The academic workplace is evolving to support colleagues with anxiety and depression, yet alcohol dependence in academia remains a taboo topic. Universities have made strides in mental health awareness, but when it comes to substance misuse, silence still prevails. A recent conversation on Nature Careers’ podcast series Off Limits: Academia’s Taboos revealed why this stigma persists and why breaking it matters now more than ever.

Adam Levy, the podcast host, spoke with two academics who’ve navigated recovery and transformed their experiences into advocacy work. Wendy Dossett, emeritus professor of religious studies at the University of Chester, has been in recovery for 20 years and now researches the spiritual dimensions of addiction recovery. Meanwhile, Victoria Burns, associate professor of social work at the University of Calgary, founded Recovery on Campus Alberta after discovering she was the first academic in her dean’s 26-year career to disclose being in recovery. Their stories expose an uncomfortable paradox: drinking is central to academic culture, yet alcohol dependence in academia remains one of the workplace’s most stigmatised struggles.

When Alcohol Becomes the Solution in Academic Life

Dossett remembers viewing alcohol as essential to her academic life. For her, it wasn’t just socially lubricating but creatively vital. “I felt I would never have a creative idea if I didn’t have the support of alcohol,” she recalls.

As a first-generation university student, she carried feelings of being “less than,” convinced she wasn’t good enough for the roles she held. In her mind, alcohol seemed to fix that. Furthermore, it gave her confidence, helped her network, and made the social elements of academic life manageable.

Then came the morning she couldn’t remember chairing an international symposium. She’d done it in blackout, functioning but with no memory of the event. Afterwards, a colleague pulled her aside with concerns about her drinking and suggested she needed help.

“I look back on that moment with a mixture of horror and absolute gratitude that somebody had the courage and care for me to actually say that,” Dossett says.

Burns had a different pattern but similar consequences. As a weekend binge drinker rather than a daily user, she maintained excellent grades and held down jobs. On paper, everything looked fine. Inside, however, she was dying.

“Every time I drank, something bad didn’t happen,” Burns explains. “But anytime something bad happened, alcohol was involved.”

After particularly dangerous binges, she sought help from student wellness services at McGill University. Unfortunately, the response was judgement, not support. “They just told me I needed to drink less.” Even ending up in hospital brought more shame than compassion.

When she finally tried to get into rehab, they turned her away. Why? Because she was “too organised,” being a full-time PhD student, married, and owning a house. Surely she couldn’t have a real problem?

The Shame That Keeps Substance Misuse in Universities Silent

Substance misuse in universities carries a particular flavour of shame that sets it apart from other mental health struggles.

“We’re supposed to be the brightest and the best,” Dossett points out. “Moving the frontiers of knowledge forward. We’re not supposed to be struggling with cognitive issues, mental health problems, damaging ourselves in the way that somebody with an alcohol addiction is doing.”

Academia has made real progress on depression and anxiety. Consequently, people talk more openly and support structures exist. But addiction? That’s different. There’s a public perception that you bring it upon yourself, that you have a choice.

For years, Burns didn’t tell anyone in her academic circles, except a couple of senior academics who advised her to keep quiet. Disclosure could damage her job prospects, they warned. As a result, she led what she calls “a double life” for five years.

“I am a social work scholar,” she explains. “And this became increasingly unmanageable.”

Similarly, Dossett stayed silent with colleagues for years, inventing excuses when she didn’t drink. “I’m on antibiotics.” “I’m on medication.” These were small lies to avoid bigger conversations.

Even as she grew more secure in her recovery, bringing it up with senior university members felt risky. Would it affect promotions? Trust? Respect? The stigma surrounding alcohol dependence in academia made disclosure feel like career suicide.

A Twenty-Six Year Silence

In 2018, Burns reached a breaking point. The disconnect between her research on harm reduction and housing first, and her inability to discuss her own experience, became unbearable. Ultimately, she was prepared to leave her tenure-track position.

Instead, she disclosed to her dean.

His response shocked her. In 26 years of academic leadership, she was the first person to tell him about being in recovery.

That revelation sparked research. Subsequently, Burns interviewed deans and service providers about their experiences with faculty disclosing alcohol dependence in academia. Out of over 300 years of combined service, only three disclosures had occurred.

Yet plenty of incidents suggested problems. Faculty were showing up to classrooms intoxicated, and concerns about colleagues’ drinking were raised. However, deans simply didn’t know how to address it. Some admitted: “As long as they’re bringing in grants, no one really cares.”

The silence was systemic. Burns had been a student for 14 years and never met anyone openly in recovery. Consequently, that invisibility fed the stigma and reinforced misunderstandings about what addiction and recovery actually look like.

The Alcohol Paradox: Substance Misuse in Universities

Here’s the contradiction that makes substance misuse in universities so complex: drinking is everywhere in academia, but admitting problems with drinking is nowhere.

Conferences centre around wine receptions. Departmental gatherings happen in pubs. Networking often means drinks. Therefore, for researchers who don’t drink, whether for religious reasons, health, or recovery, these spaces can feel exclusive.

Burns experienced this paradox acutely at her PhD defence. Her supervisor, who’d known her as a drinker, poured champagne for everyone. When he handed Burns a glass, she declined.

“Come on, Victoria, you know you deserve it,” he pressed.

She declined again.

“Come on, it’s not like you’re an alcoholic.”

To avoid further awkwardness, she took the glass, pretended to drink it, then threw it away. A seemingly innocent tradition that could have derailed years of recovery.

“You’re stigmatised if you drink too much; you’re stigmatised if you stop,” Burns observes. “You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

For people in recovery, alcohol-heavy events remain difficult. Not necessarily because of temptation (though that’s always possible), but because of the environment itself. Dossett finds being around drunk colleagues challenging. It triggers flashbacks. The lack of rationality feels stressful.

“I don’t know many people in recovery who are fully comfortable in an environment where there’s lots of alcohol or lots of drunkenness,” she says.

Why Academics Turn to Substances

The pressures that drive alcohol dependence in academia aren’t mysterious. Firstly, there’s the expectation to deliver beyond normal working hours. Additionally, the need to be competitive creates stress. Finally, there’s a sense that you need enhanced performance just to keep up.

Some turn to alcohol. Others turn to drugs that boost cognitive function short-term. Indeed, academia, Dossett notes, has historically functioned around these substances.

For Dossett, low self-esteem played a role. Feeling different from peers. Not fitting in. Sexual abuse at 21 made everything worse. Consequently, her drinking escalated.

Burns describes herself as someone who “worked hard and played hard.” But once she started drinking, she never knew when she’d stop. Prone to blackouts from her first drink at 12, she sought therapy thinking she just needed to manage her anxiety. Then she’d be able to drink “like a lady.”

It didn’t work that way.

Finding Academic Voice Through Recovery Research

When Dossett turned her religious studies methodologies to recovery from addiction, something shifted. “I felt as though this research really was me finding my academic voice,” she says.

Recovery from substance misuse in universities differs from recovery from other mental health issues because of its spiritual dimension. The 12-step approach (Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous) centres on acknowledging powerlessness over the substance and accessing a higher power.

People interpret “higher power” in personal, nuanced ways reflecting contemporary culture. Therefore, Dossett’s research explores how 12-step programme members become “spiritual innovators” in how they think about this concept.

This spiritual element often goes unspoken in academic settings, even as it proves central to many people’s recovery. Examining it academically felt meaningful not just professionally but personally.

“It meant the world to me,” Dossett reflects.

Building Recovery-Friendly Campuses: Addressing Alcohol Dependence in Academia

Burns’ disclosure to her dean included a green light to research this area. One recommendation from that work: start a peer support group for faculty committed to creating recovery-friendly workplaces.

In 2019, a student at the University of British Columbia started Canada’s first campus recovery programme. Following this, Burns founded Recovery on Campus Alberta. From £8,000 in initial funding, it’s grown to over £5 million, offering 10 to 11 peer support meetings weekly.

The recovery-friendly university movement represents a shift. These institutions actively support staff and students with substance issues. Moreover, they counteract stigma and celebrate people in recovery as valued community members.

“Universities are actually places where we can seed recovery for the wider community,” Dossett argues.

It’s not about prohibition. Many people use substances safely. However, many can’t. Until recently, those people lacked spaces where they could be fully themselves around others on similar paths.

What Needs to Change Around Substance Misuse in Universities

Both researchers emphasised what colleagues can do differently. First, become informed about addiction and recovery. Understand that recovery isn’t just possible but probable. In fact, most people who seek help do recover.

Second, show compassion rather than judgement. Yes, someone struggling with addiction in an academic team under pressure becomes a passenger. That’s difficult. Nevertheless, judgement doesn’t help.

Third, recognise that people in recovery bring strengths. Burns calls it “vulnerable, authentic leadership.” Recovery often involves commitment to service, to helping others. Therefore, these make excellent colleagues and leaders.

Dossett wants the recovery-friendly university movement to spread. When communities visibly welcome and celebrate people in recovery, it creates “its own contagion,” enabling others to seek help too.

Burns’ hope is simple: “I don’t want a student or staff member to feel the shame and stigma of being in recovery or of seeking help.”

Breaking the Silence on Alcohol Dependence in Academia

Academia has made strides with depression and anxiety. People talk more openly. Support exists. However, alcohol dependence in academia remains uniquely stigmatised, partly because of perceptions that it’s self-inflicted, partly because academics are meant to be cognitively sharp, not struggling.

Yet as the conversation on Off Limits revealed, staying silent helps no one. In fact, invisibility reinforces stigma, prevents people from seeking help, and suggests recovery is rare when actually it’s common.

Visibility matters. When people in recovery can speak openly, perceptions shift. Misunderstandings dissolve. Most importantly, help-seeking becomes possible.

Both Dossett and Burns took risks going public with their stories. Dossett still feels underlying anxiety about whether she’s doing the right thing. Nevertheless, both believe the conversation needs to happen.

The academic drinking culture isn’t going anywhere soon. But the silence around substance misuse in universities can change. Must change. Because behind the silence are colleagues suffering alone, convinced they’re the only ones struggling, afraid that admitting the truth will end their careers.

They’re not alone. Recovery is possible. And universities need to make sure their brightest minds know that seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness.

The taboo around alcohol in academia has lasted too long. Time to dismantle it.

Source: dbrecoveryresources