I was addicted to the grind.
Morning to night. Seven days a week. Deals. Calls. Meetings. Side hustles. If I wasn't making money, I felt useless. If I wasn't tired, I felt lazy. Rest wasn't rest to me-it was wasted time.
My phone never left my hand. Even at the dinner table. Even during conversations. Even when my people were right in front of me, I was somewhere else mentally, chasing the next coin.
I told myself I was doing it for them. For my family. For the future.
But the truth? I was doing it for me. Because when I was hustling, I didn't have to feel. Didn't have to sit with my thoughts. Didn't have to face the fact that I didn't really know who I was without the busyness.
My wake-up call? My son's fourth birthday. I was in the corner taking a "quick call" that lasted an hour. When I came back, cake was done. Gifts opened. He looked at me and said, "Daddy, you always leave."
That cut deep.
I'm learning now that presence is greater than provision. That the people who love me would rather have less money and more of me. That rest isn't weakness-it's medicine.
Still a work in progress. Still learning to put the phone down. Still learning that I am enough without the next deal.
Anyone else addicted to working? When did you realize busyness was a mask for something deeper? How do you learn to just... be still?