PART I: ADDICTED TO AMBITION

Work has been my drug of choice for as long as I can remember. I have used it as a shield from the confusing emotional world I chose not to live in. I have derived most of my self-worth from what my productivity looks like and the amount of people who congratulated me for it. It has been a double-edged sword that has brought me great pleasure and insurmountable pain. Every business development call was always JUST one more. At what point would I be satisfied? NEVER. 

While some spiral into a whirlwind of taboo vices, I chose the need to please and workaholism. This country considers addicts to be delinquents, nonhuman and the scum of the earth except for when it comes to productivity. You can slowly kill yourself through exhaustion as long as you produce. If you turn a profit with that productivity, you are a god damn hero here in the US of A. 

My own personal seduction dance with work and making money began at the age of 15. As a hostess controlling the flow of a 100 seat restaurant, serving the wealthy snowbirds of Stuart, FL, I was finally in control. My high school career was mediocre at best, as physics felt like a foreign language of a country I never planned to visit. After school, I commanded my post at the Prawnbroker Grill, and I carefully calculated the reservations for the evening, creating a masterpiece of flawless organizational flow.  I took pride in my ability to be able to handle the crowds of blue hairs flowing in with their ventilators and screams of “there is no parking!” Finally, a place where I felt like I belonged as opposed to miserably trying to use a TI-83 calculator in Algebra II. Can someone please explain how algebra or geometry helps me to execute my quarterly taxes?

My lack of educational ambition continued into college where I almost failed out twice due to poor attendance, general disinterest and terrible memorization skills. It was hopeless unless I popped a friend’s Adderall and sat in one spot for 8 hours, cramming my brain with knowledge that I planned to forget after the test. Multiple choice exams were my mortal enemy. I had a PHD in indecision. Hello early signs of codependency! 

Work became a necessity due to my family’s abrupt financial instability, and I found a beautiful savior: HOTELS. Here I could build my foundation of codependency and workaholism and become a super star. I was easily able to cover up my low self-esteem and feed multiple holes in my soul. Not only was I able to show up every day and have the luxury of proving my worth to every person I served, but I was also able to provide for myself financially, proving to my parents I am “GREAT” on the outside. 

While I vocally agreed that I would do my best to take care of myself, I was emotionally crippled and learned to push whatever I was feeling down with booze, work, people pleasing and self sufficiency. I took pride in showing up for other people and felt strength from taking on other people’s pain as opposed to feeling my own. I felt invincible on a constant adrenaline high while my insides were nothing but empty space. 

This belief system took me far in creating outward success which I thought would free me of all the burdens I had been running away from in my youth. I became a top producer for the Four Seasons Hotel brand in Baltimore and Washington, D.C., where my ambitious drive was unleashed in its most natural state. I was attracting clients and surpassing financial goals at lightning speed and it all felt effortless. 

While I loved the challenge of creating one of a kind events for the global elite, I began to feel “off”.

In the midst of success, I found myself not having to work as hard as everyone else. It was as if my masculine drive transformed into feminine power, and I was the last to know. People were naturally attracted to my confidence and wanted to buy from me without the slightest hesitation.  

At the time, I needed to inflict more pain to truly feel worthy. I became so uncomfortable with this ease of abundance that I subconsciously created unnecessary struggle. I took a bridal store position for three shifts per week in addition to my full-time job. Brides would take entirely too long discerning whether their bridesmaids would look thinner in pastel pink or peacock purple, and I really had a hard time giving a shit. Mind you, my full-time job was to plan high-end weddings across all different nationalities for the most discerning palates in Washington, DC. It wasn’t exactly relaxing. 

I gradually fell into a depression and couldn't understand the cause. I had finally slowed down against my will and began grieving. I now realize the grieving was set off from an ignorance of three failed relationships and my father’s career tail spin now rising to the surface to be exposed.

I was broken but had a great paycheck and many accolades to conceal my internal world.  Does this mean that success means internal bankruptcy? Ease and abundance creates pain and suffering in my body? I feel so worthless. Little did I know that I was living out a story of unfilled potential that my family has carried for many generations. 

So what did I do to bandage my wounds? I found another role where my mental illness would flourish and my depression would deepen. To be continued….