How to Identify Your Core Values When Making Career Decisions (A Framework)

“I need more work.”

I’ve been saying this for months. More clients. More income. More professional validation.

Then the NDIS pricing changes hit. Twenty percent pay cut across the board for music and art therapists. My income, slashed overnight by bureaucratic decree.

My immediate reaction? Panic. Then action mode: “I need to find more clients to make up the difference. I need to work more hours. I need to rebuild what I’ve lost.”

But when I sat down to actually plan what “more work” would look like, something unexpected happened.

I froze.

Because suddenly I was facing what “more work” actually meant: no more midday gym sessions. No more spontaneous beach dips. No more flexibility to see family when they need me.

All the things that make my current life liveable—gone.

That’s when I realised: I didn’t actually want more work. I wanted the financial security I had before the cuts, without losing the freedom that made self-employment worth it in the first place.

Be careful what you think you want.

The gap between what you say and what you mean

We throw around statements like “I need more money” or “I need to be more productive” or “I should be further along” without interrogating what we actually mean.

What I was really saying when I said “I need more work” was:

“I’m anxious about financial security.”

“I feel guilty for not being busier.”

“I compare myself to friends with stable jobs and feel inadequate.”

None of those translate to genuinely wanting a packed schedule.

But I didn’t realise that until I was confronted with the actual trade-offs.

Here’s what midday freedom actually gives me:

I can train at the park at 11am when it’s empty. No kids. No rushing. Just me and the bars.

I can walk to the beach on a Tuesday afternoon because the weather’s perfect. Forty minutes in the sun and the water. Mental reset. Back to work refreshed.

I can show up when my parents need help. No requesting leave. No explaining to a manager why family matters.

I can attend a friend’s midday birthday lunch without complex scheduling gymnastics.

These aren’t luxuries. They’re the architecture of my wellbeing.

And I was about to trade them for “more work” because I thought that’s what I was supposed to want.

Lesson 1: Think about your thinking

Most of our wants aren’t actually ours. They’re inherited. Absorbed. Conditioned.

“I should want a stable full-time job” – is that you talking, or the voice of every well-meaning relative who thinks self-employment is risky?

“I need to earn more” – is that your actual need, or anxiety dressed up as ambition?

“I should be busier” – says who? Based on what?

When you catch yourself saying “I need” or “I should,” pause.

Ask: Is this actually what I want, or what I think I’m supposed to want?

The answer matters more than you think.

When I notice a “should” statement, I write it down. Then I ask: “Whose voice is this?”

Often it’s not mine. It’s my parents’ anxiety about stability. My friends’ success narratives. Society’s productivity worship.

Once I identify the source, I can decide if I agree with it.

Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. But at least it’s conscious.

Lesson 2: Reflect on your core values

My top value was never career success.

It’s freedom.

I value the ability to structure my day around my energy, not someone else’s schedule.

I value presence with family without having to justify or request it.

I value the choice to say yes to spontaneous moments that make life feel alive.

These things matter more to me than a prestigious job title or climbing a career ladder.

But I didn’t know that until I almost gave them up.

So I made a list: “What does a good day actually look like for me?”

Not the LinkedIn version. The real one.

Mine included: creative work in the morning. Movement midday. Time with people I love. Space to think. Flexibility to follow my energy.

Then I looked at what “more work” would require me to sacrifice. Nearly all of it.

That’s how I knew: I don’t actually want what I think I want.

Lesson 3: Align your behaviour with your true values

Once you know what you actually value, the question becomes: are you living it?

I value flexibility and autonomy. So why was my first instinct after the NDIS cuts to simply pack my schedule with more clients—effectively eliminating both?

Because I was conflating financial anxiety with wanting more work. I was solving for the wrong problem.

The real problem: I need to replace the lost income from the pay cut.

The solution: Find ways to increase revenue within my flexible structure. Not sacrifice the very things that made self-employment worth it in the first place.

Different problem. Different solution. Same surface-level panic response.

What I’m doing now:

Instead of chasing “more work,” I’m asking: “How can I create more financial security without sacrificing the things that make my life liveable?”

Maybe that’s raising my rates. Maybe it’s diversifying income streams. Maybe it’s adjusting my expenses.

But it’s not trading autonomy for stability. Because I’ve realised autonomy is non-negotiable for me.

The trade-offs nobody tells you about

Every choice is a trade-off. The question is: which trade-offs can you live with?

More money often means less time.

More stability often means less flexibility.

More prestige often means less autonomy.

None of these are inherently good or bad. But you need to know which side of the equation matters more to you.

I thought I wanted the left side (money, stability, prestige). Turns out, I need the right side (time, flexibility, autonomy).

Took me almost accepting the wrong opportunity to figure that out.

What this means for you

If you’re constantly saying “I need more [something],” pause.

Ask yourself:

“What do I think I want?” Write it down. Be specific.

“Why do I want that?” Keep asking “why” until you hit the real reason. It’s usually 3-4 layers deep.

“What would I have to give up to get it?” Be honest about the trade-offs. All of them.

“Can I live with those trade-offs?” Not in theory. In practice. Day to day. For the next year.

If the answer is no, you don’t actually want the thing. You want what you think it will solve for.

Find a different way to solve that problem.

Be careful what you want.

You might get it. And then you’ll have to live with the trade-offs.

Better to figure out what you truly value first.

Then build toward that—even if it looks nothing like what you’re “supposed” to want.