He didn't come in describing overworking as a problem. He described it as a fact of his life, the way someone might describe their height. "I've just always been the one who does the most." The problem, as he saw it, was that he was tired — not that the pattern itself might be worth questioning.
The belief underneath the hours
Several sessions in, a sentence surfaced that explained the whole decade: "If I stop producing, I don't know what's left of me that people would want around." Overworking wasn't ambition. It was a proof strategy — evidence gathered continuously to offset a fear that, without it, he had nothing to offer.
What the work actually addressed
Not a time-management overhaul. The hours were a symptom. We worked on the belief directly — testing it against reality in small, deliberate ways: taking a day off without pre-justifying it, letting a friendship exist without constantly contributing something useful to it, noticing whether people's warmth toward him actually tracked with his output the way he assumed it did.
What he found
It mostly didn't track. The people closest to him had never been keeping score the way he had. That evidence, gathered slowly and repeatedly, did more than any conversation about "balance" ever could.
You can't think your way out of a belief the body built through years of repetition. You have to give the body new repetitions to learn from instead.