“ About Face ” is a column about how someone changed their mind.
I’ve always identified as an “achiever,” pushing myself to collect clear signs of success, from grades to promotions. Having come from a family of hardworking entrepreneurs who taught me the value of hustle and the impracticality of rest, I suppose it was inevitable that I would take pride in being an over-worker.
Sure, I was always exhausted, but I told myself I would relax when I had finally achieved enough. Yes, my to-do list always seemed to grow, but I convinced myself that was OK, since my drive wasn’t about competition or insecurity, but about my own growth and being a role model to others. My résumé duly glittered with honors and degrees.
Given just how invested I was in being an ideal mentor, it perhaps makes some sense that my wake-up call came from one of my mentees. A few years ago I was encouraging a particularly talented student at the University of Arizona, where I’m a professor, to pursue a Ph.D. and rise to senior leadership in consulting. His response was shocking: “I always wanted to be a leader until I saw you doing it.”
He pointed out the late-night emails, the early-morning replies and how my calendar was always packed with few breaks. He questioned how I found time for myself, my family, my friends. “Work is important, but so is living my life,” he said. “If this is what it takes, I don’t think I want to do it.”
His critique was mortifying. I thought I was a proud example of the benefits of hard work. Instead, I had become a cautionary tale.
As my student’s words rattled around my head, I began to recognize the personal toll of my hustle mentality. I was so consumed with checking boxes and sending emails that I hadn’t been eating right, sleeping well or spending real time with people outside of work—not even my husband. If I kept giving priority to work above all else, what would “else” even look like?
Hoping for space to reflect, I booked a retreat. After a yoga class I complimented a fellow participant on how flawlessly she executed every pose. The retreat leader pulled me aside and asked gently why I was so focused on someone else’s achievement. I’d managed to turn a space for personal mindfulness and growth into yet another arena for competition.
Unlearning hustle culture isn’t easy. I began small.
I carved out an hour each morning for exercise, coffee and a calm start to my day, which meant going to bed earlier and resisting the urge to “catch up” on emails at night. Even this small change was hard—there were always people expecting a response. But I began to see how sending emails before bed only invited more the next morning. It turned out I could just break this cycle and everything would still be OK.
Instead of seeing weekends as a way to get a jump on the week, I started using this time to actually relax and be with people I care about. This was much more fun. I also felt more restored when it was time to get back to work.
I started working outside when the weather was nice, stopped scheduling calls during my commute and gave myself time to just think. My ideas became sharper and I felt less stress. I also saw that nothing fell apart just because I took a step back.
As a first-generation college student made good, I used to hold up my life as a road map for others. Now I no longer encourage students to follow my lead. Instead I assure them that there is no one path to success. I add, with sincere humility, that I am still figuring out my own way forward.
Katina Sawyer is an associate professor of management and organizations at the University of Arizona and the co-author of “Leading for Wellness,” published by Wiley.
