Self-Medication or Survival? How to Know When Coping Crosses the Line
- Updated: May 21, 2025
You think it’s saving you.
The drink. The work. The scrolling. The sex. The late-night sugar highs or the pills that knock you out just long enough to face the morning.
But let’s be real:
You’re not coping. You’re erasing.
Erasing the tension. The panic. The grief.
And every time you reach for that thing—that fix—you’re convincing yourself it’s helping.
It’s not. It’s just making the cage more comfortable.
I’m Denise G. Lee, a healing and leadership coach who’s seen how smart, driven, deeply hurting people slowly self-destruct in the name of “getting by.” And I’ve lived it too.
This isn’t about shame. It’s about truth.
Because until we name what self-medication really is—and stop glamorizing our numbing rituals—we stay stuck pretending we’re in control while quietly falling apart.
Let’s talk about what self-medication actually looks like.
Not the textbook version—the real one.
What Self-Medication Really Looks Like (Even If You’re High-Functioning)
Let’s stop pretending this is just about pills, booze, or a bad week.
Self-medication is what happens when you’re a grown adult with responsibilities, goals, and trauma you’ve never really sat with—and instead of collapsing, you keep performing. But every performance has a cost.
It’s the late-night wine you “earned” after carrying everyone else’s emotional weight.
The sugar high that kicks in just long enough to stop the tears.
The porn or hookup that lets you feel something after a day of being numb.
The 12-hour grind that feels “productive” but is really just hiding the anxiety that hits when you slow down.
You think you’re holding it all together. But what you’re really doing is disappearing by degrees—drugging your soul while your body stays clocked in.
Self-medication isn’t just a crisis. It’s a lifestyle—and for a lot of leaders, it’s the only way they’ve been taught to cope.
🚨 Some of the Real Ways We Self-Medicate (Yes, You Too):
Overworking: You call it ambition. It’s actually avoidance. You’d rather power through 16-hour days than sit with what’s falling apart inside.
Anger + Control: You don’t yell because you’re strong—you yell because it’s the only emotion that doesn’t make you feel weak.
Scrolling ’til numb: You’re not just “unwinding.” You’re pacifying your nervous system with pixels.
Food binges: That third bowl of pasta? It’s not hunger. It’s grief.
Over-exercising: Not every gym rat is fit—some are just running from feelings that never stop chasing them.
Sleep dysfunction: Oversleeping to escape. Undersleeping to outrun your thoughts. Either way, your body’s begging you to stop.
Gambling, hookups, retail therapy: You call it spontaneity. But really, it’s a way to avoid feeling unlovable, invisible, or stuck.
This isn’t about shame. It’s about exposure. Let’s call it what it is—coping turned captivity.
Brenda the Bread Bandit
You know Brenda. She’s the one who jokes about stress-eating cupcakes while secretly using sugar to keep from crying in her car. She’s not quirky. She’s coping.
And the thing is, her body knows it.
That sugar hit lights up the serotonin in her brain just long enough to silence the panic. But what Brenda doesn’t realize is that every time she grabs another loaf, she’s reinforcing the belief that she can’t handle life without a fix.
You can swap her baked goods for bourbon, binge sex, Shopify checkouts, or another hour on TikTok. The mechanism is the same: regulate the pain without resolving it.
When the Cure Becomes the Cage
You don’t start out trying to ruin your life.
Most people just want relief. A little calm. A break from the noise in their head.
That’s why the bottle makes sense at 11 p.m.
Why the pills get easier to swallow after a rough week.
Why that prescription from your doctor feels like a godsend—until it starts to steal parts of you you didn’t even know were negotiable.
I want to pause here and give credit where it’s due. Much of what I’m about to share was sparked by a haunting piece by Shalini Ramachandran and Betsy McKay in The Wall Street Journal, titled “Generation Xanax: The Dark Side of America’s Wonder Drug.” Their reporting pulled back the curtain on what many of us in the healing world have seen up close: sometimes the cure becomes the cage.
Benzodiazepines—like Xanax, Ativan, and Valium—were designed to be short-term lifelines. For real emergencies. Sleepless nights. Panic spirals. Trauma recovery.
But in practice, they’ve become a long-term crutch. Prescribed casually, extended indefinitely, and rarely explained in full.
Especially to women. Especially to veterans. Especially to the over-responsible, over-functioning caregivers who never say no.
Let me be very clear:
I am not anti-medication. I am anti-blind-faith.
There’s a difference between needing help and being handed a muzzle.
There are moments when you feel challenged to your core.
— Denise G. Lee (@DeniseGLee) July 31, 2024
You might feel bothered when you want to be alone. You might feel terribly lonely, with nobody there to talk to.
Nothing good seems to be happening.
But is it?
Sometimes, even in the moments that feel terrible, there is…
These Are Not Fringe Cases. These Are Real People.
Take Dana Bare, a mother of five. She followed the rules. Took her Xanax as prescribed. It worked—until it didn’t.
When she tried to stop, her body revolted. Panic attacks. Burning skin. Brain zaps. Memory loss. She wrote her daughter a goodbye letter just in case she didn’t survive the withdrawal.
Or Dr. Christy Huff, a respected cardiologist who used Xanax for sleep. Within weeks, her body shut down. Swallowing became difficult. Breathing wasn’t automatic anymore. It took three years—three years—to wean off. She survived the taper, but the damage lingered. And in 2023, she died by suicide, leaving this in her final note:
“If I end up taking my life… I consider this to be murder.”
These weren’t addicts or thrill-seekers. They were patients. Professionals. Caregivers. Leaders.
And this isn’t rare.
15–44% of long-term benzo users experience moderate to severe withdrawal.
Up to 15% develop protracted symptoms that last months—or even years.
There’s even a name for it now: BIND—Benzodiazepine-Induced Neurological Dysfunction.
When “Taking the Edge Off” Takes Too Much
No one tells you what the “edge” really is.
Maybe it’s the pressure of being the provider.
Maybe it’s unresolved trauma from a childhood you’ve tried to outgrow.
Maybe it’s that you’re exhausted from leading a business, a team, a family—and you’re quietly wondering who’s leading you.
So you take something to breathe easier.
Then you take it to sleep.
Then to show up to meetings without shaking.
Then just to feel normal.
Until suddenly, you’re not sure what version of you is real anymore.
That’s not healing. That’s dependency dressed up as self-care.
This Is About Agency—Not Shame
If you’ve ever thought, “I just need something to take the edge off,” pause right there. You deserve support—but not the kind that hijacks your brain or makes you question your own sanity when you try to reclaim it.
Medication can be part of a healing plan. But it’s not the plan.
You can’t outsource your peace.
Not to a pill.
Not to a shopping cart.
Not to sugar, sex, overwork, or a 14-hour Netflix binge.
If something makes you feel like you can’t live without it—that’s not relief.
That’s captivity with a fancy label.
You don’t need a perfect life to feel better.
You just need a clear mind and your full self back in the driver’s seat.
Next, we’ll talk about what that actually looks like—and how to get there.
🌡️ If this is hitting home, stay close.
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🔧 Tools for the High-Functioning Leader Who’s Self-Medicating (And Knows It)
1. Inventory the Leak, Not the Behavior
You don’t need another lecture on what you’re “doing wrong.”
You need clarity on what’s leaking beneath it.
Instead of obsessing over the habit (the wine, the porn, the grind), ask:
What part of me feels safest only when I’m disconnected?
What am I afraid will rise if I stop this cycle for 24 hours?
Journal Prompt:
“If I couldn’t [insert self-medication pattern] for one week, what feelings, memories, or fears would come up first?”
Don’t fix. Just observe.
That’s where the real intel lives.
2. Create a Crash Plan, Not a Vision Board
Most advice gives you 10-year plans and “manifest it” posters.
You need a 24-hour crash plan—what to do when you’re about to spiral.
Build this before you hit the edge. Include:
A “no questions asked” person to text or voice-note (no fixer energy allowed)
One default grounding task (walk, ice cube to palm, lie on the floor—real, sensory stuff)
A phrase to stop the spiral. Example:
“This is a flare-up, not a failure. I’ve been here before. I know how to walk myself home.”
3. Start Noticing the Delayed Cost, Not Just the Immediate Relief
High performers are masters of justifying short-term relief in the name of survival.
That glass of wine? You crushed your day. That 3-hour binge-scroll? You needed “recovery.”
But if you zoom out 12 hours, 3 days, 2 weeks—what’s the cost?
Create a relief-to-regret ratio:
Relief: How long does this actually help me?
Regret: What does this take from me (clarity, energy, self-respect)?
Write it down. Name it. Pattern interrupting starts here.
4. Shrink the Performance Window
Self-medication spikes when you perform for too long without coming up for air.
That means:
Shortening client calls.
Turning off the podcast smile.
Saying, “I don’t know yet” instead of bullshitting your next strategic move.
Create “permission pockets” in your day that don’t need to be productive or polished.
Name them something real: re-entry breaks, defrost zones, authority off-switches.
If you’re scared the whole system will crumble if you take 20 minutes of silence… it’s already too fragile.
5. Design a Pattern Reversal Ritual
Most high-functioning addicts (yep, let’s call it) don’t need more discipline.
They need a ritual that gives them their agency back.
This isn’t “go meditate.” This is go claim a decision before the substance does.
Before you eat the thing / click the site / open the app / pour the drink:
Say out loud: “I want this because I feel __.”
Place your hand somewhere on your body that’s tight (gut, chest, jaw).
Ask: “What’s another option that doesn’t need to numb this?”
Choose freely. No shame. No gold stars. Just honesty.
Repeat. Rewire.
FAQ: “But I’m Fine...” and Other Lies We Tell Ourselves
“It’s not that bad. I’m just stressed.”
That’s the problem—you’ve normalized burnout so deeply, you think drowning is your baseline.
Chronic stress isn’t a personality trait. It’s a survival adaptation.
You’re not “just busy.” You’re overextended, emotionally hijacked, and pretending it’s sustainable.
👉 Related: [The Hidden Costs of Over-Delivering (Coming Soon)]
👉 Related: How to Set Emotional Boundaries
“I don’t use substances. I’m just tired.”
Self-medication isn’t just drugs or alcohol.
It’s overwork, overeating, doomscrolling, micromanaging, Netflix ‘til 3 a.m.—anything that numbs the noise without addressing the cause.
If you need something outside of yourself to escape yourself… you’re in a loop.
👉 Related: Social Media Addiction: Why You Can’t Stop Scrolling
👉 Related: Compulsive Perfectionism Is Destroying Your Business
“But I’m still showing up. I’m getting things done.”
Functioning ≠ healing.
You’re producing, sure—but how much of that output is driven by fear, not clarity?
High-functioning self-medicators are the easiest to miss… because they’re the best at hiding in plain sight.
Just because you’re producing doesn’t mean you’re okay. It might just mean you’re scared to stop.
“I had a rough childhood. This is just how I am.”
No. This is how you learned to survive.
But that doesn’t mean it’s who you have to be.
You don’t have to keep playing the protector, the martyr, the ghost of someone else’s dysfunction.
Naming your past is valid. Staying trapped by it is a choice.
👉 Related: The Silent Wound: Healing Childhood Emotional Neglect
“I’ll deal with it later. I just need to get through this week.”
It’s always “just this week.”
Until it’s been three years and you can’t remember what calm feels like without something artificial propping you up.
Postponing your peace is still choosing chaos.
You don’t need a perfect exit strategy. You need an honest entry point—now.
👉 Related: From Self-Doubt to Self-Trust
“I’m not like those people. I’m not addicted.”
What if the addiction isn’t to the substance…
but to the story that you can’t fall apart?
That you have to keep it all together, or everything crumbles?
Addiction isn’t just about dependency. It’s about identity.
And letting go of the thing that numbs you might mean finally facing the part of you that believes you’re only valuable when you’re in control.
👉 Related: Toxic Family Patterns, Clouded Leadership
🔚 Final Thoughts: You Can’t Heal What You’re Still Defending
Let’s keep it honest.
Self-medication doesn’t always look like crisis. Sometimes it looks like competence.
A spotless calendar. A clean house. A stacked client list.
And behind it? Quiet dread. Emotional shutdown. A body that’s tired of being ignored.
You can’t white-knuckle your way through healing.
You can’t optimize your nervous system with bullet points.
And you sure as hell can’t keep calling your survival patterns “strategy.”
The truth?
You don’t need to be rescued. You need to be real.
With yourself. With your pain. With the parts of you that are still trying to earn rest by suffering first.
So if you’re here reading this, and some part of you knows you’re coping more than living…
Don’t run from that clarity.
Let it lead you somewhere honest.
👣 Here’s Your Next Step (No Pressure, Just Truth)
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📬 Need someone to talk to?
You’re not broken—and you don’t have to carry this alone.
👉 Reach out
You don’t have to wait for collapse to course-correct.
You just have to get honest about what it’s costing you to keep calling it “coping.”
And if no one told you today—
You’re allowed to stop.
You’re allowed to feel.
And you’re allowed to begin again. Right here.
