Walk into any rehab in the world and you’ll notice a pattern. The smell of instant coffee, the constant hum of the kettle, the ashtrays lined up like altars. Smokers pacing outside between group sessions. People on their fourth or fifth cup of caffeine before lunch. There’s laughter, anxiety, restlessness, and always something in hand.
Recovery, for many, starts with substitution. You give up the drug, but you find another comfort, another crutch, something to fill the space where the chaos used to live. Cigarettes. Energy drinks. Sugar. Endless cups of coffee. They’re not illegal. They don’t destroy families. They’re “safe.” But are they really?
What’s happening inside rehab isn’t hypocrisy, it’s human. The need to alter our state, to take the edge off, to feel something other than the rawness of early sobriety, doesn’t disappear when the drugs do. It just changes form.
The Substitution Effect
Recovery is rarely clean. When you remove one coping mechanism, the brain immediately looks for another. It’s not being sneaky, it’s being adaptive. Addiction hijacks the brain’s reward system. Substances like alcohol, cocaine, and opioids flood it with dopamine, creating intense pleasure followed by deep lows. When those substances are removed, the system doesn’t magically reset. The brain still craves stimulation, relief, or comfort.
So it reaches for what’s available. Coffee becomes the morning ritual that replaces a line or a drink. Cigarettes become the sanctioned pause between therapy sessions. Sugar becomes the new hit. The body is detoxing, but the behaviour, the pattern of seeking, soothing, repeating, stays. This is why so many people in rehab smoke like chimneys or drink caffeine like it’s medicine. They’re not “cheating.” They’re surviving.
The Culture of Caffeine
Coffee has become the social glue of recovery. It’s the drink that fuels morning meetings, late-night talks, and the long, anxious hours when your emotions are all over the place. It’s comfort in a cup, a little jolt of control in an environment where you’ve surrendered almost everything. There’s something ritualistic about it. Stirring the spoon. Taking that first sip. Feeling your body respond. It’s both grounding and stimulating, a legal high with no guilt attached.
But for some, coffee isn’t just a ritual. It’s a replacement addiction. Cups turn into pots. The heart races, sleep disappears, anxiety spikes. The irony is painful, the very drink meant to keep you calm becomes the thing that keeps you on edge. The brain doesn’t care that caffeine is legal, it just knows it feels different. It’s not sobriety that’s dangerous. It’s the quiet way obsession moves house without you noticing.
Nicotine, The Last Drug Standing
Nicotine is the one addiction most rehabs turn a blind eye to. It’s often seen as the lesser evil, a bridge, not a barrier, to recovery. Staff smoke with patients. Group breaks revolve around cigarette circles. “At least you’re not using,” people say. But nicotine addiction operates on the same neural pathway as every other drug. It reinforces the same cycle, craving, relief, withdrawal, repeat.
And psychologically, it fills the same role, something to hold, something to rely on, something to take the edge off when emotions spike. It’s a controlled escape hatch, and that’s why it’s so seductive. For many, quitting nicotine feels scarier than quitting heroin or alcohol. It’s the one vice they’re allowed to keep, their secret rebellion against the strictness of rehab life.
But the danger isn’t the cigarette itself, it’s the idea behind it. The belief that we need something external to cope. That unless we have our “little fix,” we can’t function. That mindset keeps the door to relapse cracked open.
The Brain’s Need for Stimulation
Early recovery is brutally quiet. After years of chemical highs and emotional chaos, silence can feel unbearable. The body might be clean, but the mind is still loud, filled with racing thoughts, anxiety, and boredom.
So the brain starts hunting for stimulation. Anything that gives it a spark. Caffeine and nicotine do that. So does sugar, scrolling, or compulsive gym sessions. These new highs feel harmless, but they reinforce the same neurological pattern, discomfort, craving, relief, repeat.
Recovery doesn’t mean your brain stops wanting dopamine. It means learning to earn it differently, through connection, purpose, and consistency instead of consumption. But that takes time, and in the early days, the shortcuts feel easier. The challenge isn’t removing every “high.” It’s learning to tell the difference between coping and avoiding.
The Search for Safe Highs
Everyone in recovery has a moment where they say, “I just want to feel good again.” It’s not a selfish thought, it’s a human one. You’ve spent months, maybe years, chasing a high that made you feel alive. Now that it’s gone, the emptiness feels unnatural. So you start chasing new “safe” highs. Exercise becomes obsession. Meditation turns competitive. Sugar becomes comfort. Romance turns into distraction. You’re not using anymore, you’re still chasing.
It’s the same hunger wearing different clothes. The desire to escape pain rather than sit with it.
This is where recovery gets tricky. Because unlike drugs or alcohol, many of these replacements are socially acceptable, even encouraged. People will praise your fitness routine, your energy, your commitment to self-improvement. But inside, you know the truth, the obsession hasn’t left. It’s just rebranded as health.
The Psychology of Permission
Rehab is full of rules, no drugs, no alcohol, no phones, no sex. In that environment, the few things left, coffee, cigarettes, sugar, take on outsized importance. They become symbols of freedom. You start thinking, This one I’m allowed to have. And that “permission” turns into justification. You tell yourself you’ve earned it. You’ve suffered enough. You need something to look forward to.
But permission without awareness is just self-deception. The same emotional logic that justified drinking, I deserve this, now fuels your next cup of coffee. The difference is only in scale, not in psychology. This doesn’t mean you need to live a joyless, abstinent life. It means learning to see where comfort ends and compulsion begins.
Why We Still Need Something in Our Hands
There’s something deeply symbolic about holding something in recovery, a cigarette, a mug, a pen. It’s as if your hands remember what they used to do and are searching for new purpose. The act of holding becomes grounding, even when it’s unhealthy. It keeps anxiety at bay. It gives the illusion of control.
Over time, as people heal, that object changes. A cigarette might become a journal. A coffee cup might become prayer beads, a sketchbook, or a dumbbell. The hand still needs something, but what it holds starts to heal instead of harm.
When “Safe” Addictions Turn Toxic
Not everyone replaces one addiction with another, but for those who do, the danger isn’t always obvious. It creeps in slowly, through dependence disguised as routine. You might notice you can’t start your day without caffeine. That you panic when your vape battery dies. That you snap at people who interrupt your gym time. These are red flags that the old neural pathways are still alive.
You’ve moved from self-destruction to self-maintenance, but the compulsion is still in charge. You’re managing your addiction, not healing from it. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s awareness. To notice when something starts owning you again, even if it looks healthy on the surface.
How Rehabs Can Do Better
Many treatment centres overlook this issue entirely. They treat substance use but ignore behavioural addiction. They hand out coffee and cigarettes without conversation, as if dependency in smaller doses doesn’t count. But recovery isn’t about legality or dosage. It’s about freedom. And that means helping people understand the patterns beneath the substance.
Good rehabs start these conversations early. They teach mindfulness around consumption. They offer physical outlets, exercise, art, group connection, that build natural dopamine. They model balance, not restriction. And most importantly, they don’t shame. Because shaming someone for smoking or craving caffeine misses the point, those urges are symptoms, not sins. Healing happens when curiosity replaces judgment.
The Long Road to Balance
The truth is, complete abstinence from every stimulus isn’t realistic, and it’s not the goal. The goal is balance, to live a life where your choices aren’t ruled by craving or fear. That takes patience. Early recovery is about staying alive. Mid-recovery is about staying aware. Long-term recovery is about finding peace, the kind that doesn’t need to be chased.
One day, the cigarette won’t matter. The coffee won’t be about survival. You’ll still reach for comfort, but it won’t be compulsive. It will be conscious. That’s when you’ll know you’ve moved from sobriety to recovery, not because you’ve stopped seeking pleasure, but because you’ve learned how to find it safely.
The Humanity of It All
Before judging anyone for their rehab coffee intake or nicotine habit, remember this, these people are rebuilding from the ashes. They’ve lost the thing that once gave them relief, identity, and escape. They’re learning how to live raw.
So yes, they smoke too much. They drink too much coffee. They crave sugar like oxygen. But behind every puff or sip is a person trying to stay. Trying to feel. Trying not to run. Recovery isn’t a contest in purity. It’s the art of staying alive while learning to live differently.
Finding New Ways to Feel Alive
Eventually, the search for “safe highs” shifts. The same intensity that once chased euphoria begins to seek meaning instead. You start finding small moments of real connection, laughter, movement, quiet mornings that don’t need caffeine to feel awake. You start realising that feeling good doesn’t have to mean being high. It can mean being present.
That’s the true miracle of recovery, not that you stop craving, but that your definition of “high” changes.
You stop looking for the next fix and start looking for the next honest moment.