It’s clear that certain questions come up almost every time during sessions. They don’t always concern the substance itself, but rather what people experience in their daily lives. Many wonder if their use is truly problematic, why they find it so hard to be honest with their loved ones, or why they constantly think about using.

These questions are legitimate and are often accompanied by guilt, shame, or a sense of confusion.

In this article, I wanted to address the questions I hear most often in counseling sessions. The goal isn’t to make a diagnosis through a screen, but to help you better understand what sometimes lies behind an addiction.

“Am I really addicted, or am I overreacting?”

This is probably the question I hear most often.

Many patients come to counseling and start by downplaying their use:

“I think I’m overreacting a little…”

“There are people who are much worse than me.”

“I don’t drink every day, so I’m not an alcoholic.”

This tendency to compare oneself to others is very common. However, in my practice, I rarely focus on the amount consumed first. Two people can smoke the same number of cigarettes or spend the same amount of time playing video games without experiencing the same level of difficulty.

In reality, the most important question often lies elsewhere.

How much of a role does this behavior play in your life?
Is it becoming hard to control?
Have you ever tried to cut back without success?
Do you regularly think about your next use?
Have the people around you ever expressed concern?
Do you sometimes feel like you’re no longer completely free to make your own choices?

An addiction isn’t just recognized by what a person consumes, but by the role that consumption gradually takes on in their life. It’s also recognized by the gradual loss of freedom the person feels in relation to a substance or behavior. This is often the aspect that stands out most to me during consultations.

Identifying Addictive Behavior:

During an initial clinical interview, it can be tempting to rush to a diagnosis. However, I often find it more helpful to explore the patient’s relationship with their use.

Just a few questions are often enough to better understand the role that this use plays in the patient’s life:

How did this use begin?
What has it changed in their life?
What happens when they try to stop?
In what situations do they use more?

These factors often provide more insight than just the frequency of use and help determine whether we’re dealing with a habit, risky use, or a genuine addictive behavior.

When should you seek help?

You don’t have to wait until the situation becomes critical to seek help.

It can be helpful to seek help when use becomes difficult to control, when repeated attempts to quit have failed, when the addiction is taking over more and more of your life, when it’s impacting your personal or professional life, or simply when it becomes a source of suffering.

Seeking help doesn’t mean the situation is “serious.” It simply means you want to understand what’s going on before the suffering takes over even more.

“Why do I lie about my substance use?”

This question is often asked with a great deal of shame.

Some patients say, “I lied to you last week,” or “I never even tell my partner exactly how much I use.”

Many see this as further proof that they have “a problem.” However, I rarely view lying as an obstacle to therapeutic work. It often provides valuable clinical information.

Why does a person feel the need to hide their substance use? There are many reasons: fear of being judged, of disappointing others, of being told to stop immediately, or simply the difficulty of facing the reality of their own substance use.

It is not always a matter of intent to deceive. In fact, it is possible that the patient is sincerely downplaying their use—not because they are trying to manipulate those around them, but because fully acknowledging their use would be, at that moment, too difficult.

That is why, in therapy, I prefer to adopt an empathetic and curious approach rather than a confrontational one. When a patient downplays their substance use, I don’t try to trap them; instead, I ask myself, “What makes this reality so difficult to face?”

This approach often profoundly changes the therapeutic relationship.

Denial cannot be fought:

We often talk about denial in the context of addiction: the risk, then, is wanting to make it disappear at all costs. However, abruptly confronting a patient with their contradictions rarely produces the desired effect.

In my experience, the therapeutic alliance is built more strongly when the patient feels understood than when they feel confronted with their inconsistencies.

Denial is not just an obstacle. It is also a psychological defense mechanism that deserves to be understood before it is addressed.

“Is it normal to think about using drugs every day?”

Many people worry because they think about the substance almost constantly.

Some people say: “I think about it as soon as I wake up,” “My whole day is organized around my next use,” “Even when I’m not using, I think about it constantly.”

This experience is much more common than one might imagine: it’s called a craving—that is, a very strong urge to use. Contrary to what one might think, having a craving doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll act on it.

These urges fluctuate. They often arise in certain situations: after a difficult day, during a moment of solitude, in a particular place, or in the presence of certain people. Learning to recognize these situations is already an important step.

In therapy, we often work on identifying these triggers. Not to avoid them at all costs, but so that the person can gradually understand what fuels these cravings. The goal isn’t to never feel a craving again, but to stop letting that craving make decisions for us.

“Why am I ruining everything just when I was starting to feel better?”

After several weeks or even months of effort, patients feel like they’re getting better. They use less, regain some stability, and rebuild their confidence… then, almost without understanding why, they start all over again.

They say: “I was on the right track, and I ruined everything,” “It’s stronger than me—as soon as things get better, I relapse.”

The first reaction is often to call oneself a failure, to think that one lacks willpower or that all the effort was for nothing.

Yet things are rarely that simple. Change is often desired… but it can also be scary.

Even when an addiction causes suffering, it has often been part of daily life for a long time. It becomes a familiar way of functioning. Conversely, living without it requires building new reference points, new habits, and sometimes a new way of managing certain emotions. This transition can be uncomfortable.

It’s therefore not uncommon for some people to unconsciously revert to what they already know, even if it causes them pain. This doesn’t mean they don’t want to get better. Above all, it means that learning a new way of living takes time.

This is also why I rarely view a relapse as a simple failure.

I prefer to ask myself what this relapse is telling us. Did something specific happen? A difficult emotion? A period of fatigue? A conflict? A positive change that disrupted established habits?

Very often, a relapse provides valuable insights into how the patient functions. When we take the time to understand them, these insights can sometimes become a real catalyst for the rest of the therapeutic process.

Supporting rather than rushing change:

When the patient seems to be doing better, it’s sometimes tempting to think the work is done. Yet it’s often at this point that things get most interesting: the change isn’t just behavioral, since it involves a gradual reorganization of the patient’s psychological balance.

A relapse does not erase the progress made. It often indicates that there is still something to understand or consolidate. The goal, therefore, is not merely to achieve rapid abstinence, but to support a change that is solid enough to be lasting.

“Does my addiction necessarily hide a trauma?”

In recent years, we’ve often heard the claim that every addiction hides a trauma, and this idea is appealing because it seems to offer a simple explanation; however, in clinical reality, the situation is more nuanced.

Yes, some addictions are part of the history of people who have experienced extremely traumatic events, but this is not always the case. Not everyone suffering from an addiction has experienced a major trauma, and not everyone who has experienced a trauma will develop an addiction.

That is why we should be wary of simplistic explanations. In my practice, I rarely look for “THE” cause; instead, I focus more on the individual’s unique history. Sometimes, we find a bereavement, a breakup, or a childhood marked by emotional neglect or abuse; and sometimes, there is no dramatic event at all. It may be an accumulation of small wounds, relationship difficulties, low self-esteem, or a way of managing emotions that has gradually taken hold. It also happens that substance use begins at a very specific point in life: a birth, children leaving home, retirement, a career change, or a breakup. In any case, addiction is generally the result of several intertwined factors: personality, life experiences, relationships, family background, psychological resources, and the environment.

Every story is unique.

This is also what makes therapeutic work so unique. The goal is not to uncover a hidden trauma at all costs, but rather to understand why, for this particular person, this addiction became a possible response at a certain point in their life journey. Reducing an addiction to a single trauma often amounts to oversimplifying the person’s complexity. Conversely, taking the time to explore their story without preconceived notions often allows for a much more accurate understanding of their suffering.

In conclusion, the questions I’ve just addressed are probably the ones that come up most often in therapy. If they’re so common, it’s because they all reflect the same thing: the need to understand what’s happening, rather than simply acknowledging that one is using.

Whether it’s wondering if one is truly addicted, trying to understand why one downplays one’s use, why cravings keep coming back, or why one sometimes feels like one is sabotaging one’s own progress, there is unfortunately no one-size-fits-all answer: every addiction tells a different story.

It is precisely for this reason that therapeutic support does not consist of applying a one-size-fits-all solution, but rather of understanding how each person functions.

In my view, this is where the true value of therapy lies: not just in helping someone stop using, but in enabling them to get to know themselves better, to understand what’s driving their behavior, and to gradually regain greater freedom over it.

Because, deep down, two people can share the same addiction without ever telling the same story. And it is precisely this uniqueness that therapy seeks to hear.