From Pain to Joy (Part 5)

I thought the last part on "sex & love" would be the final piece in this systemic contemplative series on our addictions. But apparently, not everything has been said yet.

There are still variations—deep and curious aspects of how our automatic behaviors and belief patterns shape our reality in wild, unpredictable ways—that deserve more exploration.

When someone struggles with an addiction to drugs, alcohol, or pornography, they are usually aware they have a problem. They might not take action immediately or work on changing it, but they know it’s there—an addiction. A coping mechanism, albeit not the healthiest or most effective way to deal with life’s challenges or to numb uncomfortable emotions.

They might not talk about it openly or may still feel deep shame about their addictions. But if they are courageous and conscious enough to acknowledge their problem—and if they trust that a solution exists—they will, one day, seek liberation. True freedom lies in finding strategies to meet authentic needs and desires without relying on harmful patterns.

When society and public opinion are infused with fear, shame, and judgment about certain addictions, people often feel pressured to address them more seriously and break those patterns before they cause further harm to themselves, others, or the natural world.

But what happens when the addiction isn’t even seen as a problem in our culture? What if it’s something glorified, even celebrated? What if, despite the deep inner suffering it causes, the addiction is framed as heroic—a source of admiration, success, power, and respect?

What if someone dedicates themselves entirely to their passions in selfless “service” to humanity and the planet, but becomes a workaholic—a self-harming addict obsessed with doing the "right" thing to make the world a better place?

What if you are a social activist, an environmental advocate, a peacekeeper, a doctor working in crisis zones, or an engineer bringing solutions to disaster areas—anyone whose work is undeniably meaningful, coherent, and valuable to the community—yet you are still deeply addicted to serving, fixing, or saving others?

Who are you then?

What kind of help or support do you need to address this addiction to your work?

How do you even recognize it as a potential problem within yourself? How do you seek sobriety when so many people depend on you, believe in you, and expect you to keep going, no matter the toll it takes on your inner world?

How do you free yourself from this addiction when no one around you recognizes it as such? Instead, they see it as a superpower—a divine gift, an unlimited well of courage, and a willingness to sacrifice yourself for the "greater good." They don’t view it as a problem; they see it as a virtue, even as an example of how to live a meaningful, fulfilled life.

But they don’t see the dark side. They don’t see the profound suffering of workaholics in this world. People underestimate how far an addict to "service" will go to fulfill the promised salvation they believe they owe to others.

All addicts eventually lose awareness and do strange, destructive things.

But when an addict doesn’t even realize they are one—and genuinely believes their work is noble—they can become dangerous. And if those around them fail to see it as an addiction, confusion spreads. People may even willingly collaborate with the addict in actions they later regret, unable to comprehend how things went so wrong.

Hitler was a "service-driven" workaholic.

Many people supported him through their daily work and personal authority because they, too, believed in their limited understanding that his ideology was beneficial for their community. At the time, Germany was grappling with severe poverty, international betrayal, and economic devastation.

Working harder and serving a cause seemed like a perfect strategy for survival.

If Hitler—and those around him—had recognized that relentless work and passionate care for the "well-being" of others could be toxic, perhaps history would have unfolded differently. Perhaps the Second World War—and all its horrors—might never have occurred.

Instead of prioritizing industrial revolution and war-time prosperity to give everyone a job, we could have chosen differently as a society. We might have sought systemic abundance, peace, and true well-being instead.

Addiction to work is messy, confusing, and often deeply harmful. By the time we recognize its dark side, it’s often too late. The "good intentions" of service-driven workaholics may already have caused irreparable damage—creating suffering so complex it affects entire nations and generations to come.

Even if we truly believe we’re doing the right thing in the moment, we may unintentionally contribute to far-reaching harm. Workaholism is disturbingly powerful in our culture, a force that remains pervasive in our shared reality today.

It used to make me sad and socially confused. Now, it makes me angry—and sometimes, deeply worried.

…

Ok, time for some personal confessions.

I have obviously started a writing series about addictions because some aspects of it are part of my individual challenges in the present moment or the processing of my past experiences and my own deep, unfelt suffering. Yes, all of this is very relevant to the world we are cocreating today and the political, economic, and social choices we are collectively making as a global community. But there is a personal interest for me in it as well.

I am a recovering workaholic.

I was the systemic sustainability warrior for a couple of years, and, fuck, I was intense and very serious on so many different levels and in many roles.

A very severe case of addiction that you would not even suspect to be suffering or painful to the point it became to me eventually. I was in deep, unconditional love with my job. I was truly and fully passionate about what I was doing, and I loved profoundly the people with whom I had the chance to collaborate and co-create the impossible.

Most mornings, I was genuinely excited to go to the office as soon as possible and attend countless numbers of very challenging meetings. Most evenings, I was still working at home, mindlessly sacrificing quality time I could have spent with my partner or my friends in ways that might have been more enjoyable and healthy.

But my inner sense of duty and service to the entire world felt more important to me than having fun or experiencing pure pleasure with the people I also loved and deeply cared for outside my job or career.

I had an extremely abundant, expanding, purposeful, and satisfying professional life. But exactly like any true addict would experience, I was slowly losing all my authentic connections in my most intimate relationships. I had no time or energy to truly care for or work on the relational difficulties I was experiencing in my personal life.

All conflicts, signs of jealousy, intense emotions, misunderstandings, or other intimacy challenges were received by me as potential threats or risks to my very serious and passionate career. "I don't have time for this shit" became my usual response to many interpersonal conflicts.

I had a lot of flexibility, adaptability, respect and creativity in my professional relationships.

This is what made me very successful very fast in the world of industrial systemic innovation and complex multistakeholder collaborations. However, I clearly lacked similar openness, understanding, and relational flexibility in my intimate and personal relationships.

I was efficient, powerful, straightforward, and a perfection-driven, unforgiving bitch to the people I cared for the most in my life.

I definitely had my relational priorities structured in a very confusing and even incoherent way at times. And, honestly, I was not seeing any problem with it back then.

In my head, I was doing the "right" thing for all of us, and it made sense to me. I was trying to manage my life the best way I knew how—to remain logical and coherent with my own inner sense of integrity and my deep personal values (or the limiting beliefs and harmful social conditioning of our shared system).

But I was completely unaware and ignorant of what I was not yet willing to see as the unknown truth. I didn’t have the courage to truly feel the purity of its emotional charge in my own heart.

I was not blinded by power, success, authority, or fame. I didn’t care about any of that.

To be fully honest, I was actually running from my own authentic power and its consequences in terror and deep shame most of the times. However, I still naively played with the system as a novice and was blinded in my perceptions by the idea of selfish "service" to others and the narrative of "saving" the entire world.

I was a rebel of the system who got very creatively caught and even abused by the system still.

…

If the only consequence of my workaholism were dysfunctional intimate relationships in my personal life, it might have been a problem I could fix with a good therapist in just a few sessions.

But remember, I told you—I was wild, intense, fearless, and reckless in my "battles" for a better, greener, and more meaningful world.

It’s not just that I sabotaged my career, lost access to my income, and severely compromised my financial stability. Yes, that’s unsettling and incredibly stressful too. But even that isn’t the worst thing that can happen when you engage too recklessly with your innate powers, unhealed addictions, and the system.

The real price I’ve paid—and continue to pay—is the toll on my holistic health and the endless time required for authentic regeneration and systemic healing of my body, heart and mind.

At 26, one morning in the office, I sat at my desk, looking at my computer screen, and realized I couldn’t read the words anymore.

What had once been coherent sentences now looked like a chaotic soup of meaningless symbols. Nothing made sense. At the same time, my body began breaking out in strange allergic reactions—rashes appearing randomly on my skin with no clear trigger.

I started crying in panic. I didn’t understand what was happening or why.

I went to a local clinic. After several evaluations of my physical, emotional, and mental state, the diagnosis was clear: burnout. I was handed a medical note to give to my boss, forbidding me from returning to work immediately.

They didn’t explain much, but their tone made it clear this was serious. I felt confused and even more scared.

So, I turned to Google as I had never even heard of such concept as burnout before. But my research didn’t help much—it offered little in the way of meaningful guidance or resources for dealing with my struggles coherently or effectively.

Eventually, I sought therapy with a specialist in burnout. That’s where everything changed.

I was mind-blown to discover so much about myself—and about the many challenges people face in their relationships with work. I had been an expert on global sustainability, yet I hadn’t realized my own resources and energy were finite. I hadn’t grasped the concept of personal sustainability—that it must be respected, no matter what.

I had no clue.

I truly believed I was indestructible—that my creative energy was limitless, my productivity untouchable, and my brilliant mind invulnerable.

I was naively, arrogantly, and proudly full of myself. Still green, immature, and inexperienced in the brutal juggling act of power dynamics with serious authorities, I hadn’t yet learned my limits or understood the necessity of personal safety boundaries.

And so, I burned. A mix of ignorance and reckless courage lit the match.

Surprisingly, my recovery from that first burnout was relatively quick. The healing process was even enjoyable at times, filled with discoveries about myself and how my body truly functions. Yes, there was suffering, but it was manageable, and I was fortunate to have people around me who offered support and emotional care throughout the process.

This experience, rather than humbling me, initially empowered me further. Armed with new inner tools, self-management strategies, and a deeper understanding of myself, I dove back into work with renewed intensity. I became even more serious—and creatively powerful—about my professional mission.

But while I had addressed the symptoms of burnout, I hadn’t healed the deeper roots: my innate arrogance, naïve fearfulness, and inability to respect my own boundaries.

I soared back to global importance and meaningless success in my career, and it even worked quite well for a while—but this only set me up for an even greater fall.

Couple of years later, when the second burnout hit, it was a far less “fun” experience. It required far more effort, time, dedication, and self-compassion to heal.

…

This time, I made a bold and radical decision: I quit cold turkey.

I walked away from my work addiction without much planning or preparation. With the same fearlessness I had when I first dove into this game, I consciously abandoned my professional community, my job, my title, my career—everything tied to my identity as a "professional."

More than three years later, parts of me are still in recovery, still unraveling and healing from the intense exhaustion of my soul.

Severe PTSD from the workplace, money, politics, engineering, sustainability—and even from my own creative power—left my life in chaos. A fog of apathy and a deep, desperate sadness consumed me. My anger wasn’t directed at any individual but at the broader, painful disillusionment with humanity itself: its boundless capacity for systemic abuse and cruelty.

…

Each addiction is deeply personal.

It intertwines with unique aspects of our psyche, relationships, and inner systems. There’s no universal map or secret formula to heal addiction—it’s never the same for everyone. We are all singular beings, and our bonds with the world around us are equally unique.

Sure, there are patterns that might resonate for some: sex addiction often ties to creative energy and our authenticity in expressing it; weed might connect to attachment issues or a longing for peace and love; alcohol can reflect repressed anger or unexpressed truths; and opiates often mirror deep emotional suffering and layered pain.

But none of these interpretations are absolute—they only scratch the surface of individual experiences.

In my case, workaholism was fundamentally about power.

It was a craving to understand its many expressions: in human relationships, organizations, and entire communities. I wanted to engage with power directly, to learn its secrets. Yet, I lacked the courage to fully embrace the responsibility that real power demands.

…

This was one of my hardest lessons: I was fearless enough to play the game of power but too cowardly to shoulder its full weight.

I had accepted positions of influence, trusted by others to wield authority responsibly. But deep down, I was terrified of failing as a leader. I avoided accountability, hiding behind cleverness and the illusion of invincibility.

I sought the thrill and impact of wielding power without facing the real consequences of mishandling it. And in doing so, I paid a devastating price—not just with my career, but with my health and sense of self.

Here’s the truth I learned the hard way: authentic power is inseparable from responsibility.

If you delegate your accountability to someone else but continue using your power against them—or to undermine their authority—you will eventually face the consequences.

In the game of power, the boomerang effect is real. What you throw out into the world, especially when done unconsciously or recklessly, will return to you. And when it does, it might hurt more than you ever anticipated.

…

Power games have zero tolerance for cowards.

If you choose to engage, you must be willing to stand by your beliefs and actions no matter what. You can’t pick and choose accountability—it’s all or nothing. If you try to avoid responsibility, the system will eventually eat you alive, or worse, teach you a lesson through deep and very confusing suffering.

Power is intoxicating and transformative, but it’s not for everyone—not yet. It requires a level of self-mastery, courage, and responsibility that few are prepared for. The journey is thrilling but dangerous, demanding openness to the unknown and acceptance of its risks.

To truly play, you must become a master of yourself.

You must learn to wield your innate power with authenticity and integrity while staying open-minded and open-hearted. Only then will the world conspire to help you co-create something meaningful—a shared reality that serves not just you, but everyone.

…

My addiction to work ultimately led to burnout, creating a severe emotional and mental imbalance in my entire nervous system for an extended period. I lost my purpose in life. I was no longer interested in my passions, and I found no meaning in doing anything or going anywhere. I became bitter, resentful, and deeply depressed, down to the core of my soul.

The second time, I faced this downfall almost entirely alone.

My intimate relationships were no longer safe, present, or strong enough to support me. Over the years, I had prioritized work over my friends, and now I was reaping the fruits of my own choices. I found myself confronting my personal hell in complete solitude—there was no one to blame for my suffering and no one to save me from it, either.

I faced it as the independent, fearless, strong superwoman I had always imagined myself to be. But now, I was also broken, fragile, and painfully burned out. My once-passionate fire no longer gave me vitality, confidence, or joy. Instead, it consumed me from within, making me miserable and burning away everything I had believed to be true about the world.

Burnout is a profoundly serious, excruciatingly painful, and deeply confusing experience.

The price you pay with your systemic health is far higher than you expect, and the time it takes to truly heal your nervous system and heart is much longer than you can imagine.

Burnout is the direct consequence of society’s normalization of workaholism.

The rates of burnout in this country are skyrocketing at alarming speeds, and yet we still have no real solutions, aside from prescribing sophisticated drugs.

But the true root of the problem has little to do with the malfunctioning of our bodies or brains. Our bodies suffer, and our minds become confused, not because of missing chemical molecules in the brain but because of deep unresolved emotional pain in the heart.

The real cause of burnout is the dysfunction of our collective systems and the severe dehumanization of our global culture. No drugs in this world can save us from this kind of suffering because its roots are embedded in how we live, work, and relate to one another.

This is a collective problem, rooted in our unprocessed fears and our inability to be authentically truthful with each other. It stems from an obsession with work, wealth, and power—without responsibility or accountability for the choices we make while still mindlessly indulging in the benefits of them.

It is our collective cowardice and naïve ignorance.

If we truly want to address the burnout crisis at a systemic level—not just its devastating consequences for society and people—we need to change the entire system and culture.

We must redefine and transform our shared beliefs about work, career, service, success, and prosperity. We need to rethink how we provide genuine care for one another, guided by a deeper understanding of how our bodies and nature truly function.

I speak from my own experience, but I believe this truth applies to many other mental health issues—not just burnout. Many neurological imbalances arise from deep emotional suffering. When the majority of people need drugs just to avoid pain, it is no longer an individual problem—it is a very serious national crisis.

…

People suffer mainly because they feel afraid, unloved, or disempowered.

So, how do we collectively help and support each other to feel enough, worthy, and whole as we already are? How do we create mentally safe and emotionally secure workplaces? How do we encourage people to break free from the chains of work addiction?

How do we co-create a system where no one sacrifices their well-being to be a “savior” or a “warrior” to shield others from their own suffering or ignorance?

How do we heal ourselves from collective workaholism?

How can we remain passionate, purposeful, and meaningful without tying our value to how much we “serve” others? How do we build a shared reality driven by authentic joy and pleasure, rather than preconditioned duty or unacknowledged fear?

How do we rediscover what it means to be human?

And how can we do it—together?