Webb Therapy Uncategorized Treatment-resistant Substance Use Disorder

Treatment-resistant Substance Use Disorder

There continues to be an ongoing gap between how addiction gets treated and how it actually works.

Knowledge and behaviour are handled by different systems. Insight lives largely in the prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain that plans, weighs consequences, and holds “I know this is bad for me.” But addiction increasingly reshapes subcortical circuits involved in craving, habit, and stress reactivity. Under cue exposure or stress, those older circuits can override the newer, knowledge-holding ones. This is why someone can recite their relapse triggers perfectly in a therapist’s office or recount pages of 12-step literature from memory and still act against that knowledge the moment they’re actually standing in the triggering situation.

Wiers and colleagues’ work on “dual process” models of addiction — explicit cognition versus automatic, implicit approach biases — captures this well. Cognitive bias modification research grew directly out of the finding that explicit knowledge doesn’t touch these automatic processes.

The transition from goal-directed use to habit. Everitt and Robbins’ work describes how repeated substance use shifts control from goal-directed brain circuits (which respond to consequences and knowledge) to habitual, and eventually compulsive, circuits centred in the dorsal striatum. Compulsive behaviour is, by definition, less responsive to knowing better. Decades of use can entrench this shift very deeply.

For example:

Early: goal-directed. Bad day → “I want to relax” → decide to drink. The action is chosen and tied to an expected outcome. If consequences got bad enough, the person could still stop — this runs through prefrontal cortex and ventral striatum.

Middle: habit. After years of stress → drink → relief, the sequence no longer needs a decision. Walking in the door at 6pm triggers pouring a drink before any conscious “do I want this?” moment happens. The cue now drives the action directly. Control has shifted to dorsolateral striatum — same circuitry as driving a familiar route on autopilot.

Late: Compulsive. In Everitt and Robbins’ animal studies, drug-seeking gets paired with a mild shock. Most animals stop once punished. But a subset — roughly a third, matching the rate of severe addiction in humans — keeps seeking the drug even though it now reliably delivers a shock. That’s the model for compulsion: behaviour persisting despite known, immediate harm.

The human version: Someone with DUI’s, lost relationships, health scares — every piece of proof the behaviour is destructive — still relapses. Not from lack of knowledge; they’ve lived the consequences repeatedly. The circuitry driving the behaviour at this stage doesn’t consult the consequence-tracking system the way it did early on.

This is also why pure education or insight-oriented therapy often under-performs at this stage — it’s arguing with a system that isn’t listening. Interventions that interrupt the cue-response link itself (contingency management, environmental restructuring, craving-blunting medication, removing triggers) tend to have more traction, because they target the habit/compulsion circuit rather than trying to out-inform it.

Koob and Volkow’s allostasis model. Their research reframes chronic addiction as a shift from positive reinforcement (seeking a high) to negative reinforcement (avoiding a increasingly severe dysphoric, anxious, irritable state without the substance). Long-term users aren’t chasing a reward anymore — they’re fleeing a state. That flight response is fast, automatic, and largely indifferent to intellectual understanding.

Unresolved comorbidity. A large fraction of people with treatment-resistant, decades-long relapse patterns have under-treated trauma, complex PTSD, personality disorders, or conditions like ADHD sitting underneath the substance use. If the underlying driver isn’t directly addressed, coping skills training treats the symptom while the engine keeps running. This is a common finding in dual-diagnosis literature — outcomes are much worse when co-occurring conditions go unaddressed even amid extensive substance-focused treatment.

Recovery capital, not just recovery knowledge. William White’s work on recovery capital argues sustained recovery depends on social, financial, physical, and community resources — stable housing, relationships, purpose, employment — not just internal coping skills. Someone can have excellent DBT (Dialectical Behaviour Therapy) skills and still relapse repeatedly if their environment, relationships, or life structure haven’t meaningfully changed.

Relapse as expected, not exceptional. Prochaska and DiClemente’s stages-of-change model treats relapse as a normal part of the cycle, not a failure of knowledge. But when relapse repeats over decades despite intensive treatment, researchers increasingly look at severity markers — poly-substance use, genetic loading, age of onset, impulsivity and risk-taking — that predict a harder course regardless of how much psychoeducation someone has absorbed.

The consistent variable across all of this: Insight is necessary but nowhere near sufficient. Addiction at that level of chronicity behaves more like a deeply conditioned neurobiological and habitual process than an information deficit. That’s also part of why chronic relapse is increasingly framed like a chronic illness — closer to diabetes or hypertension in its relapsing-remitting course — rather than something insight alone should be expected to resolve.

Here’s what the literature and clinical guidelines point to for people who’ve cycled through standard treatment repeatedly without sustained success. I’ll organise by approach type.

Pharmacological — often underused

  • For opioid use disorder, methadone and buprenorphine substantially outperform abstinence-only approaches in treatment-resistant populations — this is some of the strongest evidence in the entire addiction field, yet many long-term relapsers have never actually been offered maintenance medication, often due to program philosophy (abstinence-only 12-step programs) rather than clinical reasoning.
  • For alcohol, naltrexone (blocks the reward), acamprosate (reduces post-acute withdrawal dysregulation), and disulfiram (aversive) are under-prescribed. Naltrexone specifically blunts the reward signal that drives compulsive use — targeting the biology rather than relying on willpower.
  • Emerging: psychedelic-assisted therapy (psilocybin, ketamine) is showing promise in trials for alcohol and other use disorders, though this is newer evidence and not yet standard of care everywhere.

Interrupting the cue-response cycle directly

  • Contingency management — tangible rewards for verified abstinence — has some of the best effect sizes in the literature, particularly for stimulant use disorders where no strong pharmacological option exists. It works by directly competing with the habit circuit rather than arguing with it.
  • Environmental restructuring — changing routes, routines, social circles, physically removing cues — matters more than intellectual insight at this stage, because the behaviour has become cue-triggered rather than decision-driven.

Treating what’s underneath

  • Systematic assessment for under-treated trauma, complex PTSD, ADHD, and personality disorders. Trauma-focused therapies (EMDR, prolonged exposure, Seeking Safety) address the driver rather than just the symptom, and are often skipped in standard programs focused on the substance alone.
  • Integrated dual-diagnosis treatment (treating psychiatric conditions and addiction concurrently, by the same team) outperforms sequential or parallel treatment where the person bounces between separate providers.

Building recovery capital, not just coping skills

  • Housing First and supported employment models — stabilising the environment before or alongside treatment — show better outcomes than clinical treatment alone in chronic, treatment-resistant cases. William White’s recovery capital framework: outcomes track with social support, stable housing, purpose, and community as much as with therapy itself.
  • Recovery community centres and mutual-aid alternatives beyond 12-step (SMART Recovery, Refuge Recovery) matter for people whose repeated 12-step involvement hasn’t translated to sustained sobriety — fit between the person and the model isn’t universal.

Reframing the model of care itself

  • Treating addiction like a chronic relapsing-remitting illness (the diabetes/hypertension model) rather than an acute, curable event changes what “treatment resistant” even means. Long-term, low-intensity, indefinite maintenance care (medication, periodic check-ins, ongoing peer support) shows better outcomes than repeated cycles of intensive short-term treatment followed by discharge.
  • Harm reduction as a bridge or destination — not necessarily full abstinence — for people who haven’t achieved abstinence-based sobriety after years of trying. This reduces mortality and morbidity even when abstinence isn’t currently achievable, and can sometimes become a pathway toward it later.
  • Multidimensional Family Therapy / systemic approaches — treating the family/relational system rather than the individual alone — show better outcomes for people whose relapse is tangled up in unchanged relational dynamics.

Related Post

Trauma: Emotional and Psychological WoundsTrauma: Emotional and Psychological Wounds

The word ‘trauma’ originates from the Greek word ‘wound”, which at the time, was primarily used to refer to physical injuries. Today, trauma is also frequently used to refer to “emotional wounds” that can cause psychological symptoms any time after the traumatic event has occurred, including years later. Emotional and psychological trauma can be lifelong.

The word ‘trauma’ has been popularised, and is arguably used carelessly or inaccurately, to indicate almost any kind of unpleasant experience or stressor by an individual (Haslam, 2016). A stressful life experience is more commonly being labelled as trauma or a traumatic experience. While both stress and trauma can impact our wellbeing, we must differentiate the two for diagnostic and treatment purposes within the mental health field.

Emotional and psychological trauma is associated with significant unexpected incidents that are, or perceived as, threatening to a person. The most recognised examples of traumatic events include unexpected natural disasters, a serious car accident, war, rape, bullying/intimidation, or losing a loved one. Traumatic experiences are often described as overwhelm the nervous system and experienced as deeply distressing events, and adverse short or long-term impacts are commonly experienced. It is also worth noting that some people may not recognise they have experience trauma. I once heard a story of a boy in high school who accidently severed a major artery of his peer with a school prop while joking around. His peer was taken to hospital and survived, but ears later he began having night terrors of the incident.

The following is a definition from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) in the United States: “Individual trauma results from an event, a series of events or a set of circumstances that is experienced by an individual as physically or emotionally harmful or life threatening and that has lasting adverse effects on the individual’s functioning and mental, physical, social, emotional, or spiritual well-being.” (SAMHSA, 2014a, p. 7)

“Traumas can affect individuals, families, groups, communities, specific cultures, and generations. It generally overwhelms an individual’s or community’s resources to cope, and it often ignites the “fight, flight, or freeze” reaction at the time of the event(s). It frequently produces a sense of fear, vulnerability, and helplessness.” (SAMHSA, 2014b, p. 7)

The determinants of acquiring post-traumatic symptoms are influenced by how individuals interpret their circumstance(s), their developmental stage, cultural beliefs, availability of resources and support, and the physical and psychological disruptions they experienced (SAMHSA, 2014b). I have heard the word ‘trauma’ used to describe neglect and abuse during childhood. It’s important to note that while some caregivers may have neglected the emotional and psychological needs of a child, or used ‘smacking’ (positive punishment) to discipline children, not all individuals will develop symptoms that meet the current criteria by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DMS) for Trauma. It is fair to say that all people have likely experienced life stressors that have conditioned them to think, behave, and react emotionally in specific or general social contexts, and will effect their quality of life and health.

As a rule of thumb, for trauma to be classified as a clinical psychological or emotional condition, I consider the 4 D’s: is there post-traumatic symptoms of DISTRESS, DYSFUNCTION in daily living, DANGER (to self or others), or DEVIANT behaviour. I think the word ‘deviant’ has prejudicial connotations so to clarify, it means departing from usual or accepted standards, especially in social or sexual behaviour.

Thank you for reading. Of course, there’s plenty more to say on the topic of emotional and psychological trauma, especially how cultures differentiate it from more commonly experienced yet individually meaningful life stressors. Stress that doesn’t fit the clinical criteria of ‘trauma’ is still valid and can be detrimental to our health. It can be helpful to seek psychological or psychiatric treatment, or spiritual alternatives to traditional Western health care.

References:

  1. Haslam, N. (2016, August 15). The problem with describing every misfortune as ‘trauma’. Chicago Tribute. From website.
  2. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA, 2014a). SAMHSA’s concept of trauma and guidance for a trauma-informed approach. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. From website.
  3. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. (2014b).  A treatment improvement protocol: Trauma-informed care in behavioral health services TIP 57. From website.

Understanding Low Self-Worth: What It Looks Like, Where It Comes From, and What HelpsUnderstanding Low Self-Worth: What It Looks Like, Where It Comes From, and What Helps

Low self-worth is one of those things almost everyone has heard of, but it’s often misunderstood. It’s not simply “not liking yourself” — it’s a deeper, often quiet belief that you’re somehow not enough: not good enough, not lovable enough, not worthy of good things. This belief can shape how a person thinks, feels, behaves, and connects with others, sometimes without them even realising it’s happening.

This article walks through what low self-worth can look like, how it tends to develop, why it’s not always the explanation for a behaviour it might seem to explain, and what genuinely helps.

What Does Low Self-Worth Actually Look Like?

Low self-worth doesn’t show up in just one way — it tends to ripple across several areas of a person’s life.

In the way someone thinks

  • A harsh inner voice that’s quick to blame and slow to forgive
  • Black-and-white thinking about their own worth (“I’m a failure” rather than “that didn’t go well”)
  • Brushing off compliments or achievements (“I just got lucky”)
  • Constantly comparing themselves to others, usually unfavourably

In how someone feels

  • A background hum of shame or guilt that isn’t tied to anything specific
  • Anxiety in situations where they feel judged or evaluated
  • Taking criticism much harder than the moment probably warrants
  • Struggling to feel like they deserve good things — joy, rest, success

In how someone behaves

  • People-pleasing, and real trouble saying no
  • Avoiding challenges for fear of failing in front of others
  • Perfectionism, partly as a way to dodge criticism before it happens
  • Overcompensating — bragging, chasing status, or over-achieving to cover up insecurity underneath
  • Self-sabotage, like procrastinating or quitting before they can “fail properly”
  • Over-apologising, even when nothing’s actually their fault

In relationships

  • Putting up with disrespectful or unequal treatment
  • Needing frequent reassurance from others
  • Trouble setting or holding boundaries
  • Pulling away from people to avoid the risk of being rejected

Physically

  • Guarded body language, poor posture, avoiding eye contact
  • Neglecting self-care, sometimes because they don’t feel “worth the effort”

Worth remembering: none of these signs are exclusive to low self-worth. They overlap with anxiety, depression, trauma responses, and other things going on for a person. It’s the overall pattern — and the story underneath it — that matters, not any single item on this list.

Where Does It Come From?

Low self-worth is very often learned rather than something a person is simply born with — which is actually good news, because what’s learned can also be unlearned.

Watching the adults around us Kids learn a lot about how to treat themselves by watching how the important adults in their life treat themselves. A parent who’s constantly self-critical or dismissive of their own needs is teaching a child a template, even without saying a word directly to them.

Love and attention that come with strings attached If approval or affection is only given for achievement, appearance, or good behaviour, a child can learn that their worth depends on ticking boxes — rather than being something they simply have, no strings attached.

Being told directly Repeated criticism, shaming, or put-downs from parents, teachers, or peers get absorbed, especially in childhood before a person has the tools to separate “someone said this about me” from “this is true about me.”

Early relationships with caregivers Inconsistent, neglectful, or dismissive caregiving is strongly linked to a shaky sense of self-worth in adulthood — the underlying logic often being something like, “if the people meant to care for me didn’t, maybe I’m not worth caring for.”

Peers and wider social environments Bullying, exclusion, and highly competitive or comparison-heavy environments — including social media — can teach the same lesson outside the family entirely.

Broader social messaging Cultural narratives around race, gender, body type, class, or ability can also send repeated messages of lesser worth, reinforced across many different settings over time.

Why It’s Not Always the Explanation

It’s tempting, once you’re aware of low self-worth as a concept, to see it everywhere. But plenty of behaviours that look like they’re about self-worth are actually about something else entirely — or several other things at once.

Take a few common examples:

  • Substance use can be tangled up with self-worth (numbing shame or a harsh inner critic), but addiction is genuinely shaped by many factors — genetics, brain chemistry, trauma, mental health conditions, and environment all play a real part.
  • Having few or no friends might reflect low self-worth (believing you’re not worth others’ time), but it could just as easily be social anxiety, depression, being naturally introverted, or simply preferring one’s own company. The key difference is usually the story underneath — does the person want connection and feel blocked by fear, or is being alone genuinely fine by them?
  • Coming across as arrogant or superior is often assumed to be a mask for hidden insecurity — and sometimes it is. But it’s worth being cautious here, because this assumption can become impossible to disprove (“if they’re arrogant, they’re secretly insecure; if they’re humble, that confirms it too”). Sometimes confidence is just confidence.
  • Frequent casual sex or a high number of partners doesn’t automatically point to low self-worth either. For many people, this is simply how they’ve chosen to structure their sex life, without any distress or underlying insecurity attached. What matters more is the function the behaviour seems to serve for that particular person — for example, someone who says they need to tell others about their experiences afterward specifically “to feel validated” is giving you a much clearer signal than the behaviour itself would.

The takeaway: self-worth is worth holding as a hypothesis to test with a person, rather than assumed from the outside based on how something looks.

What Actually Helps

If low self-worth is at the heart of things, here’s what tends to make a genuine difference — not overnight, but over time.

1. Notice and challenge the inner critic Pay attention to the specific language your mind uses about you. Often it’s harsher and more sweeping than how you’d ever speak to someone else. Try the “friend test”: would you say this to someone you cared about? If not, that’s a sign of distortion, not truth. It also helps to separate the behaviour from the self — “that didn’t go well” instead of “I’m hopeless.”

2. Loosen the strings attached to your worth Notice what your sense of worth currently depends on — achievement, appearance, being liked, being productive. Then start building small experiences of worth that aren’t tied to those things: resting without earning it, being liked without performing. This is slow, quiet work, but it’s often the real target.

3. Build evidence, not just insight Small, doable actions build a track record of competence over time — self-worth grows partly through lived proof, not just understanding. Avoiding challenges or social situations might feel safer, but it also blocks the very experiences that could prove the harsh self-view wrong.

4. Practise boundaries Struggling to say no, or putting up with poor treatment, is common with low self-worth. Practising small boundaries — even minor ones — can genuinely shift things, not just relieve symptoms temporarily. Pay attention to the fear beforehand versus what actually happens afterward; they’re often quite different.

5. Try self-compassion rather than self-esteem Self-compassion doesn’t require feeling good about yourself — it just means relating to yourself kindly, especially when things are hard. That’s often a far more achievable starting point than trying to force positive self-regard from a standing start. Remembering that struggling is part of being human (not a personal failing) is a big part of this.

6. Pay attention to relationships If low self-worth was shaped by relationships, it often needs relationships to help un-shape it too — this is part of why therapy, and a genuinely supportive relationship, tends to work better than self-help alone. Where possible, it also helps to reduce contact with people or environments that actively reinforce the negative self-view.

7. Shift from approval to values Instead of asking “what will make people think well of me,” try asking “what actually matters to me.” This shift — living by your own values rather than by anticipated approval — reduces the constant self-monitoring that keeps worth tied to outside opinion.

A Final Note

Self-worth work is rarely quick, and it’s rarely a straight line. It’s more like slowly rebuilding a belief system than fixing one single thought. Old patterns will likely resurface here and there — that’s not a sign the work isn’t working, it’s just part of how deeply learned beliefs unwind over time.

If this sounds familiar to you personally, it’s worth having a conversation with a psychologist or therapist — someone who can help you work out what’s underneath the patterns, and support you through actually shifting them.