Loneliness turned me workaholic or it is other way around

Loneliness – Am I a workaholic, or am I just lonely? I don’t know; you be the judge.

When I was 23 years old, I landed a job that demanded everything from me but barely covered my basic expenses. Every morning, I’d wake up before dawn, dragging myself out of bed to face another long day filled with tasks that seemed endless. By night, I was the last one to leave the office, the city’s dim lights casting long shadows across my desk, the only company I had as I worked tirelessly.

This relentless routine became my life. I told myself that if I just worked harder, things would get better, that I was paving a path to a brighter future. But as months turned into years, the rewards I had envisioned seemed increasingly out of reach. My job became an all-consuming entity, and I, a workaholic by necessity rather than choice.

Loneliness crept into my life subtly at first. I missed a birthday party here, a family dinner there, and then slowly, almost imperceptibly, I began missing everything. My friends stopped calling after too many declined invitations. My family grew weary of my constant apologies and the empty promises that I’d be there next time. I told myself it didn’t matter—I had my work, after all, which needed me as much as I needed it.

But late at night, in the quiet moments before sleep, doubts plagued me. Was I working this hard out of a true desire to succeed, or was I simply filling a void? The job that I had once seen as a stepping stone now felt like a prison, and the worst part was, I had locked myself in. Each promotion, each small increase in pay, I hoped would feel like a victory, but these moments were always overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of isolation.

The realization hit me hard one rainy evening when I was staying late at work yet again. I had received an email about a high school reunion—another event I knew I would miss. It made me wonder about the old friends I had lost touch with, the people who had once known me as more than just someone who worked all the time. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a conversation that wasn’t about deadlines or projects.

I started questioning everything. Why was I sacrificing my happiness for a job that gave so little in return? What was I working towards? The loneliness was no longer just a background feeling; it was in the forefront of my mind, confronting me with the reality of my choices.

One quiet Sunday, I finally faced the painful truth: I had become a workaholic not because I loved my work, but because I was afraid of what my life would be without it. The job filled the quiet moments, the gaps where loneliness echoed the loudest. Admitting this was both a relief and a new source of pain. I realised that I had lost years to a job that drained me, both emotionally and physically.

The journey back to a more balanced life wasn’t easy. It involved hard conversations with myself about my priorities and with others to slowly mend the ties I had neglected. I sought help to understand and cope with my feelings of loneliness and the reasons behind my workaholism. Every small step toward reconnection felt like a victory against the solitude that had once seemed an inevitable part of my life.

This story is a reflection of my ongoing struggle with loneliness and workaholism, a reminder of the importance of finding balance and cherishing the connections that make life worth living.

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