Where the idea of “self-treatment” comes from
When cannabis users are asked why they consume, one answer is repeated: it helps them sleep, it relaxes them, it leaves them “calm.” That motivation—regulating an unpleasant internal state—is the starting point of an old and slippery debate: that of cannabis as a tool for psychological self-regulation. It is worth examining it carefully, without enthusiasm or alarm, because the line between regulating oneself and evading is thinner than it seems.
Before getting into the substance, it is worth remembering a simple idea about how the mind and body relate. A common image compares the mind to a “program” running on physical hardware, the brain. The analogy is imperfect—the mind is not “stored” in any specific place and the brain is not a hard drive—but it serves to understand something important: what happens in the body affects the mind, and what happens in the mind affects the body.
When the mind disorders the body
A blow to the head can alter mental function; that is intuitive. What is harder to see is the reverse path. An intensely stressful or traumatic experience—witnessing a violent event, for example—can be vividly recorded and trigger sustained anxiety responses over time. This activation mobilizes hormones like cortisol and adrenaline, and a very prolonged state of alarm has a real physiological cost, including cardiovascular impact.
Faced with these deviations, the organism tends to rebalance itself: this is what is called homeostasis. A good part of what both psychotherapy and pharmacological treatments pursue is not to “add” something from the outside, but to reactivate the recovery mechanisms that the body already possesses. This is a key that should be kept in mind at all times.
Cortisol, the hippocampus, and the amygdala
Cortisol is not a villain: it fulfills necessary functions. But in excess and chronically, it reorganizes memory in a peculiar way. It tends to hinder the work of the hippocampus—the fixation of concrete and contextualized memories—while enhancing the amygdala’s ability to register the emotional cues of a threatening situation.
Evolutionarily, it makes sense: the system ensures that whatever could have endangered our survival is branded into our memory to react faster the next time. The problem is that this same mechanism, when it becomes miscalibrated, leaves intense and poorly integrated emotional memories that continue to trigger long after the danger has passed. That is where occasional discomfort can become chronic.
Remaining with discomfort, not fleeing from it
Healing a psychological wound is similar, with some differences, to closing a physical wound: there is pain, withdrawal from the source of damage, and then a slow process of scarring. Emotionally, that process involves something uncomfortable but decisive: learning to hold difficult emotions instead of avoiding them.
Avoidance works in the short term—it turns off the discomfort for a while—but it rarely solves anything at a fundamental level, and sometimes it makes it worse. Negative emotions usually have a point beyond which the body itself begins to regulate and the symptoms subside. Those who flee before reaching that point never verify that the discomfort, on its own, also decreases. Hence the importance of being able to remain in the presence of what bothers you long enough for self-regulation to occur.
Here is the critical knot of the whole matter. A lot of cannabis consumption is oriented precisely toward the opposite: escaping from the situation or the discomfort. And such use, however understandable it may be, is passive coping: it does not teach you how to handle the problem, it only postpones it. Distinguishing between using something to accompany a process and using it to dodge it is not a nuance: it is the whole difference.
Coping as a process: a way to organize the head
Beyond any substance, clinical psychology offers frameworks for addressing a problem in a structured rather than reactive way. A classic one, problem-solving, breaks down coping into phases that can serve as a mental map:
- Problem orientation: perceiving it, attributing an origin to it, evaluating it, and deciding how much time and effort it deserves.
- Definition and formulation: gathering fact-based information, clarifying what the problem is, setting a realistic goal, and reviewing what it means for your well-being.
- Generation of alternatives: producing many ideas, postponing judgment while doing so, and seeking variety before discarding.
- Decision-making: anticipating consequences, comparing options, and preparing a concrete plan.
- Execution and verification: acting, observing the result, comparing it with what was expected, recognizing progress, and, if it didn’t work, reviewing the process and adjusting.
None of this depends on cannabis. It is, simply, a way not to remain paralyzed or flailing. The interesting thing is that the value of such a scheme is not in following it to the letter, but in remembering that coping is a sequence that can be learned.
Discomfort is also part of life
We live surrounded by messages that treat discomfort as a breakdown that must be repaired immediately: go to your therapist, try this recipe, get a prescription. It is not about disregarding professional help—which in many cases is necessary and should be sought in time—but about not turning every emotional stumble into an emergency to be delegated.
Turning all pain into something to flee from, whether with a pill, a substance, or a miracle cure, deprives us of developing our own strategies to move forward despite the pain. Suffering, setbacks, and losses are part of existence, and learning to inhabit them is part of becoming an adult. What one tells oneself about what is happening weighs, at times, as much as what is happening.
Critical reading and harm reduction
The narrative of “self-therapeutic” cannabis has reasonable parts and others that should be looked at with a magnifying glass:
- Testimony is not evidence. That many people say cannabis relaxes them describes a real subjective experience, but it does not prove a stable or safe therapeutic effect. The relationship between cannabis and stress is dose-dependent and highly variable between individuals: for some people it calms them, for others it triggers anxiety.
- Beware of easy causality. Attributing a “direct” reduction of cortisol to cannabis simplifies a biochemistry that research is still debating. It is not advisable to present as a closed fact what remains a subject of study.
- Regulating and evading are easily confused. The same gesture can be accompaniment or flight depending on the moment, the intention, and the frequency. Continued use to avoid feeling is, precisely, the prelude to problematic consumption.
- The “it’s natural” argument guarantees nothing. Criticisms of the over-prescription of psychotropic drugs may be legitimate, but “natural” and “home-grown” do not equate to harmless. A plant also interacts with medication, previous mental health, and contexts of vulnerability.
- Signs to stop and ask for help. If consumption becomes the only way to regulate emotions, if the quantity or frequency increases, if underlying anxiety appears, sleep problems occur when not consuming, or deterioration in daily life happens, it is advisable to review it with a professional. In cases of trauma, psychosis, or adolescence, caution must be greater.
The underlying idea of the original text—using an experience actively and not as a mere anesthetic—is defensible. But supporting it with honesty requires recognizing its limits: no substance does the work of coping for us, and presenting it as a shortcut is, almost always, the first step toward not coping with anything at all.
