The Praise, The Pride & The Prize.
A love-hate essay about work, drive, and going too far.
When I first started sketching the playbook on Notion, I thought I’d only write about design and craft.
But as I piled up topics, I realized the most important ones weren’t about the work itself—but everything around it. The stuff we don’t talk about enough.
The stuff that’s still taboo.
So here’s one: workaholism.
I wasn’t exactly lazy growing up, but I sure wasn’t excited to “go to work.”
I hustled in restaurants for years. Long shifts. Fluorescent lights. Minimum wage. You don’t wake up stoked to do that.
That was my life, until I found design. And New York.
It hit me like a truck. There was no warm-up phase. One week I was floating, the next I was obsessed.
Design made me feel like I could build anything. Learn fast. Earn faster.
And most dangerously: it didn’t feel like work. It felt like a game I never wanted to quit.
At Behance, I was designing by day, working restaurants by night, brunch shifts on weekends. I’d get home at 3am and wake up at 7.
There was a window in the shower where I’d smoke a cigarette while drinking coffee—just to squeeze in 15 more minutes of sleep. I did that for months.
New York didn’t end well for me. But I still loved every bit of what I discovered there.
I was limitless. I couldn’t be stopped.
I was drunk on work.
I was a workaholic.
workaholism
a condition that makes someone work a lot of the time and find it difficult not to work:
Once workaholism sets in, it progresses through stages similar to those in drug addiction.
Cambridge Dictionary
Workaholism doesn’t hit like a wall.
It builds like fog.
At first, you’re thriving. You’re part of the Night Club. The ones who stay late. Push harder. Carry more.
You’re proud of it. You’re praised for it. And you might even get handsomely paid for it.
But then you stop recovering. You don’t sleep well anymore. Your body changes. Your mood shifts. Your creativity and productivity drop.
But the praise, the pride—and the prize—keep you going.
It felt like the juice was finally worth the squeeze.
It’s hard to talk about workaholism without talking about startups.
Startups run on passion. And passion, at first, feels amazing.
You pour your heart into the Thing. You care more than anyone else. You say “yes” too much, because this might be the Thing.
And in startups, the Thing could change your life.
But passion and workaholism aren’t the same.
When the late nights become the expectation, not the exception, that’s no longer just passion.
That’s hustle.
Hustle is a weird word now. Say it too loud and you’ll get crucified on social media. But let’s not pretend it didn’t build a generation of great products.
Still. I wonder: When did hustle become synonymous with success? When did commitment mean exhaustion?
There’s a quote from ReWork that stuck with me:
Workaholics aren’t heroes. They don’t save the day, they just use it up. The real hero is home by 5.
It’s provocative, maybe too clean. But it hits.
Because we’ve confused effort with impact.
At some point it even made me wonder if workaholism was an actual requirement to make it in tech.
Or is it just what happens when you turn passion into your personality?
Being passionate is great. It lights you up. It gets you out of bed. It’s a powerful driver.
But when passion becomes your identity, it becomes dangerous.
Because now, not working feels like failure.
You’re not just tired, you’re ashamed.
You think you’re falling behind. Letting your team down. And you start apologizing for it.
Impostor syndrome creeps in. And for creatives—especially the ones who found design after years of drifting—this is a brutal trap.
I used to think workaholism was just the price of doing what you love.
But then, the thing you love starts breaking your health, your focus, your sleep, your relationships.
That’s not love.
That’s addiction.
Some of the best work I did—some of the best work I’ve seen—didn’t come from 80-hour weeks.
It took me a long time to really understand that.
Yes, speed is everything when it comes to execution. But speed isn’t about doing more hours. It’s about moving with clarity.
It’s not a sprint. It’s a marathon you run like a series of well-timed sprints—recovering, refocusing, and sprinting again when it counts.
From builders who knew when to push, and when to pause. Who knew that energy is a resource to protect, not a badge to burn.
The best people I know don’t brag about chaos. They’re calm. Present. Focused.
They show up. They don’t explode and disappear.
Execution isn’t about intensity. It’s about consistency.
I still work hard.
I mean, my relatives think I do. I probably am, but it’s not even close to the extreme levels of addiction I was on in the past.
They helped me keep my sanity along the way—through the ups and downs.
I’ve stopped envying the Night Club and apologising for not being part of it anymore.
I used to see its members as heroes.
Now I just hope they’re okay.
While writing this issue, I was actually tempted to go all in on burnout.
But I’ll save that for another time.
If you’re in flow and loving it, amazing. Keep cooking.
You don’t have to break.
Just breathe.
The prizes are high.
But the stakes are even higher.
Julien.