In memoriam

I promised myself his death will not be in vain. I promised myself I will not follow the path that so many people follow, that of a shame that has no place amidst a tragedy and and a disease. So, here goes the story …

Work is my drug and praise is my dealer

Unlike drug dealers that look nasty and like criminals most times, the enablers of workaholism look like supportive co-workers, slapping us on the back and congratulating us for a job well done – ready to throw it on our to do list forever even if we were only trying to help once, colleagues and bosses who just take your energy and use it without stopping to actually look into your eyes and see your struggle, risen eyebrows that, when you finally decide to say “I can’t do this anymore!”, throw you into the desperation of having to live with the idea that you have disappointed everyone by saying no.

from the shadows

Sometimes I write these posts to share ideas I would like others to ponder as well. Other times … things just come out of me. Like this morning. Apologies to my few but loyal readers. Sometimes it is easier to share here … than to actually find words that have to pass from my brain to my voice.

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