My Soft Rebellion

Episode Transcript:
(I’ve used ChatGPT to clean it up for ease of reading, all of the words were originally my own <3)

Hey everyone. Today I want to talk about how I’ve healed my relationship with weed.

This has been three months in the making because I haven’t smoked for the past three months—and I still haven’t. But I had an internal shift around my relationship to pot, which is why I feel like when I do smoke again, it won’t put me back in the shackles it used to.

Because here’s what always happened after my breaks: I’d smoke after a long time, it would hit me, and I’d feel so good. Especially when you’ve been smoking all the time and your tolerance is high—you don’t get the magical effects as much. So when it finally hits again, you’re like: Oh my God, this is amazing. My body is relaxed. My perspective opens. I was serious and uptight for months, and now I’m not.

The way I see it is like my entire body is a clenched fist… and weed finally unclenches it. And then I’m like, Why did I ever think quitting was a good idea? This is clearly a benefit. This makes my life better. The math just stops mathing. I’m like—obviously this is good for me.

But there are a couple of problems with that line of thinking—even if 5–10% of it is true.

Number one: when I say, “I need pot to get me into a state of mind, and that state is superior to my sober state,” I’m putting pot on a pedestal. I’m giving the keys to my life to a substance. It becomes: Lord Marijuana, grant me clarity.

And what that trains my mind and body to believe is: I don’t trust myself. I don’t have the answers. I don’t know how to relax. I don’t know how to regulate. A substance has the answers. A substance will fix me.

And the minute I do that, I hand the keys over. It’s in control of me.

Because then my brain wants the shortcut. It goes: When I rely on myself, I’m stressed, dysregulated, narrow. But when I smoke, my mind expands. My body relaxes. My thoughts soften. I don’t deny that weed can help me relax and reflect—and I appreciate that.

But I don’t need it to be my master.

Because the next problem is diminishing returns. It’s good for you the first few times, then tolerance goes through the roof, and suddenly you’re back in zombie mode—because too much of a good thing still isn’t good for you.

So then the question becomes: How do I detach from the feeling it gives me—the relief?

And I get it. If you’re living with chronic tension, brutal family dynamics, unfulfilling work… it makes total sense why you’d reach for the shortcut. It can feel euphoric to have something unwind your nervous system when nothing else compares.

If I’m being honest, the closest thing I’ve found that can release tension in my body the way weed does is acupuncture. I really recommend it. But I can’t go five or six times a week—so I also do things like acupressure. Even massaging your ears can help; they hold a lot of tension.

Still, I know it’s not exactly the same.

Here’s the shift that changed everything: pot isn’t my master—it’s my teacher.

It shows me a state I do have access to… even if sober me can’t access it as quickly. So instead of “I smoke to get relief,” it becomes: “I smoke to learn.”

Like: okay—when I’m high, my shoulders drop. My jaw unclenches. My abdomen releases. My toes can finally wiggle. My mind widens. My self-scrutiny quiets down.

And yes—people say sober them feels “cringe” once they smoke. I don’t think you’re cringe. I think you’re probably operating in survival mode. And survival mode isn’t your truest self—it’s your nervous system doing its best.

Life is hard. We all have bills. Social media is constantly on our brains. You might be unhappy where you are while other people’s highlight reels are shoved in your face. And on top of that, the world can feel like it’s on the brink. Add childhood trauma, and yeah—of course you want relief.

So I’m not shaming anyone for using weed as relief. I get it.

But you can also let it teach you. Take notes when you smoke. Use it as a demonstration of what ease feels like, so you can bring even 10–20% of that into your sober life. Not to replicate being high—just to widen your baseline.

So my relationship to pot now has a rule:

• I only smoke during my luteal phase (about a week and a half before your period).
• No two consecutive days.
• No wake-and-bakes.
• If I smoke, it’s 7–9 p.m. (an evening thing).

And I need to be careful, because there’s a fine line: the minute it becomes “I’m in luteal, I need relief, I need to smoke,” it can snowball.

So instead I tell myself: I’m in luteal, which is a harder time. I want to smoke to show myself relaxation—so I can carry it into my sober days.

Another important rule: the desire has to come from a neutral place, not desperation.

If I’m having a terrible day, emotionally wrecked, in urgency—I don’t smoke. Because then I’m wiring my brain to believe: relief = weed. That’s the trap.

So if I’m chill about it—if even if I chose not to smoke, I’d be okay—then sure. If it’s “I NEED IT”—that’s a sign to step back. Sometimes you literally just need sleep. If it’s past 8 p.m. and you’re spiraling and thinking “I have to smoke,” you might just be exhausted. Drink some chamomile and go to bed.

The point is: intentional use. Not “I feel messed up at 5 p.m., so I’ll smoke.” That’s what got me stuck.

I also want to say: early on, I was still outsourcing regulation—just to different things. I’d watch TV all day. I’d be on dating apps. And I had to notice: I was outsourcing my nervous system to anything.

And the real shift was realizing: even if I can’t calm myself down, I can bear pain. I can sit with it. I can endure my suffering.

It’s not fun. It’s miserable. Sitting there like: I feel lonely. I feel sad. I miss my parents. I have no friends. I don’t like my job. That’s not cute. But learning you can sit with that builds trust with yourself.

And I want to be clear: if weed is truly your lifeline right now, I’m not here to moralize. Do what you have to do to survive.

But if you want a new relationship with yourself and with pot, start limiting it and using it as a teacher. Take notes. Learn the state you’re craving. Practice bringing pieces of it into sober life.

If you’re trying to taper off, I don’t recommend cold turkey for everyone. Some people do better by gradually decreasing over time. The withdrawal symptoms can be softer. For me, I had to go cold turkey because I don’t have “a little bit” self-control.

But if you do go cold turkey, the first month is a mental game—day by day. Don’t do “I can’t smoke for two weeks.” Just do today.

And I personally recommend a minimum three-month break before you even consider smoking again. One month isn’t enough. Two months isn’t enough. Three months gave me enough space for the shift.

And even after three months, you have to be brutally honest: Are you actually ready?

Like—I almost smoked on New Year’s and I didn’t. Because I felt fiendy, and I’m in follicular, where I already feel better. I didn’t need it. I just wanted it because I hadn’t smoked in a while—and that didn’t match my intention.

And if you do smoke and you didn’t listen to your intuition, don’t spiral. Just don’t do it again. It’s not a game. This is a relationship you’re building with yourself.

And if the next day you wake up and want to smoke again—just acknowledge it. It’s normal to crave a substance you used for relief. But the trick is not indulging to the point where you’re acting against your own best interest.

At the end of the day, it’s a balance. Weed can be part of self-care if used intentionally—not as a way to escape life. Used as a demonstration of what sober life can look like with more ease.

So yeah—those are my five cents on healing your relationship to weed. Be honest with yourself. Be gentle with yourself. We’re all living on Earth for the first time and nobody knows what they’re doing.

I don’t want to be someone who says “never smoke again,” because I’ve always loved pot. I really do. I think it’s a lovely substance when it’s used properly. The problem is when it’s not—and then too much of a good thing becomes not a good thing at all.

So I want to hold the sacredness of it in my journey. And smoking all day every day isn’t doing that justice.

I wish you the best of luck. You’ve got this—whether you’re still smoking, you’re on a break, wherever you are: trust you’re going to get where you need to go. You’re not behind. You didn’t waste time. You’re not a failure.

You’re a person who is trying. And a person who tries is a 10 out of 10.

Love you. Take care. See ya.