Jenny’s Story

I was born far too sensitive. That’s what I used to tell myself when I first started smoking marijuana. I was 14 when I was offered a hit off a joint. The year before we had moved to a new city and I was in the full angst of puberty - awkward, perpetually embarrassed, never feeling like I fit in with my peers. Being the daughter of a school principal and an Episcopal priest, I felt under constant pressure to live up to high moral and academic standards. ., but all I really wanted was to fit in with other kids at school … that, and to take a break from the pressure of my own perfectionism. I never felt like “enough” to myself, and my social anxiety (referred to by my family as my “hypersensitivity”) made efforts to develop new friendships painful at times. I never developed any emotional self-regulation skills but instead turned my stress inward to the point that I’d started showing symptoms of an ulcer by seventh grade.

I vividly remember feeling the symptoms of depression before I ever had the vocabulary to label it as such. It would be until decades later that I would discover in treatment that I was bipolar 2, and that my grandfather had exhibited the same symptoms in his lifetime. Until then, I would assume that I was just “too sensitive.”

Thankfully, I was able to find some stress relief through music. Being a member of the school choir let me feel connected to a group which made socializing easier. This new creative outlet was not, however, with its’ own struggles as soon after joining I realized that even music nerds had social stratas. I easily fit into the goodie goodies who cared about grades more than boys, but what I wanted desperately was to break out of this mold that had been fashioned for me. Instead, I wanted to be one of the girls that partied. Though I didn’t entirely understand what that meant, I just knew that these girls looked the most happy and had the most friends.

I remember being utterly thrilled when one of these popular girls invited me to a “kegger” being held in her families barn while her folks were out of town. Although I didn’t know this term, I was just so happy to be included that I didn’t care - I desperately wanted a break from my typical life. As teenagers often do, various lies were told to parents about slumber parties at some mythical friends home. My parents didn’t question me - why would they? I was a “good girl.”

At the party I was amazed at how many people there were and how easily the beer flowed, especially if you were a girl as we all drank for free. While I didn’t like the taste of beer, I DID like the lowering of inhibitions that seemed to increase with each red Solo cup I drank. Finally, a break from the stranglehold that was my life! I could now make eye contact, I could laugh with abandon, I could say “sure” to going off with my new friend to where the “stoners” gathered. In for a penny, in for a pound - why not try weed?

In retrospect, it had to have been the worst dirt weed I’d ever smoke, yet it still had enough THC to make any remaining ragged edges of my social anxiety smooth right out. I remember coming to the realization that night - this was it! This was what I NEEDED to be released from myself. It was one thing to be a silly drunk, but being high was like putting insulation on frayed wires. I felt calm in a way I’d never thought possible.

With more partying came more and more low inhibition behaviors. I became sexually active at 14, long before I was emotionally ready for intimacy. Now I had yet another reason for lying to my parents about where I was going, and I was eventually caught. Once my father discovered that I was having sex, his pedestalized Madonna became a whore in his eyes and he disowned me. He made clear that I was only being allowed to live in his house as he was legally liable for my care until I was 18 but that he would have nothing to do with me. His shunning was devastating to me. I couldn’t fathom how a parent whose love was supposed to be unconditional, who was supposed to live and walk in the path of the Lord, could do this. My father was my world, and if he could sever his relationship with me, then what faith could I have in any sense of God?

This trauma caused my first long lasting depression, and began my absolute need for self-medication. This was the start of using in order to just get through my days. I began to believe that needed to use in order to stave off the anxiety and depression. I found myself hanging out with people I NEVER would have, just to get some of their smoke.

Soon enough, I was buying my own weed so that I could get high when I liked, rather than having to suffer the role playing of false friendships or supposedly want-to-be girlfriend just to get high. With my own stash, I was able to give myself the “medicine” I felt I needed to unwind and disconnect from the ongoing worries and mood swings that I’d come to assume being just part of my make up. How was this any different from my parents nightly drinking? Sure, they didn’t get obliterated, but drinking was a nightly ritual in my home, just a little “relaxer” - how was this any different?

One difference was that my smoking resulted in further and further isolation. Even though I yearned for social connection, the relief I received from getting high and being able to veg. out and disconnect from everyone and everything was more desirous. Even in a room full of people, once that buz was achieved and the initial giggling subsided, I was able to completely turn inward, not feeling anything in particular. For me, this was bliss.

By the age of 16 I was dealing in order to ensure that I maintained enough marijuana to sustain my addiction. I was now developing friendships purely on the basis of their attitude towards getting high and only surrounded myself with those who would never question my ever increasing dependency. Being a dealer brought with it the feeling of ultimate popularity whilst helping me to lessen the desire to be popular. I didn’t care about that anymore, I didn’t care about much of anything anymore.

Dealing also resulted in putting myself into more and more risky situations both in terms of personal safety and the ever increasing likelihood of getting arrested. While I faced some frightening situations, nothing was more important that ensuring that I wouldn’t have to face another day clean.

By the time I graduated high school, I had lost all ambition of attending a prestigious college. Instead, I chose a state school that would accept my less than stellar G.P.A. and had the benefit of being located near the Canadian border where the drinking age was just 19. Being able to party, to get out of my own head far superseded any thoughts of preparing for a productive future. Attending a party school would ensure that my addition would continue unabated. I was able to schedule my classes in such a way as to not only ensure late night partying, but would even allow for going over the border between morning and afternoon classes in order to have what we referred to as “smart cocktails”. There was never any consideration of the risk of drunk driving, or in bringing marijuana over the border. This level of risk taking had become par for the course.

My new wake-and-bake lifestyle resulted in an ever increasing tolerance. I not only needed more marijuana to get high, I needed stronger strains. Staying high was no longer a preference, it was an absolute necessity, and running into dry spells where I couldn’t find anyone holding became a torturous misery - NOTHING was more important than staying supplied of the one thing that made life manageable. I lied and stole (money and weed) from friends feeling no remorse - justification for my actions came easily as I felt very little, including shame.

Over time, my ongoing haze made concentration impossible and I often came high to exams as I became unable to face each day without starting high. My grade point average was in a perpetual downward trend - there were numerous quarters where I ended up on academic probation, but was this a deterrent? Unfortunately not. I started to drop classes when I realized that, even if I passed the final exam, my cumulative grades would not allow me to pass the class. Retaking classes during the summer did not end up being sufficient and I ended up having to extend into a fifth year just to finish my bachelors.

When I graduated college (barely), I was faced with a decision of WHAT NOW? I had a degree that required a masters to be marketable, but I was too drug addled to have the motivation to pursue it. I was broke as a result of my college debt (and my daily use of marijuana) so I’d have to move back in with my parents until I got my bearings, but this seemed an unfathomable option as they were still unaware of my drug use. In order to continue my facade, I couldn’t go back home, so I found myself in a conundrum.

I had to make money but my lack of practical experience left me with only very low paying jobs in my college town. Most of my friends had graduated on time, and my new cohort of druggies were locals, long established in their addictions, who were happy to help me find my new career in the drug exportation trade. I became a runner, driving great quantities of marijuana around the state and at times, across the border. My appearance as a middle class college student gave me the ability to fly under the radar, as it were, of authorities. Further, my growing addiction continued to skew my sense of reality making me feel more and more invisible. Ever greater risk taking continued until the decision was make to go all in and become a grower myself. I no longer cared about pursuing academic and career goals - all I cared about now was ensuring that I would never hit a dry spell again, that I could always stayed supplied.

Ten years of this lifestyle continued. My double life had refined as I developed into what I thought of as a “functional” addict. I was somehow able to keep a job (though I had to come home at lunch to get high), while still participating in various forms of trafficking. I married a man who would never challenge my drug use as he was an even bigger stoner than I was! Being with him allowed me to retire from dealing and enjoy a less stressful life under his protection and care (i.e. he always ensured that we were well supplied with pot).

As happens for many women, my thoughts soon turned to having a family, though this desire seemed incongruous with my lifestyle. Although we had agreed on having children before getting married, it eventually became apparent that my husband wanted no part in my desire for parenthood and a deep resentment began to develop for both of us. Although I began to become more and more dissatisfied with my life, the thought of leaving the marriage in order to have a hope of motherhood with someone else did not outweigh the benefits of living in a home where weed flowed like running water.

Without the prospect of motherhood, I turned my focus the fact that I couldn’t find fulfilling work in my college town. My bachelor's degree in psychology was no more benefit to me than checking a box on an application, so I decided to pursue my master, this time in a more marketable area - teaching.

I came from three generations of teachers, and knew that I could get needed support in my studies from my mother. I found an accelerated program that would enable me to complete my degree in less than two years, but as it was a two hour drive from my home, in order to be enrolled required that I move back to Seattle and live with my family. Still, this seemed like the best option and would result in an actual career.

Classes were from 8 - 5 with a minimum of three hours of homework nightly. I hadn’t attempted this level of concentration … EVER! I found that there was no way I could smoke weed through the weekdays, so I developed the discipline of only smoking at night as without weed, I was no longer able to fall asleep naturally. The rigors of intense concentration and abstinence until bedtime caused me to be increasingly agitated. I literally felt like I was “living for the weekends” biding my time until I could race home every Friday becoming obliterated upon arrival. Still, I had course work to complete on the weekends, which became very difficult given that fact that I was smoking pretty much hourly and I wasn’t able to retain information (as was evident from my exams). I couldn’t concentrate when high, yet couldn’t restrain my need to stay high.

During this time, my husband became extremely frustrated with the new reality that I was constantly gone and, when I was home, either trying to study or being completely phased out from binge smoking. Many times he would stop talking to me saying that if I cared, I would know why he was opting to sleep on the couch most nights. I passively witnessed the slow erosion of my marriage, but I could ignore the ever increasing problems as long as I could stay high. In my heart, I recognized that I had become a slave to my addiction. What had started as a medicine that gave me ease and comfort had become an impediment to being present in my life, yet I couldn’t stop.

My husband finally told me to stop coming home if I was going to bring work with me. To ensure I felt his displeasure, he stopped providing me with marijuana to take back to Seattle. Without pot, I was having an increasingly hard time getting any sustained sleep and concentration became even more difficult. I realized that I had no direct connection to any dealers, and that if I hoped to stay supplied, I would have to pacify my husband so I began pretending to leave my work in Seattle, studying only once he’d fallen asleep.

After graduating, I moved back to home where I could go back to staying high throughout the day. As it was midway through the public school year, my only option for teaching was to substitute - a virtual nightmare for a wake and bake stoner. I soon started lying to my husband, saying that I wasn’t finding many assignments just to avoid facing the fact that I couldn’t actually TEACH while high, and I just couldn’t face the the day without getting high. Not bringing home a paycheck and my unwillingness to find a job other than teaching pushed my husband over the edge - he’d had it with me and we became strangers in the same home. He wouldn’t talk to me, and he surely wouldn’t get me high. As a result, the anxiety and depression became more acute. I was physically miserable and emotionally despondent yet I still couldn’t fathom leaving as, even with all I had accomplished, I still felt incapable of handling the responsibilities of adult life.
Eventually I found comfort in another man’s attentions and I began an affair. This person was also a marijuana addict so I was supplied again and time together gave me a further escape from my life. As was certainly inevitable, the affair was discovered, I was kicked out and had to move back home with my parent. With no marijuana to numb my mind, for the first time in years, I had to face the consequences of my actions and FEEL the shame of my choices.

My connections to dealers were nearly entirely severed as most of these were friends of my soon-to-be ex-husbands. While I tried to use alcohol and cigarettes to quel my discomfort, I just couldn’t stave off my racing thoughts, anxiety and increasing depression. Without marijuana, I could no longer avoid the shame I felt about my actions - how could I have abandoned my morality? How had it been so easy to choose escapism over dealing with the fact that my marriage had imploded?

I was no longer able to deny that marijuana was more than just dependency, it was addition, and now with no more supply I developed a state of ongoing anxiety and soon began to experience periodic panic attacks. I had no idea that these were symptoms of marijuana withdrawal - after all, marijuana wasn’t thought to be physically addictive at that time.

After a stint of three days being unable to sleep at all, my nerves felt completely stipped down and I was desperate for relief. I couldn’t even take a walk outside as my eyes were too light sensitive and the sound of birds chirping felt piercing. It’s as if I had no more insulation on my nerves at all. I had uncontrollable crying jags throughout they days and night and eventually felt that the only way out was suicide. Over a lifetime of drug addiction, I had completely lost touch with any sense of spirituality yet I desperately prayed for help as I planned the least painful way of ending my life.

It was during this time that I had my spiritual awakening. As I was contemplating the method I would use to kill myself, my thoughts were extremely slow and scattered as I tried to determine what pills might do the trick. I remember it was so hard to think coherently and then, almost faster than I could understand, came a loud and clear voice in my head saying “You are not alone!” I was utterly shocked - what had just happened? When I would later share this experience in 12-step meetings, I would refer to it as feeling like having a high speed Internet connection cut through my old-school dial-up sluggish thought process. There was no doubt to me that this moment had been a lifeline from God as there was no way at that time for my thinking to be that fast nor that clear.

With this shock to my system, I left my dark room and confessed to my parents that I was at the brink and needed professional help. They got me to a doctor and I was prescribed sleeping pills and given a referral to a women’s drug treatment center. Understandably, rehab would not admit me until I was cleared by a psychiatrist as no longer a suicide risk. They gave me a referral and it was then that I was diagnosed as bipolar. I was put on antipsychotic medications and after a couple of weeks my cycles of depression and anxiety ebaided.

By the time I entered my drug treatment facility I was stable enough to be present during sessions and made good progress as I was already utterly convinced that I was a drug addict. It was a challenge, however, to be told that I was also an alcoholic as this was not my drug of choice. I had some resistance to the idea of not being able to use any mind or mood altering substances - the addict in me believed that I could be a “social drinker” and I balked at my treatment groups challenges to my assumptions. I was finally convinced, however, when I had to admit that when I couldn’t score, I drank heavily in order to manage my discomfort. I had to admit that this was a likely relapse scenario.

During my first year of sobriety I struggled with the lingering effects of marijuana abuse. I had a very difficult time concentrating and was extremely frustrated by verbal aphasia where I just couldn’t access my memory of the vocabulary I wanted to use. My nervous system remained frayed as I often felt overwhelmed by light and sound. I would at times feel sensory overload in crowds and had to be careful to implement what I’d learned in treatment an to always have “exit strategy” prepared ahead of time before I was willing to risk attending public events. I also had to ensure that I had time with little stimulus while I regained some insulation on my nerves.

Through the guidance of my rehab counselors I developed a regular routine of AA and NA meetings, though always felt out of place as many people still believed that marijuana was only a psychological addiction. It wasn’t until I found Marijuana Anonymous that I felt like I’d found my people - those whose lives had also become utterly unmanageable through chronic use of pot.

Having found “my people” I stopped needing to isolate and found comfort in developing new and lasting friendships. I found that I could participate in group events without anxiety and began to explore a new renewed sense of creativity through quilting, and art I had only dabbled with in the past. In all ways I felt as though I was chrysalis beginning to emerge from a long sleep and the person I was becoming was less and less hindered by regret of the past.

Now that self-destructive thoughts were gone, I was able to face more fully the wreckage I had made of my life. My emotions ran the gamut of extreme shame to unspecified rage and I struggled to self-soothe. To help me learn to self-regulate my emotions I began to practice meditation to help me wind down at night and ensured that I had a regular and predictable sleep schedule.

By having an increased sense of peace in my life I felt more open to exploring my spirituality. I further came to understand that a “power greater than me” could indeed restore me to sanity. Although I struggled with the concept of the God of my understanding, the sociological impact of being a valued member of my sober community helped me to build the foundation I’d need to stay sober.
As soon as I got out of treatment, I sought out a naturopath and began developing understanding of healthy diet. I was guided in the use supplements and I found that eliminated sugar and caffeine helped me to feel more sustained energy. I was encouraged to develop a routine of walking that helped me to feel centered while improving my physical stamina. I continued with regular check-ins to track my progress and through this ongoing care, further built my support resources.

As my overall health improved I would experience times in which I would feel the now uncomfortable sense of being high as my body’s fat cells released trapped THC into my bloodstream. This was terribly disconcerting as I had begun substitute teaching and I worried about becoming hazed out during my work day. As the urge to smoke was still present and stress from being back in the workforce increased, I found that the structures I’d built of caring for my mind and body, spirituality and community helped me cope with these times of unease.

By the end of my first year of sobriety I began to heal relationships with my family, and to make amends to those I had hurt with my using. My parents now understood the extent of my life-long addiction and gave me their unconditional emotional and financial support. During this time I was on an effective cocktail of medications that managed my bipolar disorder and had a strong support network, I still had the desire to self-medicate, to take the edge of an all to vivid reality in which I could no longer avoid my struggles or cover up my past.

I began seeing a therapist as well as my psychiatrist to start working on processing the issues of my past while working to develop a new sense of who I was in sobriety. Through therapy I began to acknowledge the effects of early childhood molestation by a family friend on my developing psyche, and how being raped in college and not receiving the help I needed further drove my need to get out of my body and anesthetize my mind. I began to recognize that self soothing strategies had begun in early childhood by hoarding and hiding sugar (an illicit substance in my family) with which I binged on when feeling upset or stressed. Without marijuana, I became capable of working on the maladaptive behaviors that had become my toolbox for fixing the damaged self I’d perceived myself to be.

With a new sense of capacity, I began to face the need to get back into the workforce, yet I often felt overwhelmed by the prospect of beginning my teaching career. During treatment I learned that such goals needn’t be daunting. I learned how to break down goals into manageable parts of incrementally greater responsibilities. I had starting with dog walking before my outpatient treatment sessions, and I then beginning to take on temp. clerical work. In my second year of sobriety I started taking the occasional substitute teaching job which, while terrifying, helped me to see that this truly was the profession I yearned for.

With each success of these manageable goals, I began to rebuild my confidence. In my second year of sobriety I found an opportunity to volunteer in an elementary school classroom to observe a mentor teacher and eventually practice teaching individual lessons which eventually led to a recommendation for a full time teaching position. During this time, I was no longer plagued with anxiety and my nervous system greatly improved. While the cravings to smoke pot lessened, my compulsivity continued in terms of eating. I retained the belief that if I didn’t have some form of external self-soothing, that I would surely relapse.

I faced one of the challenging years of my life when I became a full time teacher as I struggled with the amount of work it took me to develop my practice. During this time my routines of meeting attendance greatly diminished as I found that I needed to work 65 hours a week, and working during holidays in order to effectually become a successful teacher.

Having poor boundaries between work and self-care, I found myself turning more and more to food for comfort, making less and less time for exercise, meditation and socializing with sober friends. These factors continued unabated and by the end of my third year of sobriety I had gained over one hundred pounds. Further, during this time I also began having thoughts in which I rationalizalized the idea of drinking again, as I didn’t think that this was not a “problem” for me after the binge drinking years of college. Thanks to my 12 step meetings, I was reminded that such ruminations and rationalizations were just my addict in action again and soon I recognized that I truly must abstain for any mind or mood altering substances other than those prescribed by my psychiatrist. Still, it would be many years before I was able to address my disordered eating.

For many years of my sober life, I didn’t consistently go to recovery meetings, yet the wisdom imparted from the hundreds of prior meetings and my time in treatment were always with me. Step 10 was my daily focus ... "Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it." This focus on personal accountability has been the cornerstone of my recovery. The prior 9 steps gave me a clean slate - the foundation for now living an honorable life - it was up to me to maintain it.

Over my years of sobriety, my sense of my higher power changed over time and spirituality became the bedrock that kept me sober during difficult times. Initially I had struggled with Step 3. “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.” My father, the priest, my everything who had disowned me during my adolesce had been inextricably tied to my sense of what God was - a supposedly loving father who was said to love his children unconditionally. As this had not been my experience with my own father, I greatly struggled with developing a new understanding of a higher power.

In treatment I was introduced to the concept of the wise woman within all of us, a female lens on the divine. Our text had been A Womens Way Through the 12 Steps by Stephanie S. Covington. For the first time, I was able to see my higher power as a loving mother who nurtured and supported us, fulfilling in us the promises of the 12 step program - We will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us.”

Between this new perspective and a sociological understanding that my sober community was also a power greater than myself, I was able to progress in the difficult steps ahead. I spent my first three years of my sobriety working on taking a fearless and thorough inventory of my life (step 4), coming to terms with my character challenges (step 5), praying for relief and change (step 6 and 7), and making amends to those I had harmed (steps 8 and 9).

In the years to come, my spiritual spactice ebbed and flowed. Taking time for meditation became less frequent and, in turn, times of unrest, increased. It wasn’t until my father’s death that I felt an increasing desire to return to the church of my origin - to the liturgy that felt like home. Through spiritual community, I felt supported to explore and deepen my relationship with my higher power as I more deeply worked through Step 11 “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.”

My sobriety was severely challenged in my 14th year of sobriety when marijuana became legal in my state. Before that, I knew no dealers / had no one in my life that would “score” for me, so pot was never on my radar, so to speak. It felt like overnight, billboards and dispensaries had surrounded my neighborhood. Although the obsession for marijuana had been lifted in early sobriety, now I was smelling it in public nearly daily. At times I found myself flooded by sensory memories and as a result feel overwhelmed and anxious. I knew I had to make the time to get my butt back into the chairs at MA!

Just like I did in early recovery, I immediately volunteered for service both at my home group and at the district level. In this way, I felt accountability to keep coming to meetings and to offer my experience, strength and hope to those in early recovery,

When the national MA convention was held in my city, I became a lead committee member worked tirelessly with my team reach out to all MA districts and to those locally who still suffer. Through the convention, the body of MA worked to both enrich their own recovery and bolster each and every one of us to carry the message of recovery to addicts who still suffer (Step 12).

I am blessed to say that I am now at 20 years of sobriety. Since becoming sober, I have not relapsed. I attribute this to developing a form of emotional muscle memory to practicing the principles of recovery in my daily life. By continuously keeping “my side of the street clean” I avoid resentments that can lead to emotional unrest. By developing a strong spiritual foundation and fostering this through my spiritual practices and participation in spiritual community, I keep a sense of connection to my Higher Power in the forefront of my mind and heart. By committing to MA service at all levels, I regularly have the privilege of sharing with others what has helped to keep me sober.

When I feel triggered by seeing marijuana dispensaries or smelling pot near me, I use what I know to do - call a sober friend, talk about what these triggers are bringing up emotionally, and I share my struggles in meetings. Phone meetings have been a Godsend to me as they are the easiest to quickly access. I journal about my feelings in a double entry method - on the right side I talk to God, and on the left I write any inspiration that comes to me. In this way, I parent myself through times of unrest.

Actively and continuously working the 12 Steps has helped me to discover my authentic self - a caring and flawed human being who strives to learn and grow, always being mindful of how I impact others. Living in a time where marijuana is so readily available, I feel even more of a responsibility to share my recovery with those who still struggle to stay sober through sponsorship and active participation in my recovery community.

At times, even with all these years of sobriety, I find myself becoming stressed, sometimes isolating and becoming less spiritually engaged. It is at times like these that I turn my mind back to the basics of sobriety. I ensure that I am being aware of when I am hungry, angry, or tired (H.A.L.T.) and making sure I get plenty of sleep, exercise and healthy nutrition. I reach out to others and ask for support - I reach out to others and offer my support as in helping other I find releases my own discontentment.

To regain spiritual connection, when I get out of my habit of prayer and meditation I go back to the basics of book-ending my day with prayer. As soon as I get up I make my bed while praying for God’s love and support be given to all those in need. I then pray for insights on how I can be of best service to others. At night when I get into bed, I pray in gratitude recounting the many blessings in my life. I then take a moment to give myself grace for ways in which I felt struggle that day. I pray to God, not to relieve me of these difficulties, but rather for the faith to believe that I will intuitively know how to handle these situations as they occur. I ask for insight and support in order to keep my side of the street clean of offenses and resentments and make commitments to make right any wrong I may have done to others that day.

No matter I face in life I have no doubt that I can manage without the use of mind altering substances as as I have the support of my sober community and my higher power. My life is a testimony to the promise made to me at my darkest time - I am, indeed, not alone!

Jenny’s Story-Seatle, WA 2021© Freedom From Cannabis Addiction: Sisters off the Green