Only 10 Milligrams

I’ve been on Lexapro, off Lexapro, and back on Lexapro for more than half my life. The first prescription came when I was a teenager, alongside treatment for an eating disorder.

Then came college, where I graduated at the top of my class, not because I was especially book-smart, but because I memorized absolutely everything and was constantly surrounded by thousands of 3x5 index cards. After graduation came PR jobs in LA and New York, followed by starting my own agency. My twenties and thirties were wonderful, formative, ridiculously fun years. I lived in great cities, worked in an industry I loved and built a company I was really proud of.

I was also incredibly anxious through nearly all of it.

Eventually I got married, and became pregnant shortly after. That’s when I dutifully came off Lexapro because that’s what you did. Then I stayed off because I wanted to believe I didn’t need it anymore.

Eventually, I went back on and felt like I could breathe a little easier. But then came pregnancy number two. Off again. Back on again. A very boring pharmaceutical Hokey Pokey.

At some point, I finally stopped treating the fact that I needed Lexapro as a personal failure. So naturally, I found a new way to judge myself: the dosage.

For years, I said one particular sentence with enormous pride: “I’m on Lexapro—but only 10 milligrams. The starting dose.”

Only 10!!! As if taking the smallest dose meant I was still mostly fine. A person who technically needed medication, yes, but in a chic, low-maintenance way.

Then last year happened where I managed to check nearly every box on the “Most Stressful Life Events” list in one fell swoop. I was having trouble managing it all so my doctor suggested doubling my dose to 20 milligrams.

I remember thinking: Absolutely not. Double? How dare she?

I’m not broken, I told myself. I’m just going through a hard time. This is situational. I can outwork my way out of anything.

We negotiated and landed on 15 mg. Five extra milligrams and I cannot adequately explain how ashamed I felt picking up that prescription at CVS.

But here is the thing: nearly every woman I know is on Lexapro (no, I am not a Lexapro influencer). It's become so common that "What dose are you on?" has become as ordinary as asking someone what peptide stack they're taking.

Someone says, "I'm on 10." Another says, "I had to go to 15." Someone else says, "I finally started six months ago and I wish I'd done it years earlier."

No one even blinks. And yet there is still this quiet shame around taking medication for your mental health. Maybe we think medication means we failed. Like we just couldn't do an adequate enough - forget perfect enough - job of keeping all the plates spinning.

Or maybe we’re trying to survive what is arguably the most demanding season of our lives.

Many of us are raising children while caring for aging or dying parents. We’re trying to make enough money to live the lives we want while comparing ourselves to people our age who somehow seem richer, calmer, and suspiciously well-rested.

We’re managing households, navigating marriages trying to stay healthy and maybe even hot. Dare we? And somewhere in there, we’re supposed to maintain friendships, drink enough water, lift heavy weights, eat 100 grams of protein, and remember which day is Crazy Hair Day.

It’s a lot.

Anyway, I’m back on 10 milligrams. Life eventually settled down enough that 15 no longer felt necessary. And despite everything I’ve just written, I still felt a tiny sense of victory when I went back down to 10.

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