Lowrdez Opens Up About Daily Vodka Use and Struggles With Addiction in Candid Interview

When Lowrdez spoke candidly about taking medication while also consuming a liter of vodka daily, it wasn’t just another celebrity confession—it laid bare a struggle many face in silence, especially in communities where mental health stigma runs deep and access to care remains uneven. Her words, shared in an Infobae interview on April 26, 2026, cut through the gloss of fame to reveal something raw: the daily tightrope walk between seeking help and self-medicating through substances. That tension isn’t confined to Buenos Aires or the pop stages of Bandana’s heyday. It echoes in neighborhoods across the United States where economic pressure, isolation, and untreated trauma collide—places like the East Side of San Antonio, Texas, where cultural expectations around strength and family often discourage open conversations about emotional pain.

What Lowrdez described—feeling unable to function, relying on pills while simultaneously numbing with alcohol—mirrors patterns seen in dual diagnosis cases treated by providers affiliated with the University Health System in San Antonio. Clinicians there note that self-medication with substances like vodka often begins as a misguided attempt to manage anxiety or depression when professional support feels inaccessible or stigmatized. The singer’s reference to “tomaba las pastillitas” points to prescribed medication, likely for mood regulation, yet her admission of pairing it with heavy drinking underscores a dangerous gap: medication alone isn’t enough without therapeutic oversight and social support. This isn’t merely about celebrity vulnerability; it’s a public health signal. In Bexar County, where over 18% of adults report frequent mental distress according to Texas Department of State Health Services data, the intersection of untreated mood disorders and alcohol use creates ripple effects—strained relationships, job instability, and increased burden on emergency services.

Her journey toward healing—“Estoy sanando, de a poquito. Es un laburo”—resonates because it rejects the myth of quick fixes. Lowrdez didn’t frame recovery as a destination but as labor, a daily reconstruction. That perspective aligns with evidence-based approaches championed by organizations like the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) Texas, which emphasizes peer support and long-term coping strategies over crisis-only interventions. Her spiritual shift—moving from rigid religious dogma toward a Buddhist-inspired focus on living in the present—also reflects a broader trend among Latinx communities seeking culturally resonant mental health frameworks. In San Antonio’s West Side, where murals along Guadalupe Street blend Catholic iconography with indigenous symbols, healers and counselors increasingly integrate mindfulness practices rooted in Mesoamerican traditions with cognitive behavioral therapy, creating spaces where faith and psychology aren’t seen as opposites but as complementary tools for resilience.

The rupture in her relationship with Leandro García Gómez, whose detention in October 2025 followed allegations of gender-based violence, adds another layer. Lowrdez’s quiet admission—“Se me rompió algo”—speaks to the hidden toll of emotional abuse, a trauma that often fuels substance use as a coping mechanism. Locally, this mirrors function done by the P.E.A.C.E. Initiative, a San Antonio-based nonprofit that provides trauma-informed counseling for survivors of domestic violence. Their programs recognize that healing isn’t linear; it involves rebuilding self-trust, navigating grief, and relearning how to feel safe in one’s own body—exactly the kind of “laburo” Lowrdez described. When she said, “Siempre estoy triste, pero tengo momentos felices y me puedo levantar de la cama,” she wasn’t just sharing a feeling; she was modeling a realistic, achievable vision of recovery—one where sadness coexists with small victories, and getting out of bed becomes an act of courage.

Given my background in community-driven storytelling and public health communication, if this trend impacts you in San Antonio, here are the three types of local professionals you need to know about:

First, seek Integrated Dual Diagnosis Therapists who specialize in co-occurring mental health and substance use disorders. Gaze for providers licensed by the Texas State Board of Examiners of Professional Counselors who explicitly mention experience with medication-assisted treatment (MAT) and motivational interviewing. The best ones collaborate with psychiatrists to monitor prescriptions while addressing root trauma—not just symptoms—and offer sliding-scale fees through partnerships with clinics like the CentroMed Behavioral Health network.

Second, connect with Culturally Grounded Healing Practitioners who blend evidence-based therapy with cultural wisdom. These might be licensed social workers or counselors who incorporate practices like plática (healing dialogue), ancestral storytelling, or mindfulness adapted from Indigenous and Afro-Caribbean traditions—always within ethical clinical frameworks. Verify their credentials through the Texas Behavioral Health Executive Council and ask how they honor clients’ spiritual beliefs without imposing dogma, especially important in a city where over 60% of residents identify as Hispanic or Latino.

Third, engage Trauma-Informed Domestic Violence Advocates who understand the complex interplay between abuse, mental health, and substance use. These professionals—often found at organizations like the P.E.A.C.E. Initiative or Family Violence Prevention Services—should have specific training in coercive control theory and safety planning. Prioritize those who offer wrap-around services: legal advocacy, housing support, and group therapy, recognizing that leaving an abusive situation is rarely just about ending a relationship; it’s about rebuilding an entire life.

Ready to identify trusted professionals? Browse our complete directory of top-rated mental health and wellness experts in the San Antonio, Texas area today.