Just last night, I was forced into having the dreaded (for me, anyway) "your parents smoke pot" conversation with my 7 year old. This is far earlier than I am comfortable with, but I knew it was inevitable. I emerged from my bedroom after smoking a bowl and walked across the hall to her bedroom. I sat down on her bed with her. She said that she smelled something funny. "Something that I have maybe smelled a lot of times before."
Oof. OK. I'm not ready for this, but here we go. "Yep. That's mommy and daddy's medicine." That's how I started. I went on to tell her all of the things I knew had to be said: it's OK for grownups, but some people think it's bad and it has to be a secret. She asked a few questions. I gave her a few answers, and that was it.
The entire time I felt like I was going to throw up. I was begging myself, "please don't say something that will fuck her up." A lot of sensual pleasures bring me a lot of guilt. Smoking pot is no exception. Convincing myself that smoking pot doesn't make me a junkie takes a bit of practice.
I don't have it down yet, so telling my kid about her mommy's drug use and then asking her to keep it a secret is super tough. I try to remind myself that legalization is coming and that I have no problem drinking a beer in front of her, but boy, I still feel shitty.
I grew up Catholic and although I have given up my faith the guilt remains. I was also brought up with D. A. R. E. in schools and Nancy Reagan telling me to just say no. Despite my rebellious youth and pot use from the age of 14 that shit took up residence in some deep parts of my brain.
In any case, since our talk last night, it's been on my mind, while she shows zero interest in discussing it further. It's as it should be. Her questions were answered honestly and fully. She feels safe and respected. I'm still a mess.