I saw a flood of tweets recently, all boasting about 16-hour workdays. It got me thinking, because I used to be one of them. For the longest time, I wore those hours like a badge of honour, guilty of believing that the grind was the only path to success. The inevitable result? Burnout. A burnout so complete it forced me to make a whole host of changes in my life, from how I work to how I engage with people and social media.
I used to see the 16-hour day as the uniform of the ambitious. In a world that celebrates the “hustle,” putting in those hours felt like more than work; it was a moral virtue. I bought into it completely. It was my choice, my sacrifice, my path.
But a few hard truths eventually broke through that narrative. It began with a feeling I couldn’t shake, a constant mental fog. I realised my creativity would just shut down after the tenth hour, leaving me staring at a screen, simply putting in time. Then I stumbled upon a Stanford study that confirmed my gut feeling: after a certain point, productivity plummets. I was working more, but getting far less done and it was impacting my health.
The physical toll is even more sobering. It’s one thing to feel tired; it’s another to read that the WHO directly links working over 55 hours a week to a higher risk of stroke and heart disease. You’re forced to ask: What am I trading for these extra hours at my desk?
It reminds me of a piece of advice from my mentor, Gerry Leonidas, during my Master’s. Like many students, I used to buy into the glory of all-nighters. He advised me against it, describing how one sleepless night can disrupt your mind and body for days to come. I’ve held onto that lesson for years, but it took my own burnout to truly understand its wisdom.
Looking around, you see this isn’t a universal mindset. In Japan, there’s the tragic cautionary tale of karoshi (death from overwork). But then you see parts of Europe, with their mandated shorter workweeks and deep respect for leisure, and you have to wonder: what do they know that we’re missing?
It all comes back to the crucial line between a personal choice and an unspoken expectation. An individual’s decision to pull a 14-hour day is one thing. But when that act creates silent pressure that makes others feel they have to do the same, it stops being about freedom. It becomes a cage. Now that I’m responsible for leading teams, I make it a point to set a different example. There’s a clear expectation: long hours aren’t a measure of dedication here, and I actively discourage that kind of culture.
This isn’t about demonising hard work. I still believe in passion projects that keep you up at night with excitement. But now, I’m learning to draw a line. I’m realising true success isn’t just about building a great career; it’s about building good health and a great life. And a great life and ideas need space, space to think, to rest, to connect, to simply be.
So, I’m reclaiming my evenings. I’m celebrating the output, not the hours logged. The hustle is real, but so is our human need for balance. And finding that equilibrium might just be the most ambitious and important project I’ve ever taken on.
With love and respect!
Niteesh
6/07/2025