Don’t kid yourself, workaholism is compulsive behavior. The paradox is the more we push, the further we get from high performance.
High performers rarely look like addicts — they’re polished and sharp. But underneath the titles, targets, and wins, many are avoiding emotions.
They don’t say “I’m addicted.”
They say things like, “I just need to close this quarter,” or “Once I hit this number, I’ll slow down.” Sometimes it’s “This is just the season I’m in.” It’s dopamine, status, and control. And the illusion of peace through performance.
Addiction doesn’t always come in the form of a bottle or pill. Sometimes it looks like endless ambition. It’s high-functioning achievement on the outside, while everything inside is screaming for help.
The dangerous part? Society loves it. It gets rewarded. You get the bonus. You get the praise. You get the deal. And the cycle continues.
Every win gives a hit. Every deal. Every new follower. Every 5 a.m. workout you push through while your body begs for rest. We call it “grind.” The brain registers it as survival. Over time, the baseline shifts. You need more to feel okay. You stop feeling joy after a win—and start feeling panic when you’re not chasing one.
No one sees the comedown. The isolation. The restless nights. The numbing behavior behind closed doors. The alcohol. The pills. The porn. The gambling. The endless scrolling. The quiet shame.
The worst part? You still look “successful.” So, no one checks on you—and you stop checking on yourself.
The mistake we make is believing that performance equals identity.
You’re not the deal you closed. You’re not your Q2 numbers. You’re not your gym PR or your title or your calendar. You’re still you when the scoreboard is off. And that version of you—the quiet one—deserves your attention, too.
The hardest thing you may ever have to do is reduce your attachment to achievement. For too long, my performance at work was WHO I WAS.
Do I love achievement? Yes. I even have an ego I call ‘The Achiever’. He has a constant need for achievement. But that ego is no longer driving the bus 100% of the time. He only takes the wheel when I need him too.
Identity work is the first step — who are you really?