I smoke weed for a variety of reasons. It alleviates my chronic mental health issues, eases anxiety, and helps me unwind. It also soothes the muscle tension that often comes with my stress and aids my sleep at night. Surprisingly, it also makes me a more enjoyable parent, helping me engage with my kids in ways that would normally overwhelm me. Essentially, marijuana enhances my overall ability to connect with the world.
Research supports this; studies published in Psychiatric Times highlight its benefits for mental health, including improved sleep and reduced anxiety. With marijuana now legal in several states and decriminalized in many others, its acceptance is growing. That said, I live in a place where it remains illegal, which complicates things.
So, when a massive dinosaur exhibit rolled into town, I was less than thrilled. Crowded spaces filled with screaming kids and bright lights are my worst nightmare. My husband, well aware of my aversion, quietly handed me a vape pen filled with medicinal-grade cannabis. He understood that if I was going to survive this outing, I could use some help.
I retreated to my room to gather my courage, shutting both the bedroom and bathroom doors. Unfortunately, I neglected to lock them. With music playing, I was blissfully unaware as my son, Max, burst in just as I was inhaling. Caught mid-puff, I panicked. There was no way to hide what I was doing.
“Oh no,” I thought as I exhaled, immediately shifting gears to scold him about privacy. He offered a quick apology, explaining the other bathroom was occupied. I retorted that it didn’t matter—knocking was a must, even if Jesus himself told him to enter.
Now, I faced a dilemma: what to do next? Max is nine and clearly saw something he shouldn’t have, but how much does he really understand?
I had two choices. I could ignore the incident, which might mean I wouldn’t have to deal with any awkward questions about my weed use. After all, it’s illegal in our area, and I certainly don’t want my son spreading the juicy secret of his mom being a pot smoker.
Yet, ignoring it didn’t feel right. If I brushed it off, I risked sending the message that I don’t trust him to understand the situation. He might draw incorrect conclusions—like thinking I was smoking tobacco, which we’ve discussed, but this was clearly something else. We’ve talked about marijuana before, and he knows that it’s legal in some places and can be used medicinally.
So, maybe I should create an open dialogue. Ask him how he felt about what he saw. Does he fear I’m high all the time? Is he worried we could get caught? Does he have questions about why I use it? Should I trust a nine-year-old with that kind of information? If he were older, I’d have no hesitation. But at nine, he’s straddling the line between child and pre-teen, ready to question the world around him.
For now, I’m leaning towards pretending it never happened. However, I know I can’t ignore it forever. My husband and I need to have a serious conversation about how to handle this situation and perhaps sit down with Max for a talk.
I just wish that bathroom door had been more secure.
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