“A workaholic will die before an alcoholic,” said Christina Maslach, professor emerita of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley, whose research laid the foundation for the World Health Organization to declare burnout as an occupational phenomenon in 2019. While alcoholics endure a gradual, long-term deterioration of the liver, workaholics face the immediate risk of stress-induced blood clots or heart attacks — potentially striking just when life seems to be going well.
This should not only alarm us but also keep us workaholics awake at night, questioning our lifestyle choices and considering the tangible changes and mindset shifts we ought to make to break the cycle.
I realized I was obsessively a workaholic when someone expressed gratitude for their regular 9-to-5 job; instead of admiring their lifestyle, I felt an instinctive sense of repulsion. I had always envisioned tirelessly overworking as the default lifestyle. To me, the idea of working standard hours felt almost incomprehensible, as if all my current efforts — driven entirely by agency and self-motivation — would no longer be the most productive and efficient approach.
However, workaholism is far more nuanced and complex than merely craving validation from working tirelessly. It often stems from a self-imposed pressure driven by both authentic passion and an expectation of higher returns — returns that ultimately manifest in economic terms. Because I genuinely derive joy from both the process and the outcome of my overworking, I perceive my attitude as morally “superior,” as it’s not rooted in superficial financial incentives. Yet, precisely because my work feels more meaningful, I expect it to naturally lead to greater success — ironically, a success still largely defined by monetary terms. This reflects a toxic tendency to judge every decision through an economic lens. Despite this, I rationalize the conversion of my work into economic terms by convincing myself that the intrinsic value I associate with my work, rooted in “purpose” and a holier-than-thou attitude, justifies my motivation to work tirelessly.
The fact my workaholism is constantly fueled by the rationale that I’m doing something I love causes me to believe that any future problem, whether personal, relational or social, can be solved or even prevented through relentless work. After all, how could pursuing a genuine passion ever be truly bad, right? Staying constantly busy protects me from existential dread, filling the void whenever I catch myself doing anything that might even remotely render my life meaningless. As long as I am in demand every hour of the day, I never have to confront the fear of my existence ever possibly being insignificant.
However, as my caffeine dependence worsens, my academic and professional commitments increase and my sleep schedule becomes nonexistent, I’ve realized an imminent need to redefine productivity and fulfillment beyond professional achievements tied to economic outcomes. Mental and physical health matter, and overworking eventually harms both, no matter what mental state led to that overworking.
Tufts students are known for their hard work, and many of us regularly overwork. Breaking this pattern isn’t easy, but becoming aware of subconscious pressures that constantly reinforce this workaholic tendency could be the first step toward adjusting our lifestyles and making healthier changes.
