How do you know if you're smoking too much weed?

In which I challenge my own consumption habits and wonder about "cannabis use disorder"

Photos by Matt Suarez

This isn’t the first time I’ve taken a break from smoking weed, but it’s definitely the most profound. I’m 37, first tried it at 14, and there have been times when I’ve smoked more or less, mostly depending on whatever was going on in my life. My pregnancy, which is days or weeks away from ending, is the longest conscious and dedicated pause from cannabis that I’ve ever taken, and it’s provided me a good opportunity for evaluation, which I think anyone who consumes any kind of medicine or brain-altering substance should do from time to time.

The truth is, I was already becoming wary of how much cannabis I was using before I got pregnant (as an aside, heavy weed use is supposed to impact women’s fertility. Maybe it does, but anecdotally, my then 36-year-old body got pregnant one of the first times we tried, for what it’s worth).

I have a seven-shelf weed closet in my house, get samples in the mail almost weekly (prior to being pregnant), and grow my own. I am usually not short on supply. That, plus the fact that I write about weed and am engulfed in its culture whether I want to be or not, provides ample opportunity to smoke at any time with zero impact on my wallet. And, until a year ago, I was also happily self-employed, which meant that I was free as a bird behavior-wise. Add to that the fact that I’m a pretty functional stoner—I had a high tolerance and am good with dosing and know how to get just the right buzz and still go about my day, including writing, with no real cognitive impacts, and it meant I was smoking quite literally all the time.

It didn’t necessarily feel like a problem, but I did start to notice I was having a hard time staying awake at night past 9 p.m., which also could have been age, but I had a feeling it wasn’t. I was also incredibly stressed for a very long time—getting divorced (I am now remarried), going through the dregs of Covid as a media freelancer, dealing with a prolonged harassment experience, and taking a job I love (but that is also very intense, though that has lightened up as the magazine becomes more mature and staffed up) means that, for the last four or so years, I’ve been working non-stop. As soon as I had a break in the day, or if I encountered a particularly stressful moment, I’d smoke. Zone out and decompress. Sleep. Start again the next day. Rinse and repeat. My weed consumption ratcheted up precipitously to compensate in tandem. I was so overwhelmed with work, life, and taking a load off to deal with the combo that I became much more of a homebody.

At some point, it occurred to me that I was probably smoking too much. Taking the job last May resulted in an immediate reduction in frequency: I was on someone else’s time and really respected that. While I’d occasionally take a puff while working at home, I was pretty much off the stuff during working hours, whether in the office or not.

Last summer, when I re-entered therapy to deal with the effects of some of the aforementioned life stressors, I tried to evaluate my cannabis use more seriously. Neither my previous therapist nor my current one saw my use as a problem. Like everyone, since I was so productive at work, they just figured I had a handle on it, though I think it was an open question among all of us how it affected my overall anxiety. But for years I had been at the point where I knew I couldn’t go a day without smoking, couldn’t buck the urge. That bothered me in theory more than in practice: my multiple-times-a-day consumption wasn’t affecting my daily life negatively, per se, but I didn’t like nor trust the compulsion.

Mild “cannabis use disorder” is defined by The American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, as someone meeting two of the following criteria; four-five is “moderate,” and “severe” requires meeting six or more on this list:

• Continuing to use cannabis despite physical or psychological problems

• Continuing to use cannabis despite social or relationship problems

• Craving cannabis

• Difficulty controlling or cutting down cannabis use

• Giving up or reducing other activities in favor of cannabis use

• Problems at work, school, and home as a result of cannabis use

• Spending a lot of time on cannabis use

• Taking cannabis in high-risk situations

• Taking more cannabis than was intended

• Tolerance to cannabis

• Withdrawal when discontinuing cannabis, like insomnia, irritability, anxiety, depressed mood, and decreased appetite

Ok, so, based on this, I probably qualify in some measure, though it was not difficult to stop consuming (even though I had physical withdrawal symptoms that were temporary and mild). Some of these, like “spending a lot of time on cannabis use,” could easily be attributable to, you know, my job. Is that really a disorder?

I have to be honest; I…have questions about how meaningful this diagnosis or classification system may be. I used it as a loose checklist for evaluating my behavior but don’t take it overly seriously. Obviously, I’m far from a medical professional, but this totally lumps in the behaviors and needs of medical users (who benefit from use, despite having physical and psychological problems! Cancer, anyone!?) and doesn’t account for the high level of functionality many maintain while habitually using cannabis. It also immediately denigrates anything that is habit-forming as automatically very negative, regardless of the degree of use. Also, what does it mean in aggregate? If I have “mild” or “moderate” cannabis use disorder…does it even matter, and how?

Imagine if we did this for caffeine? Everyone in the United States would have “caffeine use disorder.” There’s the argument that it’s not as impairing, but truthfully, I’ve had to regulate my caffeine use far more than cannabis; it affects my moods, anxiety, and outward behavior way more than cannabis ever has. Caffeine has gotten me in behavioral “trouble” the most out of any drug, if you can believe it. I say things I don’t fully mean, my emotional reactivity shoots up, and my thoughts spiral if I have too much, which is not hard to do. So, anecdotally, it’s weird to me that we aren’t evaluating all drugs in the same way.

That being said, I’m not interested in any kind of movement that doesn’t evaluate and look critically at its own patterns and behaviors. I am a staunch cannabis advocate. That much is obvious. But I’m under no illusions that its use has no negative side effects or consequences, that it’s some magic plant with only upsides. I am very sensitive to the negative propaganda peddled about cannabis—this very newsletter is a digest of the hypocrisy surrounding it—but I also don’t think the wider movement does itself any favors by pretending there aren’t negatives we’re overlooking.

For example, the conversation around cannabis hyperemesis syndrome (and whether or not it exists) is exhausting to behold–many advocates, especially on social media, will slam those who believe in it or say they’ve experienced it as “prohibitionists.” I fail to see how this mindset advances the honest study of cannabinoid medicine and its use. I do understand and have experienced how anything negative about cannabis out in the world is then twisted, used, and manipulated to suit the aims of those who are genuine prohibitionists, but, at the same time, this is no longer just a subculture. Cannabis is becoming more mainstream and ever more legalized, and so it behooves us to be honest about its benefits and drawbacks as ethical stewards of the plant.

I guess the point of my teasing this out is to say: it’s okay to be skeptical and critical. It’s okay for people to decide that cannabis is indeed habit-forming in some measure. We should always ask questions and evaluate everything, preconceived notions and personal experiences aside. And that it’s also okay if the answers don’t jibe with what we wish to be true. It doesn’t negate the good aspects of cannabis use, rather, it puts the whole picture into better focus. Advocates should be encouraging that, since being honest only lends more credibility overall.

As I near my due date, I’ve started thinking about how to incorporate cannabis back into my life. I’ve already popped seeds in the last few weeks, so I’m growing yet again and extremely excited about it.

I’m also not going to bullshit you: I miss smoking weed. A lot! I don’t miss drinking alcohol at all, and haven’t in the last few years, during which I’ve almost eliminated it from my life. I’ll continue no longer being much of a drinker. As for weed, I miss the ritual, the taste, the feeling. I miss the space it used to take up in my day; I miss going out to my spot on the back porch, lighting up, and enjoying looking at my garden and hanging with my dog while burning one down. I miss being able to share that experience with like-minded people who also enjoy it as much as I do. I miss having the (non-pregnancy, lol) munchies and watching movies or beholding art while under the influence of THC.

I have also decided that weed does help me manage my anxiety, but I was probably overmedicating in my previous life, which will require an adjustment. Does all of this make me an “addict?” Maybe so. I don’t really care, and I think I have a good head on my shoulders to evaluate that going forward.

That said, my time off from weed has convinced me that I’ll be trying earnestly to consume less overall. It will likely still be daily, or at least most days of the week, just no longer throughout the day. I am not going to be spending any time wondering whether or not I have “cannabis use disorder”–as the designation currently stands, I think it’s nebulous and not particularly helpful, nor accurate when considering the myriad of ways cannabis users consume and for what reasons. But gone are the days when I can just be buzzed all the time—I will have a little human to care for and take that deadly seriously. Plus, it also just feels like the right time in my life to move on from that being my default state.

I’m also getting older. I don’t know if constant consumption is good for my body or brain, though I will certainly be intaking more than the average person when I do get back to it. Health-wise, I know that I need to be smoking less overall: Bongs or joints do not make for healthy lungs. I know lots of people don’t believe in or agree with that, but that’s my stance, and I’m sticking to it. Carbon monoxide is carbon monoxide. Edibles just aren’t the same, so I think I’ll be moving a lot of that straight smoking consumption over to dry vaping. I have a tabletop Volcano at home, and I was just gifted the portable vaporizer, the Mighty (also made by Storz & Bickel), as well as the G-Pen Dash and Elite II dry herb vapes. I’ll be writing more about dry vaping in the future. I’ll indulge in dabbing and blunts as a treat. We’ll see how it goes from there.

This is a really personal topic for me, and one that feels especially vulnerable as I step into my role as a mother–one that tends to come with a lot of private and public scrutiny. If you have evaluated or are wondering about your own cannabis use over time, I welcome any feedback you may have (including here, in the comments!). It’s a conversation I’ve been having with many others, and it’s really interesting to hear everyone’s perspectives. As always, thanks for reading!