Why Hims & Hers Shouldn’t Be Handing Out Antidepressants Like Candy

It’s taken me a while to feel like myself again—and I wish someone had warned me before I spent two years as a shell of who I used to be. That’s how long I was on Lexapro, an antidepressant prescribed to me not after a deep conversation with a doctor or therapist, but through an online service: Hims & Hers.

At the time, I was looking for answers. Life was heavy, I was anxious, maybe even depressed—but instead of sitting with those feelings, understanding them, or exploring where they came from, I was funneled through a quick online questionnaire and handed a prescription. Just like that. No in-person consult, no long-term evaluation. Just a bottle of pills and a warning label.

For two years, I took Lexapro religiously because I trusted the process. And for two years, I felt… nothing. I didn’t cry. I didn’t get overly excited. I didn’t feel the sharp sting of anxiety, sure—but I didn’t feel joy either. I was numb. I was functioning, technically. But I wasn’t living.

It wasn’t until I decided to taper off (carefully, with help this time) that I realized what I’d lost. I started to feel again. Laughing until my stomach hurt. Getting choked up during a movie. Even just noticing how beautiful a sunset looked after a long day. All things I didn’t realize I had been missing, because Lexapro had dulled everything. Not just the lows, but all the highs too.

Now don’t get me wrong—medication can be life-changing and even life-saving for many people. There are absolutely cases where it’s the right call. But my issue is with the way companies like Hims & Hers are handing out serious, mind-altering medications like they’re solving a customer service issue. You answer a few multiple-choice questions, and boom—your prescription is in the mail. It’s too easy. Too casual. And way too dangerous.

Mental health isn’t something to fast-track. It’s not a quick fix. And no algorithm should have the power to put someone on medication that affects their brain chemistry without a full understanding of that person’s story.

I’m not anti-medication. I’m anti-carelessness.

I wish I had known better back then. I wish someone had told me to slow down, to ask more questions, to consider therapy or lifestyle changes first. Instead, I got fast-tracked into emotional numbness—because a website said I qualified.

We need to start having real conversations about how these services operate. They should be held accountable, not praised for their convenience. Because when it comes to our mental health, “convenient” shouldn’t mean “reckless.”

If you’re struggling, please know there are better, more thoughtful paths to healing. Ones that don’t start with a form and end with a pill bottle.