money back tomorrow, it wouldn’t automatically cancel out the gut punch of losing it in the first place. But I wanted to test this theory on myself.
If loss is disproportionately painful, what happens when you measure it?
If you break it down into numbers instead of feelings, does it start to feel… fixable?
So I did what any completely normal person would do when staring into the abyss—I ran the numbers on my own downfall.
If you break it down into numbers instead of feelings, does it start to feel… fixable?
So I did what any completely normal person would do when staring into the abyss—I ran the numbers on my own downfall.
The Breakdown: What I Actually Lost
Here’s how it stacked up:
ᐧ Income lost: $31,250 (thanks to five months of unemployment).
ᐧ Legal fees & penalties: $7,000.
ᐧ Total financial hit: $38,250.
But that’s just money. The real loss? The psychological cost.
How do you quantify losing peace of mind? Or the weight of waking up every day feeling like you have no control over what happens next?
I needed a way to measure that, so I applied a psychological distress multiplier—based on studies showing how major life stressors impact productivity, happiness, and long-term resilience.
The result? A total weighted loss of $114,750 when factoring in the emotional cost.
Three times the actual financial hit.
Loss aversion wasn’t just an abstract theory, it was happening in real time.
Here’s how it stacked up:
ᐧ Income lost: $31,250 (thanks to five months of unemployment).
ᐧ Legal fees & penalties: $7,000.
ᐧ Total financial hit: $38,250.
But that’s just money. The real loss? The psychological cost.
How do you quantify losing peace of mind? Or the weight of waking up every day feeling like you have no control over what happens next?
I needed a way to measure that, so I applied a psychological distress multiplier—based on studies showing how major life stressors impact productivity, happiness, and long-term resilience.
The result? A total weighted loss of $114,750 when factoring in the emotional cost.
Three times the actual financial hit.
Loss aversion wasn’t just an abstract theory, it was happening in real time.
The Recovery Equation
Okay, so if the pain of loss is exaggerated, then the recovery must be undervalued, right?
I tested different paths forward.
If I landed a job paying twice my old salary ($150K/year), I’d make back the financial loss in under a year—but would it feel like a win?
If I landed a job paying three times my salary ($225K/year), would that cancel out the emotional damage?
Turns out, no.
Loss aversion says that money alone wouldn’t erase the wound.
The job itself had to do more, it had to restore autonomy.
Because if loss is really about losing control, then true recovery isn’t just about making the money back.
It’s about choosing a role, an environment, and a direction that puts me back in the driver’s seat.
Otherwise, it’s just a high-paying band-aid.
Because if loss is really about losing control, then true recovery isn’t just about making the money back.
It’s about choosing a role, an environment, and a direction that puts me back in the driver’s seat.
Otherwise, it’s just a high-paying band-aid.
Revisiting the Variables
Instead of asking "What salary do I want?", the real question is:
🐞 How much do I need to earn (and for how long) to fully recover from the loss?
🐝 What job level makes that a reality in the shortest possible time?
Breaking Down Recovery Time by Salary Tiers
Salary Level Annual Income Gain ($) Time to Recover (Years)
Salary Level Annual Income Gain ($) Time to Recover (Years)
$112K (1.5x salary) $37,500 3.1 years
$150K (2x salary) $75,000 1.5 years
$225K (3x salary) $150,000 Under 1 year
So, objectively:
A $150K job gets me back to baseline in about 1.5 years.
A $225K job neutralizes the loss in under a year.
The Bottom Line: It’s Just Math.
If a higher-paying role matches my skills and gets me back to a stable mental & financial state faster, it’s simply the most efficient choice.
Because at the end of the day, loss isn't just about what’s taken from you.
It’s about what you choose to take back.
But then again…
Can you really lose something you never had to begin with?
$150K (2x salary) $75,000 1.5 years
$225K (3x salary) $150,000 Under 1 year
So, objectively:
A $150K job gets me back to baseline in about 1.5 years.
A $225K job neutralizes the loss in under a year.
The Bottom Line: It’s Just Math.
If a higher-paying role matches my skills and gets me back to a stable mental & financial state faster, it’s simply the most efficient choice.
Because at the end of the day, loss isn't just about what’s taken from you.
It’s about what you choose to take back.
But then again…
Can you really lose something you never had to begin with?