No, I’m Not High… Here’s Why

“You must be high all the time…” “How high are you?” “Are you high right now?” are common questions that regular cannabis consumers get from those who don’t consume like us.

Truth be told, I consume cannabis daily, yet to say I’m ever “high” would be an inaccuracy.

This is because the plant feeds my body’s needs via my endocannabinoid system, and does all the incredible things it needs to my body because of the THC and the cannabinoids contained within the plant.

My body (and probably yours too!) is deficient in the naturally occurring endocannabinoids that the body produces – this is why I have troubles with chronic pain, anxiety, appetite, mood, sleep, and a few other things when not medicating.

Keeping on the plant on regular intervals and adding phytocannabinoids (plant-based cannabinoids) keeps me balanced, my body feeling good, my appetite somewhat regular, my sleep regulated, and most of all, I operate at a baseline of “good”.

Sure, there is a bit of a psychoactive effect, but my brain works best on THC – it’s like all the pieces that are scattered around my brain line up, and I’m able to see things clearly. Daily use also builds up a THC tolerance, so I’m never as affected than someone who doesn’t use, using.

Cannabis allows me to operate at my best- stable, balanced, aware, in control, and overall more effective when I’m not using cannabis.

I’m not stoned, fried, baked… I’m healthy all because of this incredible plant the earth gifted us.

Be The Hero of Your Own Story: IWD 2019

Normally my International Women’s Day posts shout out all the other amazing women in my life, but this year, I’m celebrating me.

This year, I saved myself. I recognized that where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing was not resulting in the happiness I deserved for my life. Things got really dark for a while and then one day, I booked a plane ticket from Costa Rica back home to Canada with the full intent on saving myself.

I left my husband behind knowing that I was putting myself before our marriage. I recognized that he was not the prince who would save me, and when it came down to it, it was up to me to be the hero of my own story.

I struggled, I cried, I questioned all my decisions, but eventually came to peace with knowing that saving myself was the best thing for me and those I truly love. I let go of the man who had once been my knight in shining armour.

Fast forward 8 months, and I am stronger than ever. I’ve found that happiness within myself again. I have filled my life with people and opportunities that allow me to thrive. I’m where I am supposed to be in BC and on Vancouver Island.

Be the hero of your own story. Don’t rely on the prince or knight to save you. Usually they are just an asshole in tinfoil.

Celebrate yourself this IWD 2019!

Mental Illness is a Bull You Can Grab By the Horns

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. When you live with mental illness, you celebrate the good days, HUGE.

Each time you come back from a crash, it’s like a rebirth, where you have another chance to get yourself on track.

I was a bit of a trainwreck in December; it was a dark month. But since 2019 hit, I’m celebrating 2 full months and a bit of clean, safe, happy health.

My medications are (finally) perfectly balanced. I’m surrounded by the right people. I’m in the best place for my soul right now. I’ve accessed the right mental health supports (even if it wasn’t in my own community). I’ve shared my story. I’ve helped others.

My doctor told me that I would one day recover from my mental illness, because mine is indeed “curable”, and I’m feeling it. I’m not in the clear, but boy, am I feeling it.

Mental illness is a bull you can take by the horns.

Let’s Talk about Psilocybin

Let’s take a moment to talk about psilocybin. Magic mushrooms.

While cannabis is my only regular substance of choice, I do dose mushrooms every few months as a therapeutic activity, something I’ve embraced for the last year and a half.

Psilocybin is being used increasingly as a tool for therapy, becoming a proven method for helping to manage addiction, depression, and a host of other mental health disorders.

Personally, I like the great deal of introspection that I get when using psilocybin. It helps me access parts of my psyche that are otherwise closed off. It allows me to surface parts of myself that I know need work. It brings up memories that I had forgotten, but remain a part of who I am. It allows you to see the details and intricacies of the world in ways you can’t see when not under the influence.

I am a BIG proponent of psilocybin and mark my words, you’re going to start hearing a lot more about the magic of the mushroom. If anyone has any questions about this wonder of the universe, I’m your girl.

Further Reading:

I Died in Costa Rica

As I move towards positive mental health, and build my life back in Canada and here in BC, my Mom reminded me of something really important: I was literally dying in Costa Rica.
I don’t know if you know what it feels like to experience the loss of your own soul. It’s losing the people, structures, support systems that keep you whole. It’s having parts of yourself so overshadowed by someone else, that you literally begin to forget who you are.
I cried every day in Costa Rica for the last 6 months I was there. The depression and sheer emptiness was something I’d never felt before. I was not keeping the best company (save for a few saviors, and you know who you are), and that led to extreme loneliness I’d never felt before.
The expat life may look “shiny”, and I probably made it look that way in hindsight, but in actuality, the 2 years I spent in Costa Rica were 2 of the unhappiest years of my life. You can only go to the beach so much, eat exquisite food so much, watch so many sunsets before you learn how shallow of a life expat life can be.
I’m now back in the “land of the living” and just by virtue of being in my own country, I feel whole again. I’m surrounded by the necessary supports that weren’t there in Costa Rica. I’m balanced. I’ve regained the parts of myself that had been stolen from me, and I feel more “me” and more mentally healthy than I have in years.
This is all just to say that there is a big gap between what you see, what is really going on. While I have no regrets, I’m glad that chapter of my life is over. Because this chapter is undoubtedly the best one yet.

Repost: Galentine’s Day 2015

This is a repost from Feburary 2017. I am currently going through a divorce with the man I was to marry in this story, but I will still forever love our love story… especially since it began with love for myself and ended there as well.

“Galentine’s” Day – February 13, 2015

2 years ago today, I had come to a place where I was happy to be single, live my life that way, and had just generally gotten used to the notion that love was something to be enjoyed by other people.

It was a cold, snowy, February 13, and me and my main girl Courtney were ready for “Galentines Day”, a day where just the two of us would get all boozed up and spend a night dancing downtown having a good time in light of our annoyance over the imminent “love holiday” of Valentine’s Day.

As the vodka drinks in our systems accumulated, so did the snow, and our plans to go downtown were squashed as we realized that we, and our chosen outfits and shoes, wouldn’t stand a chance in the elements.

Eager to still go out and have a good time, we settled on visiting the “cougar bar” the Wortley Roadhouse, where we proceeded to have one of the best nights we had out together. Drinks were being slung everywhere we turned, we were meeting all sorts of interesting characters, and best of all, we cut it up on the dancefloor like I hadn’t in years. By all accounts, I was having the time of my life, enjoying my life, enjoying my best friend, and pretty much just “doing me”.

During a break from our serious dancing, I can remember taking a sip from a drink and then looking up across the bar to see a bearded red-head clad in a leather motorcycle jacket looking at me. I’ll never forget the look on his face when we locked eyes, and he gave me a little wave. “Huh,” I thought with more than a bit of intrigue.

If I were to say the rest was history, I’d be lying; it took us a few months to get everything on track to the point we could be with each other, both having different obligations at the time, and of course, I had just committed myself to my single life…

But as they say, things that are meant to be, fall into place, and this is what has happened with me and the love of my life, Levi, who I’ll marry next month.

Since being together, we’ve traveled 3 continents, moved together across the world, own animals together, and now own a successful business together. It came together easily, because it was a meant-to-be match.

This isn’t to be a sappy love story, but it’s mostly to show that I don’t think I would have been able to be the partner I am and to fall in love the way I have had I not had that important single girl time where I was just “doing me” and enjoying life.

I had put away any notions of “looking or searching” for Mr. Right and instead had just found happiness within myself as a single girl.

So to any single girls looking for love and feeling a bit annoyed with the imminence of Valentine’s Day, do you. Be you. Live your life for you, and all about you. Treasure your times with yourself as those are the most character building and precious. Hold on tight to your friendships, never say no to an invitation, and never hold back just being you, even if it means cutting a rug on the dance floor amongst multiple vodka drinks in a cougar bar.

You never know who’s watching…

Second Fiddle to a 6-Pack

Someone I loved deeply is an alcoholic, and it has hurt me more than I could have ever realized.

I’ve always been around alcohol, even having my own issues with alcohol that was never long-lived. I could always take or leave alcohol myself.

During my time with the person I loved, I recognized that alcoholism doesn’t necessarily have an obvious face. It hides behind social beers, or sneaking one here and there at inappropriate times.. but then it becomes obvious when you find yourself cleaning up numerous beer cans every night. Half a dozen, 10, a dozen on Saturday. Stopping to count how many times a night you hear the “psst” of the can opening, because you know you’re only up for a fight if you mention it.

Loving someone with alcoholism has left its marks, almost as though I have some sort of PTSD from living in the shadow of someone else’s bottle. I no longer feel comfortable around men who drink. I prefer to be around men who abstain from alcohol, and silently feel uncomfortable when I am with a man and he is imbibing. I judge people who like to drink, and I live as an anti-alcohol advocate.

Alcohol was my bedmate, my soulmate, my roommate, and my spouse. That was then, that person is living with his reality now, while I recover in my own alcohol-free reality.

I can only hope that this person I loved has learned to love alcohol less, in light of new obligations and new life paths.

For myself, I hope I can soon shed the scars of that time I spent being second fiddle to a 6-pack.