Success. The very word stirs admiration, envy, and desire. From childhood, we are told to reach higher, to push harder, to never stop until we arrive at that golden pinnacle where validation and fulfilment supposedly await. Yet behind the glamorous photographs, the celebratory headlines, and the polished LinkedIn updates, there lurks something far less attractive: the hidden violence of success.
I use the word violence deliberately. It is not the loud, visible kind that leaves bruises and scars, but the quiet erosion of health, families, and friendships—a violence modern society has learned to glorify under the noble label of sacrifice.
The Silent Toll on Health
I still remember a friend from university—one of the brightest among us. He landed a prestigious job in finance straight after graduation, and for a while, it seemed as though he was living the dream. A tailored suit, a handsome paycheque, a corner office before thirty. Yet beneath that polished exterior was a body breaking down. He lived on black coffee and adrenaline, his diet forgotten, his sleep sacrificed. By the time he was thirty-five, stress had carved deep lines into his face, his hair had thinned, and his doctor quietly warned of hypertension.
Psychology tells us that the body keeps the score. Relentless ambition activates the body’s stress response as though it is under constant threat. Cortisol levels rise, immune systems weaken, and anxiety becomes an unwelcome but loyal companion. The violence of success here is not a sudden blow—it is the drip-drip corrosion of wellbeing, sanctioned by a culture that equates exhaustion with dedication.
The Strain on Families
Success also has a way of becoming a third party in every relationship. I have sat with coaching clients who whisper, almost with shame, that they no longer know their children. They provide well, yes—but provision becomes substitution. Their presence at home is replaced with expensive gifts, their absence justified with the phrase, I’m doing this for you.
But children often see it differently. They measure love not in toys but in time. Wives and husbands, too, learn to resent a partner whose true allegiance seems to be with the endless pursuit of more—more clients, more contracts, more recognition. Relationships fray not because of malice but because of neglect.
One of the cruellest aspects of success is its ability to make absence appear virtuous. To miss your daughter’s school play is not selfish, it is “commitment.” To answer emails at the dinner table is not rudeness, it is “responsibility.” Society not only excuses the neglect—it applauds it.
The Erosion of Friendships
Friendship, unlike family, has no formal contract to bind it. It relies solely on reciprocity and choice. Yet success often makes these bonds fragile. Invitations to coffee are declined because of “meetings.” Weekends are consumed by “projects.” Slowly, the phone rings less, until silence settles where laughter once lived.
I once lost a dear friend this way. We had built dreams together in our twenties, dreaming late into the night about changing the world. But as I became increasingly absorbed in building my career, I convinced myself that postponing our catch-ups was temporary. One day, I realised five years had passed. When I finally reached out, the warmth was gone. The friendship hadn’t ended with an argument—it had simply withered under the shadow of ambition.
The psychological violence here is subtle but brutal: loneliness in a crowd, disconnection in a world that applauds your name but forgets your soul.
Why Society Glorifies the Violence
Here lies the paradox: why do we celebrate what destroys us? Why do we glorify sleeplessness, estrangement, and burnout as “sacrifice”?
Part of the answer lies in cultural conditioning. From ancient myths to modern cinema, the hero’s journey is always paved with suffering. We are taught that greatness demands pain. In today’s capitalist society, that narrative has been repackaged: work harder, push further, prove yourself worthy. The exhausted executive, the absent parent, the lonely achiever—all become icons of devotion.
Psychologically, this ties to the phenomenon of cognitive dissonance. When people suffer for a goal, they justify the suffering by amplifying the value of the achievement. If I missed my son’s childhood for my career, then surely my career must have been worth it. If I broke my body for success, then surely success must be sacred. To admit otherwise would be too painful.
The system thrives on this. Corporations, governments, and even social media platforms benefit from ambitious individuals willing to burn themselves out for progress, productivity, and prestige. And so, sacrifice becomes glamourised, and violence becomes invisible.
A Different Way Forward
But must it always be this way? Must success inevitably require violence? I don’t believe so. I have learned, both personally and through the journeys of those I coach, that redefining success is not only possible but urgent.
Real success should not be measured only by bank balances or job titles. It should be measured by vitality—by the ability to wake up without dread, to laugh without guilt, to connect without distraction. It should include the quiet pride of being present at your child’s milestones, the strength of friendships that survive decades, and the resilience of a body cared for rather than depleted.
This requires courage—not the courage to climb faster, but the courage to stop and ask: At what cost? It requires dismantling the myth that sacrifice is always noble, and acknowledging that sometimes it is simply destructive.
My Last Words: Choosing Wholeness Over Glory
Success, as we currently define it, often asks us to bleed quietly in exchange for applause. It asks us to trade health for promotions, families for profits, and friendships for fame. It is violence hidden under the silk cloak of sacrifice.
But the truth is simpler and harsher: achievements lose their sweetness when tasted alone. A title is hollow if your body collapses beneath it. Wealth is bitter if your loved ones drift away in its pursuit. Friendships do not return once forgotten.
As individuals, we must ask ourselves: Do we want success that shines outwardly but corrodes inwardly? Or do we dare to pursue a version of success that allows us to thrive in body, family, and soul?
The hidden violence of success need not remain hidden. By naming it, we begin to break its spell. By questioning it, we begin to reclaim our lives. And perhaps one day, society will no longer glorify this destruction as sacrifice, but instead honour those who choose wholeness over hollow glory.
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