The old Doves song hits differently when I think about my own addiction. Work. It’s an embarrassing affliction that is often met with admiration without acknowledging its insidious impact on the individual if not addressed properly. I was reared to keep my head down, work hard. If things got rough, I worked harder. It didn’t matter if my body rebelled. I willed myself to survive at the detriment of connection with my own body and dangerous consequences. I wondered why I never felt attraction or able to date unless I was on vacation or between jobs. It’s hard to put down this inherited survival strategy passed down like a precious family heirloom. It’s hard to know who I am without a job. A recovering addict I suppose. Learning how to have a healthy relationship with work feels overwhelming but necessary.