Learning to Stand Alone
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By
Elli Z. Georgiadou
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With Elli is a gentle space for reflection, creativity, and growth. Here, I share thoughts on empathy, healing, womanhood, and the everyday art of being human. Blending philosophy, psychology, and soulful living, my blog invites you to slow down, reconnect with yourself, and find meaning in the simple moments that shape our lives. πΈ
I remember a time when the light felt different.
The way the sun touched my skin — not just warm, but welcoming.
The soft heat of the beach sand under my feet.
The summer wind from the sea gently brushing against my face.
That was my safe space. My safe feeling.
Sometimes I still go back there in my mind.
Sometimes, I wish I could help others find their version of that —
That space where healing becomes possible.
That place where difficult thoughts, emotions, and memories don’t feel so loud.
Where you finally feel safe enough to begin.
We all carry things that are hard to face. For some, it's pain, trauma, or memories they can't put into words. For others, it's regret — for choices made, or paths taken too early.
And for many, those difficult things are wrapped up with substances — drugs, alcohol, escape.
Drugs can make us feel things we long to feel:
Connection. Stillness. Relief.
Especially when we start young, they can feel like a shortcut to a version of reality that hurts less.
But when the shortcut becomes the only path, it can steal more than it gives. And the effects… often last a lifetime.
Drug use refers to the consumption of substances that alter the body’s or mind’s functioning. These substances can be legal (like alcohol, tobacco, or prescription medications) or illegal (like cocaine, heroin, LSD, etc.).
Drug use can range from:
Experimental or occasional use (trying it once or socially),
to regular use (frequent or habitual),
and in some cases, it develops into misuse or addiction (compulsive use despite harmful consequences).
When someone starts using drugs not just occasionally, but regularly and consistently during their teenage years — while their brain is still developing — the consequences can be deep and long-lasting.
This isn’t about experimentation. This is about using substances to cope, escape, or survive, often without realizing the impact it may have decades later.π The prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain that handles decision-making, emotional regulation, and impulse control — can become underdeveloped or disrupted.
π The hippocampus, crucial for learning and memory, may shrink, making it harder to process and retain new information.
π Regular use increases the risk of depression, anxiety disorders, psychosis, and long-term substance dependence — even when the person is no longer actively using.
Over time, these changes can shape the way someone sees themselves, relates to others, and navigates the world.
Even years into sobriety, many describe a kind of cognitive fog, emotional flatness, or difficulty connecting to life without substances.
For people who began using drugs consistently in their youth and carried those habits through much of their life, aging comes with a different set of challenges — physically, emotionally, and socially.
They may experience faster cognitive decline, trouble with memory, attention, or processing everyday tasks.
Chronic illnesses like heart disease, liver damage, and nerve pain are more common — especially if the substances used were harsh or long-term (like alcohol, opioids, or stimulants).
There’s often a deep sense of regret, or an emotional reckoning with years lost, relationships harmed, or identities shaped by addiction.
Medical treatment in later life becomes riskier: prescription drugs can dangerously interact with past or current substance use, leading to falls, confusion, or overdose.
Social isolation is common. Many find themselves disconnected from support networks, facing stigma or being dismissed as “too far gone.”
And yet — the support systems that exist for young people are rarely available to older adults. Mental health care, addiction treatment, and recovery spaces often ignore the unique needs of people over 50 or 60 who’ve been carrying this history for decades.
Not everyone who uses drugs does so regularly or heavily.
Some people use substances occasionally — at social events, festivals, or in private, seeking heightened experiences, connection, or curiosity.
This is often called recreational use — and when it’s truly occasional and without dependency, the long-term risks are different.
But that doesn’t mean it’s risk-free.
Even limited use can:
Affect the developing brain if started during adolescence — especially with substances like cannabis, MDMA, or psychedelics.
Lead to unexpected psychological reactions, especially in people who are sensitive to mood changes, trauma, or underlying mental health conditions.
| Photo by servet photograph |
In some cases (especially with synthetic drugs, strong doses, or polydrug combinations), even one-time or rare use can cause lasting cognitive or emotional impact, though this is less common.
The key difference is that occasional users are less likely to show structural brain changes or functional decline — especially if use is truly infrequent, low-risk, and not started at a young age.
However, it’s also important to understand that drug experiences don’t happen in a vacuum. They interact with your state of mind, your life context, your biology, and your social environment.
So even if someone uses “just a few times,” the meaning and impact can still be deep — sometimes healing, sometimes destabilizing.
Yes — to some extent.
While early drug use may leave lasting marks on the brain, neuroplasticity (the brain’s ability to change) remains throughout life.
Therapies, creative expression, community support, and deeply human things like compassion and purpose can all create new neural pathways.
But that healing needs a foundation.
It needs what I started this post with: a safe space.
| Photo by BUDDHI Kumar SHRESTHA on Unsplash |
I hope more people find that space —
The one where they can finally rest, breathe, and look inward.
The one where they can begin to do the hard work —
Not in shame, not in fear — but in the light.
Whether it’s through therapy, connection, or just a quiet morning walk,
I hope we all find our way back to the shore.
To the summer wind, the warm sand, and the version of ourselves we thought we’d lost.
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