Reclaiming Myself After Lexapro

I am a Baby Boomer. My generation was raised in a world that did not coddle us. I was an only child, spoiled in many ways, yet my parents did manage to teach me that I was not the center of the universe. I was special—as all human beings are—but not so special that the world should cater to my every whim or need.

When I entered the workforce, women were only beginning to climb the corporate ladder. We entered a world that was not designed for us. We were harassed, we received discriminatory wages, we were treated dismissively, and we encountered an endless amount of closed doors and glass ceilings. It was cruel and unfair, but it also taught us to toughen up, develop a thick skin, and pick our battles wisely. We worked hard because it was the only option we had.

I share this because I believe there is something important about letting life shape you, about allowing challenges to carve out strength rather than reaching for a quick fix. Today, when I look at younger generations, I see a connection to adversity that is somewhat different. Many have been raised with the belief that the world is theirs and it revolves around them. Therapy is openly boasted as a badge of honor, meds like Lexapro are handed out as casually as candy, and weakness is rebranded as identity. Mental resilience to tough out life’s unfairness and inevitable challenges often seems absent.

But here’s the thing: I’ve always been a HUGE proponent of therapy. Years ago, long before it was cool, I sought out help—after my beloved mother died suddenly, after an engagement fell apart, and when work stress became suffocating. As a communications director at a large ad agency, I faced sexism and a 24/7 work schedule that left me with no room to breathe. Therapy was just what I needed. How nice to sit with someone who listens to you without distraction and helps you navigate the pain. A venting session with a professional, in which I could gain some insight and guidance when I needed it.

It wasn’t until some years later, following a series of professional challenges and painful transformations, that medication entered my life. I had made a shift from being a longtime corporate communications professional in New York City to being a funeral director, life coach, and writer. That change had its own rewards, but it also brought struggle, anxiety, and moments when I felt like I was losing my way.

It was then that my therapist suggested Lexapro. “Why not?” I thought. I began with 5 milligrams, then 10, then finally 20. I knew many people who were on it or another drug. Everyone seemed to be on some sort of “mother’s little helper,” as Mick Jagger used to call these innocent appearing drugs. I first felt a soothing transition. Life was a bit less nasty to navigate, the edges less sharp. It was like a long-overdue break. But the truth is, my stress and anxiety were situational and my emotions overall were being stunted for the long haul.

I was going through a difficult time, and instead of being guided through it, I was chemically numbed. I have never been a “soft” female. I never enjoyed romantic films, I enjoyed horror movies instead, and sobbing was never my go-to response to life. But on Lexapro, sobbing just disappeared. It felt as if that valve had been shut off. That wasn’t strength, it was numbness masquerading as stability.

My primary care physician was the one writing out my prescriptions. Month by month, refill by refill, I never gave this drug a second thought. And then one day, a realization came to me: nobody was really monitoring these drugs. I was visiting an LCSW regularly, but of course she couldn’t be responsible for the medical side of things; she wasn’t a doctor. This realization made me uneasy. I had been relying on the process, trusting the system, and now here I was taking 20 milligrams of a very potent drug and it wasn’t being monitored. I knew I needed more than automatic refills. So, I looked up a doctor in the field of mental health and shared my reservations. He listened and began to taper me from the medication, saying he was not a fan of Lexapro overall as it had become the drug of choice for everything under the sun including women who were going through menopause and just about everyone who was facing a challenge in life.

The plan was simple: wean down to 5 milligrams daily, and then usher in another antidepressant he was more comfortable with.

My so-called “detox” aka weaning was not simple. It was horrible—nausea, headaches, dizziness, horrible dreams, brain zaps, and this feeling of intense dread and uncomfortableness. Every day was a fight to stay focused and productive.

And then, as I was beginning to incorporate the new drug, it hit me: Why am I on any of this? I did not have clinical depression. My career had evened out. I was working for a company I loved, with a boss I respected, at a job that felt purposeful again. So why was I taking pills meant to “cure” something that was never broken?

That is when I told my doctor: no more meds. None. Why? Because life is tough, and that does not mean it’s pathological. We are all stressed and sometimes we feel unheard and undervalued. That is not a diagnosis, it’s life, warts and all. There has to be a tipping point where we come to the realization that we already possess what we need to manage a situation, and medication is not the only avenue to overcoming our challenges.

I have experienced firsthand how antidepressants can rescue our lives and ruin them. After seven years on Lexapro, I endured a savage withdrawal that illustrated just how much these drugs affect our bodies, particularly our gut health where most of our serotonin is produced. What my gut is going through now, I would not wish upon anyone.

While I am not anti-medication, I believe we’ve gone way too far. In America, antidepressants are often prescribed as the first line of defense to stress, sadness, or difficulty, leaving people less equipped to build resilience and cope with life’s challenges on their own.

The truth is, some of it comes down to mind over matter. We must summon the strength within us instead of whimpering like babies at the first sign of pain. At the same time, I fully acknowledge there are many who cannot summon that strength, and for them, thank God help exists. Medication and therapy might save a life and I would never discount that. But for far too many, drugs have become the casual default answer rather than the last resort.

Add to that the role of social media, which I believe has created more mental strain than relief. While the increased focus on mental health has helped some people get support, it has also fostered a culture where discomfort is seen as injustice, where pain is treated as abnormal, where people expect life to be free of struggle, and the antidepressant du jour is as fashionable as the next designer trend.

My generation never needed to slap “Be Kind” on mugs and bumper stickers. We were taught to be kind. We were expected to respect our elders, our neighbors, and even strangers on the street. We also learned how to get along with people who weren’t our cup of tea, because everyone deserves a seat at the table. It was not all about us. You didn’t have to like everyone, but you had to respect them, listen to them, and coexist. That lesson seems lost today in a world where disagreement often means division, and differences are treated like personal attacks.

The psychiatric community, too, needs to take a hard look at the powerful “candy” it prescribes. In my opinion, these drugs should NEVER be given without talk therapy alongside them. Medication should go hand in hand with therapy, ensuring that people are not only numbed but also guided through their struggles.

I am now six weeks drug-free but still feeling the aftereffects. Recently, I cried over a song that stirred bittersweet memories. I got angry over an injustice I witnessed. Some might say my emotions are too raw now, but I see it differently. I am more myself. I am an empath. I feel things deeply. I lose my temper. I fight for justice, I get cranky, and I lash out at times. All of these traits were stymied while I was on Lexapro. Now, I welcome back the true Diane—with all her flaws.