4 days ago
‘I felt so much pressure to earn more, I became addicted to work'
At the height of his work addiction, Tony Marini estimates he was clocking in at least 100 hours a week.
'I would work constantly,' he says of his role in hospitality. 'From early morning to late night, I would do six days a week at least, and sometimes seven.'
On leaving school, Marini entered the catering industry, going on to own his first restaurant at the age of 25. As further restaurant openings followed – his own, and those he helped launch for other companies – his working patterns became increasingly unhealthy.
'Everything was about work, work, work to make money – because in my head, if I had money, I had everything,' Marini, now 59, says.
His was a classic case of work addiction – a term first coined in 1971 by Wayne Oates, an American psychologist, who described the condition as an 'uncontrollable need to work incessantly'. It's often used flippantly and interchangeably with 'burnout', but it's increasingly being recognised as a serious dependency akin to any other.
Burnout, while often linked to workaholism, is 'quite different', explains Dr Mike Drayton, a clinical psychologist and leadership coach at Said Business School, University of Oxford. He describes it as 'when you hit the wall', while workaholism is 'a compulsive need to work, even when it's damaging your health, relationships and happiness'.
James Graham, the playwright, spoke last year of his own compulsion to work, saying he found it 'in no way different really from [addictions to] drink or drugs or sex, or anything else – it's a pattern of behaviour that is slowly sort of killing you'. Actor Idris Elba also revealed a tendency towards workaholism in 2023, which he said he was 'in therapy' to address.
The problem is, unlike other compulsive habits, workaholism is one that society actively applauds. This 'growing moralisation of work [is] amplified by social media', says Jan Gerber, chief executive at Paracelsus Recovery rehab clinic in Zurich.
'Hustle culture equates overwork with virtue, turning constant productivity into a performance of dedication and, ultimately, superiority.'
A common theme among sufferers is feeling torn, Drayton explains: 'Part of them wants to keep going, because work gives them meaning and identity. But another part resents it, because it's draining them. That inner tug-of-war is what keeps so many high achievers stuck in the cycle of overwork and collapse.'
For Marini, his workaholism led to, and was compounded by, other addictive habits. 'I would take cocaine to be up all the time, and I thought it made me more efficient,' he says. He began gambling, too – 'everything for me went hand in hand'.
His addictions were expensive – over 25 years, he estimates they cost him several million – intensifying his need to keep putting in the hours. 'I was actually quite successful,' Marini says, 'but taking cocaine and gambling took all of that money away.'
When Marini's wife threw him out, he started attending Gamblers Anonymous, then Cocaine Anonymous, before finding Workaholics Anonymous (WA), which follows the same 12-step programme as its alcohol and drug-related predecessors.
Through these programmes, leaving the hospitality industry and retraining as a therapist (he now works at rehab clinic Castle Craig, in southern Scotland), Marini has seen numerous cases of addiction come through his doors – and workaholism often features.
'You're driven by a compulsion to work, to prove yourself'
The number of people being diagnosed as workaholics is on the rise – at Paracelsus, referrals for workaholism-related burnout and substance abuse issues have doubled in the past two years.
However, it can take sufferers a long time to realise there's a problem. This was the case for Liz Mulvey*, a former journalist who spent a decade trying to scale the career ladder at any cost.
Business trips without a spare second to get over jet lag; long nights in the office, dawn starts and barely eating between shifts – all of these were par for the course.
'If you are a workaholic, you don't even think about your need for rest or sleep or recuperation,' she says. 'You will work late into the night – or through the night – and you'll go back the next morning and you'll carry on working because you're driven by a compulsion to work, a compulsion to prove yourself.'
Work-life balance, she says, was simply not an option. While 24-hour email access and the rise in working from home have left many employees feeling unable to switch off, Mulvey, now 54, is one of many for whom internal pressures – rather than that from her bosses – were driving the problem.
Drayton, who has written several books on burnout, says this is increasingly common. 'A lot of people, especially those who are naturally conscientious and eager to please, have tied their whole self-worth to their job. They drive themselves harder not because the boss demands it, but because they demand it of themselves. That's why the problem has deepened.'
Workaholics typically don't realise how fundamentally they have allowed their jobs to take over their lives, largely because they are working too hard to notice.
Add the common financial fears that can fuel workaholic behaviour – soaring mortgage repayments, bills and so on – and it can feel as though there is no escape, Mulvey says. 'I couldn't see a way out,' she recalls, having been living alone and single-handedly trying to pay her mounting costs.
Gerber says the current financial climate has exacerbated these fears – and the resultant workaholism – among his clients.
'We are living through a period of real economic turbulence... For our clients, whose self-esteem is closely tied to work, this often means doubling down – working longer hours to protect their [financial] position and manage the anxiety that instability provokes,' he says.
But wealth does not necessarily protect people from money-related anxiety, he explains: 'In fact, it often amplifies it.'
For Mulvey, the breaking point came in her late 30s, when her father died. 'I didn't allow myself time to grieve,' she says, as work was too busy. A friend noticed she wasn't coping, and after visiting the doctor, Mulvey was signed off work for three months.
However, once that period ended, she returned to the office full-pelt – but it didn't last long. '[I realised] I couldn't do this any more... I couldn't do this amount of work and be well,' she says.
As a result, Mulvey quit her job and began attending Workaholics Anonymous. The supportive community, and a career switch to coaching and speaking, has allowed her to recover. She is now married, exercises for pleasure (rather than 'punishment' – another by-product of her compulsive working period), and realises that her health is more important than any job.
Now on the other side, she says she finally sees that 'the world isn't going to end if I can't send this email today'.
