From a very young age, I used substances to feel better. As an infant, I even managed to open a bottle of cough syrup. I truly struggled, in every sense of the word, with addiction. When I was younger, I was molested by a family friend, and I buried it. Later in life, when things became too uncomfortable to bear, I drank. When I caused chaos in my life and in the lives of those around me, I used.
I was arrested several times, for several different reasons. My second probation officer once begged the judge to keep me in jail rather than release me on probation. Not only was I struggling with substances, but I was morally bankrupt, even when doing the right thing was easier, I did the wrong thing.
But I learned something about myself: when I used cannabis, my actions were better. My confidence returned. I felt human. Compared to drinking or using other drugs, cannabis made me feel whole. Everything else made me physically ill, every time.
I remember one day shortly after I started driving. It was Easter morning, and my family was getting ready to leave for church. I hate social situations, large crowds make me nervous, so I went outside to smoke a bowl. My mother came out screaming, furious that I was going to smell at church. At the time, she was no fan of cannabis. My response was simple: “Mom, it makes me less nervous. It’s like medicine.”
That was the wrong response, even though it was the truth. I knew that then.
Fast forward eighteen years, and my probation officer would say the same thing.
I had been in and out of rehab about twelve times. I completed treatment more than once, only to find myself back months, or a year, later. Yaphank Correctional Facility became familiar to me; I was there several times, once for five months.
The last time I completed treatment, I hadn’t started my medical cannabis journey yet. Instead, my probation officer ran me through a buffet of mental health medications. When sobriety finally clicked in my thick skull, I was willing to do anything just to feel human again. I spent nearly two years sober, but on all the prescribed meds, I was a zombie.
It got so bad that my probation officer had to help me stand while giving a urine sample. The results showed only the medications I was prescribed. She watched it come straight from the source, she knew I was trying. After that, she suggested I try medical cannabis.
That suggestion changed my life. I don’t have better words.
Two days later, I had my appointment for a medical marijuana card. That doctor is still the one I use today. Walking out of his office, I felt something I hadn’t felt in decades: hope. I felt like I was going to be okay.
That feeling held, until I walked into The Botanist. Once I stepped through those doors, “excited” didn’t even begin to cover it. It felt like I had finally found the answer. Doing the right thing became easy. Telling the truth stopped being a struggle. Where lying and stealing, especially from people I loved—had once been routine, they were now off the table.
For the first time in my life, I had integrity. My father prayed I would find it until the day he died.
My relationships improved. Boundaries were set and respected. And most importantly, I became the father I was always meant to be.
Today, I grow cannabis. I talk about cannabis. I share my passion for cannabis with my thirteen-year-old daughter. To be clear: she does not use, and is not allowed to use, cannabis in any form.
Last January, her mother passed away. I had to be the one to tell my daughter, “Mommy died.” I had to shatter the world of the little girl I love more than life itself, more than oxygen. Because of cannabis, I was able to be there when she fell apart. Because of cannabis, I have been present for every tear, every heartbreak, every meltdown, and every comeback since. I didn’t disappear.
My own comeback rescued me from a lifetime in the kitchen as a chef. After five years of trying to break into the cannabis industry, I was close to giving up. I heard “you’re the guy for the job” more times than I can count, followed by silence once my addiction history came up. Many people were terrified that a recovering addict couldn’t succeed in cannabis.
I was lucky. I was chosen as one of Planet Nugg’s first budtenders, a role that still means the world to me. Where I once felt like an outcast, I found people just like me. Being part of something new, with people who understand, has been a gift.
My life is far from perfect. It’s stressful. But it gets better every single day.
Addiction should be taken seriously. I got lucky. I spent almost two years completely substance-free. I was even asked to leave several AA and NA meetings for sharing my experience, my strength and hope.
Still, I hope this finds you well.
