There is a feeling of liberation when you realize that something you have felt for a long time makes sense.
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.
The post I wrote in spite of myself
Why is it that, when at the crossroads of disappointing others or letting ourselves down, we choose the latter road so easily? When do we fall out of our own graces? What are the consequences?
My name is Catalina and I am a workaholic. And no, I don’t mean it as a quality.
You would think that realising all of this about myself means I am doing ok. The truth is, many times I feel stuck at 50% – you know, the length of the road you have already walked when you admit you have a problem. Addiction is a constant, lifelong struggle. And it takes real strength to be able to carry it on.
The chase
When I was told for the first time that this is a marathon and not a sprint, I was happy. I thought it meant this is an effort you can pace for yourself where you can grab water in the in-betweens, breathe, actually sometimes even enjoy the scenery or the run. The reality is … this is a marathon of sprints.
