After years of separating motherhood, work, chronic pain, and cannabis, Stephanie Gelinas decided she was done making herself smaller for other people’s comfort.
If you had told me 20 years ago that one day I’d be writing for High Times about motherhood and cannabis, I probably would have laughed. Not because I thought it was impossible, but because those identities simply didn’t belong together in the world I grew up in.
The messages were subtle sometimes and blatant at others. Good mothers held everything together. Good mothers put everyone else first. Good mothers might joke about needing a glass of wine after a long day, but cannabis belonged to an entirely different category of people. Cannabis users were portrayed as irresponsible, lazy, and disconnected from real life. Mothers who consumed cannabis weren’t part of the story at all, and if they were, they certainly weren’t women you were supposed to admire. I absorbed those messages without even realizing it. Then I became a mother myself.
Like so many women, I had a picture in my mind of what my life would look like. I built a career in beauty and wellness and eventually opened my own studio. I loved helping women feel confident and cared for, and I treasured the relationships I built with my clients over the years. Running a business wasn’t just my job. It became part of my identity. I was the service provider, marketer, receptionist, bookkeeper, cleaner, and problem-solver. I was also raising two children, trying to build a stable home and create the kind of life I had always imagined for my family. For a while, I thought I had figured it out.
What most people didn’t see was what was happening behind the scenes. Chronic pain and spinal issues were slowly changing what my body could tolerate. The services I offered required long hours on my feet and repetitive movements that became increasingly difficult to sustain. I still had clients depending on me. I still had children depending on me. Walking away from my business wasn’t an option, but neither was pretending that my body wasn’t struggling.
Eventually, I had to face a reality that many women encounter at some point in their lives: the version of the future I had carefully planned no longer fit the circumstances I found myself in.
The Pivot I Never Planned For
Around the same time, I had started doing some work in the cannabis industry through social media support, marketing, and sales. What began as a side opportunity gradually evolved into something much bigger. I discovered that many of the skills I’d developed as an entrepreneur translated naturally into cannabis. Education, relationship-building, sales, consulting, and advocacy all became part of my work. Before long, I found myself immersed in an industry I genuinely believed in.
Eventually, I made the difficult decision to close my studio. It wasn’t a decision I took lightly. Entrepreneurs pour pieces of themselves into the businesses they build, and closing that chapter felt like grieving a version of myself I had worked incredibly hard to become. At the same time, it gave me something I desperately needed: flexibility.
For the first time in years, I could structure my work around my health instead of forcing my health to accommodate my work. I could work from home when I needed to. I could attend appointments without rearranging an entire day of clients. On difficult pain days, I could still contribute without pushing my body beyond its limits. Sometimes that meant working from my home office. Sometimes it meant answering emails from bed.
What surprised me most was that I wasn’t settling. I was thriving. I was still providing for my family, building meaningful relationships, and helping people. I was simply doing it differently than I’d originally imagined. Looking back now, I don’t see that period of my life as the end of one career. I see it as a reinvention.
What Cannabis Actually Looks Like in My Life
One of the biggest misconceptions about cannabis consumers is that people think they already know what our lives look like. I suspect many picture someone trying to escape reality. The truth is much less dramatic.
I’ve struggled with insomnia since my late teens, and anyone who has dealt with chronic sleep issues understands how quickly exhaustion spills into every aspect of life. Chronic pain feels more intense. Anxiety becomes louder. Patience wears thinner. Small inconveniences suddenly feel much bigger than they really are. Most evenings, my relationship with cannabis looks remarkably ordinary: it looks like a woman trying to get a decent night’s sleep.
Cannabis flower before bed, paired with capsules containing THC, CBD, and CBN, has become part of a routine that helps quiet my mind and settle my body. Better sleep doesn’t solve every problem I face, but it changes how I meet those problems the next day. When I’m rested, I’m more patient with my daughter. I’m less reactive when stress inevitably shows up. I have more capacity to be present in my relationships and more grace for myself when life feels overwhelming.
Cannabis didn’t transform me into a better mother. It helped support the version of myself I wanted to bring into motherhood in the first place.
I also think it’s important to acknowledge something that often gets lost in these conversations: being open about cannabis never meant being careless. I wasn’t smoking in my house while my children sat nearby doing homework. I wasn’t consuming cannabis around groups of children simply because it was legal and I could. I’ve always approached cannabis as an adult choice that came with responsibility, boundaries, and respect.
It’s interesting to me that we rarely feel the need to explain those same boundaries when it comes to alcohol. People don’t think twice about pouring a glass of wine at dinner while their children are in the next room. Cannabis rarely receives that same benefit of the doubt.
When Stigma Became Personal
I knew stigma existed before I entered the cannabis industry. I just didn’t fully understand how persistent it would be. Sometimes it appeared in subtle ways. Conversations shifted when people learned what I did for a living. Expressions changed. You could almost see the moment someone recalculated who they thought you were. Other times, it was much more obvious.
The moment that affected me most had nothing to do with my career. It involved my daughter. There was a period when some parents became uncomfortable with their children spending time in our home. Nothing unsafe was happening. There was no neglect, no criminal activity, and no hidden chaos behind closed doors. There was simply a parent who consumed cannabis legally and responsibly.
As a mother, that hurt in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Not because I needed approval from other parents, but because their assumptions extended beyond me. Their discomfort affected my daughter and her friendships. It made me wonder how many other parents stay quiet because they’re worried their children will carry the consequences of other people’s judgments.
Legalization changed the law. It didn’t automatically change people’s beliefs.
The Wine Mom Conversation
One of the things I’ve struggled to understand is how differently we talk about alcohol and cannabis. We’ve normalized “mommy wine culture” to the point that it’s become background noise. There are mugs, greeting cards, T-shirts, and entire social media accounts built around the idea that mothers need wine to survive parenting. Most people don’t blink. The jokes are relatable. The mothers are seen as overwhelmed, funny, and deserving of a little relief. Yet when the conversation shifts to cannabis, the tone often changes.
This isn’t an argument against alcohol. It’s simply an observation about inconsistency. Why is one legal substance associated with self-care while another still carries the weight of moral judgment? Why is a mother using cannabis as part of how she manages chronic pain or insomnia more likely to be viewed with suspicion than a mother pouring herself a glass of wine at the end of the day?
I don’t think the answer lies in science. I think it lies in decades of conditioning and the stories we’ve inherited about what certain substances say about our character. Changing laws is relatively straightforward. Changing perceptions is much harder.
Why I Chose Honesty
One of the reasons I’ve always been open with my children about cannabis is because I know what it feels like when adults avoid difficult conversations. Growing up, there were topics that felt off-limits and questions that went unanswered. I remember how frustrating that felt, and I never wanted to recreate that dynamic in my own home.
My son and daughter know what I do for a living. They know I consume cannabis, and they understand why. They also understand that adult choices and teenage choices aren’t the same thing. We’ve had conversations about brain development, timing, and responsible decision-making. We’ve talked about why waiting matters and why legality doesn’t automatically mean something is appropriate at every age.
I’ve never encouraged my children to use cannabis, and I never would. What I have encouraged is curiosity, critical thinking, and honest dialogue. Knowledge doesn’t remove choice, but it gives our children the tools to make thoughtful ones.
Ironically, I think openness has reduced curiosity rather than increased it. Cannabis isn’t a forbidden mystery in our home. It’s simply something we talk about honestly and without shame. If one day my children decide cannabis has a place in their lives as adults, I want that decision to come from education rather than rebellion.
Redefining Parenthood on My Terms
I don’t expect every parent to consume cannabis, and I don’t expect everyone to agree with my choices. What I do hope is that we become more willing to question the assumptions we’ve inherited about what a “good mother” looks like.
Responsible cannabis-consuming parents exist. We’re raising families, building careers, managing health challenges, supporting our communities, and doing our best to show up for the people we love.
For a long time, I felt pressure to separate different parts of myself: the mother in one space, the entrepreneur in another, and the cannabis consumer only where it felt safe. I thought fitting into other people’s expectations required editing myself into smaller, more acceptable pieces. I don’t believe that anymore.
Cannabis didn’t take me away from motherhood. It didn’t diminish my ambition or my ability to care for my family. If anything, it became one of many tools that helped me adapt when life didn’t go according to plan. I’m still the woman who built a business from the ground up. I’m still the mother who wants the very best for her children. I’m still the professional who believes deeply in the work she does. The difference is that I no longer believe I have to hide parts of myself to make other people comfortable.
If sharing my story helps another parent feel a little less ashamed, a little less isolated, or a little more confident in having these conversations openly, then every uncomfortable moment along the way has been worth it. Maybe redefining parenthood isn’t about meeting someone else’s expectations. Maybe it’s about having the courage to define it for ourselves.
This article reflects the personal experience and opinions of an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent the reporting or editorial positions of High Times and is not intended as medical, legal, or professional advice. Cannabis laws vary by jurisdiction.
