Today’s the day we look back at the workaholism submissions we received last month after we asked readers to tell us about their unhealthy relationship with their jobs. I expected most of the entries would trickle in from the real rise-and-grinders, those peak performers unable to put in less than 80 hours per week lest their reflections disappear. Hustle culture and all that. Always be closing, motherfucker.
But there is much more nuance to this affliction, as you’ll see. Some people have tied their whole identity to their jobs, for sure, but sadly that’s now somewhat normalized. Still, some wrote about other work-related issues, such as how focusing on work allows little room for them to the address deeper emotional problems. Or something like, since they’ve quit drinking, work has been a “healthier” replacement that they now recognize has become progressively unhealthier. One person wrote about how their ambition was directly impacted by an experience with a job-related tragedy. I’m sure you’ll find a piece of you somewhere in their stories.
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Now, let’s get to our entries.
The usual formatting rules apply: All the writers shall and will remain Anonymous but are credited collectively as "The Small Bow Family Orchestra."
The ***** separates individual entries, as do pull quotes.
And, of course, TSB looks incredible because Edith Zimmerman is our illustrator. — AJD
I Hate the Person I’ve Become
by The Small Bow Family Orchestra
I have to make myself essential so people won't kick me out or abandon me, that my only value is in how useful or accommodating I can be to other people.
I had one of those "rock bottom"/"my life has become unmanageable" moments we associate with sobriety from other stuff, where I woke up on the couch in a panic at 5 AM gasping, "I can't go on like this." I've always been a hard worker, and I take some pride in that—"endurance" is one of my favorite words, and I'm very happy to tackle a pile of necessary, unsexy tasks, especially when they're in service of a team.
When I first quit drinking, I realized that overwork was something I did to myself as an excuse to drink—I had a shit day, I deserve a few; no one appreciates me, I deserve a few. After being sober for a while, I could see that overwork also came from other bullshit I drank to avoid: that I have to make myself essential so people won't kick me out or abandon me, that my only value is in how useful or accommodating I can be to other people. But, much like I drank through realizing I had a drinking problem, I just worked through realizing I had a work problem.
Fast forward a few years, and I'm my own boss now, but somehow, all of my tendencies are worse: with so much of the pressure of success or failure riding on me instead of a company, I have thrown myself way too deeply into work, and it's hard to see a way out. It sucks: I've lost touch with non-work things I care about because my schedule is so unpredictable. Fear of failure can make me distrustful and judgemental. My sobriety is hanging on by a thread (but it's still hanging on!). And yet whenever I entertain the idea of "hey, I need to find a way to work less," it feels like lowering my standards or acting against my values—some of those values are real and good, but others are really just compulsions that are going to ruin me if I let them.
This has all been a recent realization, so right now, I'm just trying to brainstorm ways to get back to basics, smaller steps I can take to reconnect to things outside of work. I'm trying to tell myself that it's OK that I've fucked myself up a bit, that thanks to sobriety, I know it's always possible to un-fuck your life. I'm trying not to hate myself for where I've let things get to and telling myself it's OK to be where I'm at, but it's tough to believe. I know I can turn things around. I just have to figure out how.
*****
I found it inconceivable that someone could work at a job and not ultimately want to be the person in charge one day.
For the first decade of my career, my work productivity was motivated by basically two things: anxiety and ambition. The anxiety would whisper in my ear that I was never more than 48 hours from being fired. Not because I was in an unstable job or industry, but from a belief that if I set a boundary or didn't immediately respond to an email, I would be putting my employment in jeopardy. Piled on top of that was the ambition. I wanted to be somebody. I wanted my boss's job and then my boss's boss's job. I found it inconceivable that someone could work at a job and not ultimately want to be the person in charge one day.
So I said yes to everything. I was waking up at 6 AM, rolling over, opening my computer, and starting work immediately. I refused to take vacations because "no one would be able to cover for me if I'm out." I was known as the friend who "was always working." I sacrificed time with my girlfriend (now wife), justifying it by saying I would work less when I got older and into better roles. Which certainly came. I was promoted multiple times. Changed jobs and was promoted to two levels at once. I was 27 and in a job that in my field was considered a big deal. I was the youngest person to hold the role in a long time. Success!
I hated it. I had sacrificed some morals for my job and knew I wanted out. So naturally, my next move was to a global firm as a mid-level lackey. I lasted there about a year and it nearly broke me. Based on the feedback I was getting, I was really good at my job and "had a future" at the company. But I couldn't. stop. working. 4th of July fireworks? Watched them through the window from my desk (at least I was able to WFH!). Broadway show? I sent emails during intermission, silently praying no one would ask for a follow-up while I couldn't get to my phone. Etc. Etc.
But there is a happy ending - I could recognize the toll it was causing me and my relationships and that if I continued on that path, it was ultimately a hamster wheel of more responsibility without any sort of respite. So I gave it up. Through some good fortune, I was able to move into a job that gives me more flexibility at a slower pace. It's still a work in progress - and I still feel the tugs pulling me toward what I used to be - but they are becoming fewer and farther between.
*****
I’ve never been happy where I am or with myself. Ambition has always been a blanket I could cover that with
For a long time, my dream was to be a journalist in Alaska - the wild frontier where the job felt adventurous and vital. I was a bouncer at a bar on the East Coast at the time. I got my dream—through a lot of freelancing and desperation and extra work on top of my work. I’ve never been happy where I am or with myself. Ambition has always been a blanket I could cover that with. It took me to move to Alaska to realize that. I write cool stories and work with cool people and do things that make my friends back home jealous and talk about how proud they are of me. But they’re there, with each other. And I’m here, working 60 + hours a week, and pretty lonely. But the thing is - I love my job. That’s the worst part. I miss my people more than anything but I enjoy what I do, even when I’m up at midnight working on a story or crying in my car after a brutal, heartwrenching court case, knowing I’m going to lose sleep over the gory exhibit pictures. Some court documents stick with you. I’m scared of leaving the job—I was so desperate to build my identity around it for so long. Plus, what if I can’t work a normal job with normal hours? - but I’m also scared of staying so far removed from the people I love. I miss their physical presence every day. But I want this. I do. This work is mine.
*****
Once, on a call prepping for a high profile global conference, I watched mice dance across my kitchen floor.
I’m a recovering workaholic who is dealing with the complexities of being on the other side of things. I ran an organization for ten years and have received ample praise and congratulations for the good I did while I ran it. Now I have a cushy, fun job that is a direct result of all that hard work. How nice for me. But I cannot look back on my years of that work with anything other than despair. I feel like the entire history of running the organization was just a cry for help. I worked endlessly and often joylessly. I performed my intellect for money to pay staff. I bore the brunt of everyone’s frustrations and fears when times were tough. I lived far below my means because I was always scared we’d run out of money. Once, on a call prepping for a high profile global conference, I watched mice dance across my kitchen floor. For ten years I put everything in my life to the side and focused on one thing: this organization has to work. I grew up poor and my mother’s life involved a lot of suffering. Everything I did, I realize now, was to make up for what she went through and to create a world in which I could finally feel safe. The crazy thing is that while the organization flourished, my mom died anyway. With a lot of therapy I was able to see what I was up to and got myself out of the situation with as much grace as possible. However, it is strange to be on the other side of that and hear about the great thing I did. None of those years feels particularly good to me. It just feels like suffering and loss and confusion. I have found healthy ways to redirect this. I coach others, I maintain my routines and don’t take on too much work for fear I’ll slip up again. But the wild thing about “workaholism” is that you have all these shiny rewards at the end of your spiral. And it’s a real bummer to say to someone who admires your work “ah geez that was actually an expression of everything inside me that is broken, but thanks anyway!”
*****
I hate the person I become when I spend every night and weekend working.
For as long as I can remember, I've sought constant validation for being the "smart one." I grew up obsessed with the sitcoms of the late 1990's and early 2000's and I knew the role I was meant to perform. I was never going to be the pretty friend, but, by God, I was going to be the smart friend.
And I was. For years. I went to a fantastic state school for undergrad. I graduated at the top of my class with two majors despite blacking out multiple times a week. I got a scholarship to a top tier law school and made law review, again, despite blacking out multiple times a week. And then I got a federal clerkship and . . . you're sensing a pattern by now, right? I was excelling at proving my intelligence to everyone as often as I could. But my drinking was absolutely out of control.
Sometime around 2019, I realized that I could not continue to be the "smart one" if I kept drinking myself silly multiple times a week. The cracks were starting to show. I was showing up to work later and later in the mornings, and I was often hungover. I couldn't respond to the routine, urgent emails that came in after working hours because sometimes (many times) I was already drinking when they arrived.
I had a couple of stutter starts in my recovery, as we all do, but when I finally quit drinking, I really threw myself into my work. I leaned the fuck in: I took every single case, regardless of how terrible the client was or which dragon senior partner was on the trial team. And staying busy absolutely helped me stay sober! But it also encouraged me not to set any boundaries and forget how the word "no" works.
I love being the person that other lawyers turn to when a true dumpster fire of a case comes into my law firm. But I hate the person I become when I spend every night and weekend working. I am jittery whenever I don't have my phone on me. I compulsively check my work email every hour. And there is a crushing anxiety that descends upon me whenever I make any sort of mistake or fall short of perfection in any aspect of my job.
Just like when I drank, it is impossible for me to tell the voice in my head enough when it comes to work. But, unlike drinking, there are so many rewards to working these hours. My salary is outstanding. I can afford to give my family anything that they might need. I might make partner before I turn 34. I might unintentionally kill myself in the process but its all very impressive.
*****
I've had to stop doing things I love because I don't have the energy.
When I moved to a new city during COVID-19, the adjustment was jarring. I moved closer to my chosen family, but that hasn't worked out how I expected. I have found an amazing AA community and friends, but I haven't had a relationship in 4+ years, and that is important to me. I am swimming in debt and have no way to pay it off other than to work with a credit relief agency. I owe nearly $80K to hospital and doctor's bills from my health issues in the last 10 months and that will continue to grow.
Working addictively allows me to not think about those things because I don't have time or energy. If I'm not at one of the 4-5 meetings I attend weekly, meeting with sponsees or doing service commitments, I doom scroll, cruise Reddit, and watch Law and Order reruns to numb out. My days go like this: I go to work, work my ass off, go to a meeting, crawl in bed, and do it all over again.
I, too, got a strong indication of work addiction from the online quiz. I am burned out and burned through. My health is better, but not taking time to nurture myself back to health impacts my life. I've had to stop doing things I love because I don't have the energy—or that's my excuse. What am I going to do about it? Recognizing it is half the battle. I'm taking time off from my in July/August to enjoy part of the summer and re-assess. At least that's a start.
How do I tap into my ambition without hiding from myself?
I was working in digital advertising after a break up when my addiction really picked up. Towards the end of my stint I would be staying up all night using and “working” (running in circles). Not only did I feel my working justified my using, but I thought my using would make me a productive worker. I’m a workaholic and a perfectionist. I was terribly wrong, lost my mind, and ended up going to various rehabs across the country.
When I was in these rehabs, I’d make it to the “get a job or volunteer” stage and flop. I would freeze. It was more than me not being ready. I just hated the idea of having to tap into a part of me that I previously had heavily intertwined with using. Anxiety, fear, imposter syndrome, and grief were all in the mix.
I finally came back to Chicago and started remotely working at a family friends start-up. I learned how to overcome my fear of emails. I learned how to be a proactive communicator.
I then got a job working as a special ed classroom assistant. Being in a physical work environment with kids re-taught me how to engage with my peers in a healthy way. Work parties are still tricky for me though.
I’m now enrolled in a data science boot camp. On top of 9 hours of class, I need to study 20 hours each week. Sitting at a desk is hard. This is why I started using my last DOC in the first place. I find myself back at square one. How do I tap into my ambition without using? How do I tap into my ambition without hiding from myself? How do I do all this with grace?
*****
This means I would have all of Saturday morning and afternoon in Richmond with NOTHING TO DO. And it's driving me crazy
I have to drive 7 hours to Richmond, VA in a couple weeks to take down a show. The earliest I can dismount the pieces is 4pm on Saturday. But our friends in Charlottesville want to have dinner on Friday evening. This means I would have all of Saturday morning and afternoon in Richmond with NOTHING TO DO. And it's driving me crazy. I keep thinking, I could be working then. I could finish some more things on my to-do list, I could do another round of queries, I could tackle the electrical drawing that I've been putting off. If I were home I could do some laundry or put away the wool sweaters still stacked on a chair in the corner of the bedroom.
The funny thing is I don't think of myself as a work addict. I think I have a good normal relationship with work where I work really hard but can take a morning off to go see a museum show or meet a friend for coffee. But this reaction I'm having to unexpected and unstructured time in Richmond makes me think I should be thinking a little harder about my relationship to work.
*****
I didn’t have to try or think or be stressed about any of it.
When I was 22, I worked at a group home. It was a lot of cooking, cleaning, and wiping asses. My boyfriend also worked there, and we sometimes had overlapping night shifts, which felt very domestic, like we were married or something. We folded towels, talked about meal prep, and watched late-night T.V. When a house manager opening came up, he jumped at it. He had ideas. He wanted to make people’s lives better. Still, he sounded like a jackass when he went on about it. It was very uncool.
The outgoing house manager told me I should apply. In retrospect, it was a manipulation tactic. She thought I wouldn’t change anything, thereby allowing her friends remaining on staff to get away with all of the things they had always gotten away with. You’re cool, she said. Everyone likes you. So, I applied. And I got the job. The pay was $11 an hour. There was a party with binge drinking. Everything was fine.
A week later, I came home from work to find my boyfriend hanging from a rope in my bathroom. There was a leak in the ceiling, and the Super had ripped out all of the drywall; the rope was wrapped clumsily around a support beam. His feet almost touched the floor. His neck was stretched out, and he was dark purple. He looked like E.T. The next day, I wandered around corporate headquarters, attending stupid meetings in a daze. I ran into one of my staff who joked, You’re house manager for a week and your staff is already committing suicide. I think I laughed because I wasn’t even a real person yet. I didn’t know anything. I threw myself into the job for a few months, but it didn’t last long. My manager was fired. Then I was fired. It’s time to shake things up, they said.
So I got a job driving a cab at the only company that didn’t drug test. It was the 6am to 2pm shift, and I barely made enough to cover rent. I floated by for another year on shitty gas station coffee and pack after pack of Winston reds. I quit, moved a few times, and tried to act more like a grown-up. For the next 10 years, I worked stupid office jobs, but it was mostly fine. I didn’t have to try or think or be stressed about any of it.
When I was 34, I started working at a small nonprofit and somehow stuck with it for the next 15 years. I never asked for more pay, for a promotion, for anything. I understood the reason for my apparent lack of ambition. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I yapped a lot about work-life balance and corporate greed, basic Gen X bullshit, so that I didn’t seem like a total loser. But it was also so I didn’t have to talk about anything real.
Out of nowhere, a few months ago, I was recruited by a local branch of a national nonprofit for their COO position, which would triple my salary. When I tried to consider interviewing for it, my heart pounded, and sweat rolled down my back. Who might have applied for that job? I don’t know, but someone has, and I know they must want it more than I do. Because I don’t really want it at all.
*****
fin
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A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
Here
by Kim Addonizio
************************
After it ended badly it got so much better
which took a while of course but still
he grew so tender & I so grateful
which maybe tells you something about how it was
I’m trying to tell you I know you
have staggered wept spiraled through a long room
banging your head against it holding crushed
bird skulls in your hands your many hearts unstrung
unable to play a note their wood still beautiful
& carved so elaborately maybe a collector would want them
stupid collectors always preserving & never breaking open
the jars so everyone starves while admiring the view
you don’t own anyone everything will be taken from you
go ahead & eat this poem please it will help
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
Wow. Those stories are all so amazing, and people are so generous sharing their struggles and fears. The one that really gets me is the first long one, from the person who has 'replaced' alcohol with overworking, and how self-employment has then played into that. Resonates so absolutely with me/my last 12 months that I almost thought I'd written it myself. I feel real gratitude to this anonymous member of the orchestra; makes me feel 'It's not just me'. Thank you.
Wow. This really landed with me. Thank you 🙏🏼