I'm addicted to being a woman

I am addicted to being a woman. I am addicted to looking like a woman, acting like a woman, thinking like a woman, and existing as a woman. I am so consumed by being her that I became her. 

Some may say that my pursuit of femininity is not really an addiction because there are no long-term harmful consequences. But what if becoming a woman means that I’m more likely to face violence? What if becoming a woman means I’m less likely to find stable employment or competent healthcare? Being a woman might get me killed, but it’s also saved my life. We call some things addiction, and others life-saving care. But both come from the same place: a need to escape pain, a need to survive.

To understand addiction and life-saving care, we have to acknowledge a fundamental human truth: we don’t like pain. Humans will do almost anything to avoid feeling hurt. We take painkillers to relieve ourselves of headaches, toothaches, and bodily pain. We drink alcohol when we’re grieving the death of a loved one. Sometimes the pain is so deep and constant that we engage in riskier forms of pain relief. We start smoking weed every day to protect ourselves against the crushing pressure of capitalism. We have sex with random strangers from the internet to fill a hungry void leftover from our childhood when we felt undesirable. We buy the Nike shoes and ultra-cheap fast fashion clothes even if the production of those things supports child slavery and environmental destruction. We are already engaging in behaviors that lead to long-term negative consequences. Canadian physicist Gabor Mate who lived through the Holocaust as a child in Hungary, and subsequently dedicated his life to studying addiction, substance use, and trauma, said, “The real question is not why the addiction, but why the pain?” 

If addiction and life-saving care are responses to pain, then what happens when an entire generation is addicted to distraction?

A couple months ago, I deleted my personal Instagram account. After I confirmed that yes, I wanted to get rid of my account, Meta told me they’d keep it for 30 days - just in case I changed my mind. During that month I didn’t miss being on the platform at all. I was less angry. Without the constant comparing of myself against others or ruminating on why a certain friend liked and commented on another friend’s post, but not mine, I found myself focusing on my own life in front of me. I reclaimed my time and attention, some of the most precious commodities in the modern world. 

Leaving Instagram was a complicated decision. It’s the one place where I could connect with new people, check in on my friends, be informed about recent news, and build my own brand. But one-size-fits-all never really works. In between the likes and shares, my mental health started to crumble, leaving room for anxiety, depression, and addiction to crawl in. Social media, by design, is created to be addictive through their dopamine-driven algorithm that rewards engagement and spending time on the platform. Plenty of studies have shown that this is true, and yet, we continue to go back for another scroll, another hit. Social media is the most widely used drug in the world. But for some reason, an influencer is seen as a better person than the head of a drug cartel, despite both peddling a substance that keeps the user coming back for more. 

During my Instagram sobriety, I also took a break from smoking weed. This was unplanned. It actually started from choosing to not buy another eighth that week. Then every day after, I chose to not indulge in THC. This was harder, much harder, than giving up Instagram. I’ve been using weed recreationally over the last decade of my life. I’ve gotten so high-functioning to the point where I can do most of the things I do sober while high. 

I never thought that I was addicted to weed because I could go weeks without it when I was on vacation somewhere I couldn’t get my hands on it. But if I had the chance? You’d best believe I was rolling up. I was dependent on weed for comfort. I smoked weed when I was feeling stressed about the state of the world. I smoke weed to escape my own mind at times, a mind that I still have a difficult relationship with. 

I transitioned to escape a deep pain that I lived with for more than two decades of my life. To turn dysphoria into euphoria. In some ways, becoming a woman has extended my life expectancy. I transitioned not to escape myself, but to find myself. Maybe the difference between addiction and healing isn’t what we seek, but what we find in the end.

Disclaimer: This essay explores addiction as a metaphor for identity, survival, and pain relief, but I recognize that addiction, in its clinical and lived reality, is a serious condition that affects millions. For those struggling with substance dependence, professional support and harm reduction resources are essential. If you or someone you know is facing addiction, I encourage seeking guidance from trusted medical professionals, community support networks, or harm reduction services.