Think this: you crave something. A drink, a pill, a scroll through your phone at 2 a.m., or maybe even one more “urgent” email. In the moment, it soothes. It numbs. It gives relief. That’s the short-term pleasure. But then comes the hangover — not just in your body, but in your life. And even as the consequences pile up, you find yourself going back again. That loop — craving, consequence, inability to quit — is what Dr. Gabor Maté calls the essence of addiction.

In his book In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts, Maté shows us that addiction isn’t about weak willpower or moral failure. It’s about unfulfilled needs. The substance or behavior steps in as a caretaker: it calms anxiety, covers loneliness, fills emptiness. The problem? It takes care of the need, but never gives what was actually missing — love, safety, belonging.

And yet, the hardest truth is this: it works. At least for a while. That’s why letting go is so difficult.

What Addiction Does for Me

Let’s pause on this question: What is my addiction doing for me?

• For some, it’s self-medication — a quick fix when emotions feel unbearable.

• For others, it’s a creative adjustment, a way the brain cleverly learns to survive what once felt impossible.

• Sometimes it’s developmental — a pattern learned early, repeated often.

• But at its core, addiction always changes brain chemistry, giving a temporary sense of safety or relief.

As Stephen Porges reminds us in The Pocket Guide to the Polyvagal Theory, our nervous system is constantly scanning for safety. When life doesn’t feel safe, the body finds workarounds. Addiction is one of them. It’s the nervous system’s DIY project: build a shelter fast, even if the roof leaks.

Trauma at the Root

Mark Wolynn, in It Didn’t Start With You, explains how inherited family trauma shapes us. Patterns of fear, silence, or disconnection can pass through generations. Addiction often grows in that soil. It becomes the body’s answer to an old question: How do I survive what I was never meant to endure?

So when we look at addiction, the real question isn’t, “Why the addiction?” but, as Gabor Maté famously says, “Why the pain?”

The Paradox

Here’s the paradox: addiction works… until it doesn’t.

• It soothes, but isolates.

• It numbs, but leaves the pain unresolved.

• It protects, but also destroys.

Imagine it like wearing a heavy winter coat indoors. At first, it keeps you warm. Eventually, it suffocates you.

Beyond the Symptom

Recovery isn’t about ripping the coat off and shouting, “Just stop!” It’s about creating a life where you no longer need it. A life where the nervous system feels safe. Where love, presence, and connection take the place of substitutes.

Addiction may be a way to cope, but healing means learning to ask: What is it I really need? And where can I finally receive it?

So perhaps the next time you notice the craving — whether for alcohol, work, Netflix, or your phone — you might ask gently:

What is this doing for me? And what would love, instead of this, look like?

Because addiction is always a messenger. And beneath the craving, there is always a need waiting to be met.

We all have addictions — some socially acceptable, some not. And behind every craving is a story, a wound, a need. Understanding this isn’t just about recovery; it’s about compassion — for ourselves and for others. Want to understand your own story? I am here to help you on your path of discovery.

Yours, Ksenia Trefilova