It’s been around since long before we even had a name for it: bingeing. And the methods we use to experience this state of binge come in many forms. There is binge eating, binge drinking, and with the advent of streaming media, we’ve added binge watching to the mix, where we can snuggle up on the couch on a Sunday morning and three seasons later realize that it’s now dark and the dog hasn’t been walked.

Bingeing is the act of totally immersing yourself—or over-immersing—in a specific experience for a specific period of time. Drinking constantly over that March Madness weekend, going through a week’s worth of groceries in five hours, watching every episode of The Office over Labor Day weekend and leaving the living room only for bathroom breaks.

It’s not always one thing we binge on. Sometimes we can create hybrid binges, a combination of intakes—sitting on the couch all weekend watching every episode of Game of Thrones, while downing a case of beer and eating three trays of Stouffer Family-Style Lasagna.

So, why do we binge? Well, the textbook answer is to reduce stress and relieve anxiety. And that makes sense and is somewhat true. But as a veteran of countless bingeing skirmishes, I think the core reason is a little simpler: We usually binge to hide, to remain unnoticed by the world for a while so that depression, stress, or worry can’t find us, at least for a short time.

Binges of all kind are an incredibly effective means of escape. We go numb. We build a temporary wall of booze, or drugs, or food, or every episode of House, between us and the world outside. We stay inside the binge bubble, safe and protected, and everything else stays out. And over the course of the binge we come to rely on that wall, maybe even depend on.

Often, we blame the binge simply on boredom. Oh, I had nothing else to do so I binged all weekend. But rarely is boredom the driver for a binge; in fact, it’s often the fuse. Boredom certainly helps. It creates the perfect climate for a nice binge. But deep inside, the binge gives us emotional and mental comfort. It’s not just about killing time.

Now, it is possible to binge as a team, with a group, but these type of binges usually have a shelf life and last only as long as the all members are committed to it. At its core, bingeing is a solo sport.

An interesting aspect of the binge today compared to one in, let’s say, 1995, has to do with the access to the technology we now have. YouTube is a great example. If we binged in 1995, we could max our Blockbuster daily tape rental out and binge on newest releases. But eventually, there would come an internal desire to do something crazy, such as talk to another human being or actually go outside. YouTube relieves that. If we’ve been on the couch for three hours and feel like we need to actually do something, we can click YouTube. And for the next five minutes, we can hike the Yucatan, whitewater raft down the Colorado, or drink at a pub in Dublin.

YouTube is different from watching a film or a series because much of it is filmed in the first person, often with one host talking directly to us, giving the illusion that we are actually on that hike, at that dinner or party, at that family reunion, or having a one-on-one conversation with someone. Studies show that the brain processes these first-person visual experiences as real, so we experience watching someone tell us about the latest crypto scam, book review, or bike trip across the country just as if we were having a real conversation.

If YouTube isn’t your thing, you can be home pounding beers all weekend, but the act of texting friends gives you the illusion that you are interacting with them and have actually showered and shaved today, allowing the binge to continue without that pesky human contact.

So is bingeing bad? By itself, no. The detriment of a binge is the emotional and mental cost. If we wake up blurry-eyed on Monday morning full of guilt and shame, those negative feelings are the perfect fuel to spark another binge, the need to hide. The aftermath of the binge becomes a burden we carry, one that rubs against our sense of value and purpose.

Because if you really boil it down, almost anything can technically be a binge. If you have one more beer than you should, push yourself away from the buffet table after two—no, three—extra plates of the macaroons, or decide to watch just one more Walking Dead episode, that’s a mini-binge .

So, the binge is over and it’s time to join life again. What steps can we take to do that?

1. Forgive and forget.

A binge by itself does little damage. The guilt and shame you carry with it are what cause damage. That emotional and mental aftermath can do way more harm than a wasted weekend. So the first step is to forgive yourself. It’s over, it happened, it’s no big deal. Those three booze-filled days are a fraction of the time you have left to do the things you want and need to do.
You didn’t blow it. It’s not over. A binge doesn’t mean you’re weak. You forgive you.

2. Identify what the driver was.

As you begin to join the real world again, start to look at what caused the binge. This isn’t a time for analysis; it’s a time of discovery. Was there an event, a breakup, a confrontation at work, or a major setback? What makes you feel the need to hide from the world for a while? Sometimes the answer is hidden. Determine what you think it is and file it away. There’s no need to bring that cause to trial; just acknowledge it was there.

3. Stick to a schedule.

Getting back to a routine is the best way to add some structure and boundaries. Creating an organized schedule for a while helps you get moving again. There is a blast of personal energy you experience when you get even the simplest things accomplished. Just mowing the lawn, starting laundry, or washing the car will make your power-up button burn brighter as your to-do list gets smaller.

So, binge when you need to. Forgive yourself when you do. And then go and get those things done that make you happy and help others.