Are You Healing, or Just Getting High?
I remember a time when my mornings began with an hour of meditation, followed by two, maybe three hours of intense yoga asana. Then a one-hour midday meditation. And, because it’s called discipline, another one in the evening. Granted, this was before I had a child and back when “self-realization” was basically my full-time job.
I also remember the guilt that would creep in on the rare days I skipped my practice. It wasn’t just a flicker of conscience, it was full-blown withdrawal. I felt incomplete and out of tune. Like I'd missed my spiritual mushroom-espresso shot and now the day would spiral into cosmic disorder.
Back then, I told myself I was committed and focused. Absolutely spiritually disciplined. And I was, oh my goddess, how disciplined I was. But looking back, I’m not so sure I wasn’t also kind of... addicted.
Not addicted in the self-destructing, body-deteriorating, can’t-hold-a-job-anymore rehab sense, no. But in that quieter, yoga-ashram-cult-scented way. The kind that doesn’t raise eyebrows because it's wrapped in a socially acceptable wellness package and makes you glow, smile, and smell good all the time. (Did you know that yoga asana over time makes your body and sweat smell better? It’s true. And weirdly satisfying.) Anyways, back to topic.
So I remember feeling off, almost unwell, on the days I skipped my routine. If I missed practice, I wasn’t just disappointed, I was spiritually hangry. I felt restless, irritable, and vaguely convinced the universe had a vendetta.
Later, in an excitingly honest therapy session, I asked the question out loud: Is it possible I was addicted to yoga?
We had a long and very therapeutic conversation (as one does in therapy) about the concept of “healthy” versus “unhealthy” addictions. For instance: being addicted to salad probably won’t land you in rehab. But if you're hyperventilating because the supermarket is out of organic rucola—then yes, we might be crossing into dangerous territory.
We also talked about how people recovering from one addiction often pick up another, slightly more acceptable one. Say, switching heroin for cigarettes. Or cigarettes for sugar-free Coke. Or sugar-free Coke for Kundalini classes and imported gongs.
Addiction and discipline often sit on a very fine line. One is a conscious commitment. The other, a compulsive survival strategy framed as devotion. Discipline is chosen. Addiction chooses you.
It’s the difference between using a tool to build something—and clinging to it because you're afraid of who you are without it. Apparently, anything can become addictive. Even “wellness” and “healing.” It’s not just about what you’re doing—it’s the quiet existential twitch that shows up when you don’t. Technically: attachment. Which is ironic, considering yoga philosophy is pretty clear on that one. Non-attachment—vairāgya—is kind of the whole point. Yoga was never meant to be about perfecting a handstand or clinging to your daily meditation like it’s emotional life support. It’s about loosening your grip on the things you think define you—even your spiritual practice.
But of course, New Age spirituality has a talent for turning tools into trophies. And soon, the path to freedom starts to feel suspiciously like another cage. And this is where it gets tricky in the world of modern spirituality. Because when your “cage” or your “drug” is labeled healing, no one questions it.
But let’s be real. A lot of what passes for healing these days is really just highly aestheticized self-soothing. Microdoses of transcendence and bliss. (I covered that in a post where I talked about the “Spiritual Casino.”) Just enough inner light to keep you coming back. Because that feeling—of spaciousness, of alignment, of temporary relief, of healing—is intoxicating.
Double triple yes, I’ve benefited deeply from these practices. And I wouldn’t want to miss them. But as much as it helped me grow, I’ve also used them to bypass inconvenient emotions and uncomfortable truths. I used my practice to meditate myself into states of deep transcendence (which I absolutely love—and honestly, meditation is the best drug I’ve ever taken) and oftentimes escape reality.
So was I healing—absolutely. Was I addicted? Absolutely.
The belief—here, like with everything else—is that it’s about balance. And when the pursuit of balance becomes the very thing throwing you off balance, it might be time to reassess.
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
