Words from a Workaholic

work·a·hol·ic

/ˌwərkəˈhôlik,ˌwərkəˈhälik/

noun

INFORMAL

1. a person who compulsively works hard and long hours.

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My name is Karen and I am a workaholic. Whew. There it is. Finally, I said it. I haven’t always been a workaholic and I am not a workaholic in the ways that you might think. I have always wanted to share my journey with workaholism in the hopes that someone out there could find some relatability in my words or even some understanding for those around them.

Workaholism is often characterized as “the need to work incessantly”. There are so many components of workaholism. It can involve overworking due to internal pressures or constantly thinking of work when you are not doing it. I would say mine manifested differently and not in the ways you might imagine.

March was a major change for us all. COVID-19 hit, and the entire world shut down. I was in college, on the verge of finishing my freshman year. I had seriously made a home at my college. There was no place in the world that I felt happier and like myself than at my university. The abrupt goodbye broke me. I didn’t pay attention to me. I felt myself getting anxious, I felt myself getting more and more irritable, but I just pushed it away. I felt so compelled to keep moving at the same pace I was before when conditions were far from being the same. I kept trying to move forward and barely gave myself a chance to breathe.

My ignorance manifested into workaholism. I found comfort in doing work and signing myself up for anything I could to stop myself from having to think about any pain I was feeling. I am sure some part of me felt lonely. I stopped being present. I missed family dinners, I kept myself up at night working away, and for what? I constantly found reassurance in saying that each day I was “just being more productive”. I stopped being active. There were times where I missed meals because I wanted my attention to be on my work at all times. I was breaking down and I felt it. Things were changing in my life: trips canceled, internships gone, my friends were miles away, and I wasn’t performing in school in the way that I wanted to. I buried myself in work because I was scared. I was scared to cry. I was scared to feel pain, to be upset, to show that I was worried.

I have always prided myself on being brave and strong. I personally have built a negative narrative around being emotional. I have pushed myself to never show weakness because I never want to be underestimated at any point in my life. A strong woman is not a woman who is strong all the time. Read that again. Being emotional is not weak. Having an outlet is not weak.

I am learning to put myself first and to not be afraid to. I am learning to receive advice from others. If you get anything out of this, I hope it is this. It is okay to not be okay. I am working on that. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can be vulnerable. This blog has given me that. I wish I could introduce myself to every single one of you who reads. I see y’all from New Zealand to South Dakota to California! I am taking my first step; I am letting myself be human and it feels SO good. I am letting myself be lazy and just enjoy the ride that life is.

Love always,

Karen <3