Writing not smoking

It’s been two weeks since I quit weed – and immediately found out I was pregnant.

I’m in Brazil for another six weeks, relying on an excellent but overcrowded public health system. I’m still waiting for blood tests and ultrasounds to confirm the details, but my doctor’s mental maths puts me at nearly eleven weeks. A strawberry-sized baby, tucked inside me.

I already feel like a mum – dysfunctional, terrified, tear-streaked. I’m trying to pick up the pieces of my life, career, and relationships as if the house is cluttered with triplets, clay pots, and ketchup finger-paintings. There’s a compass somewhere in my gut pointing me forward, even if the strawberry hasn’t yet handed over the coordinates. We talk all the time. Today I felt flutters.

But alongside the excitement comes a deep depression as I wait for the withdrawals from my chemical coping streams to burn off.

My partner might not be present at the birth. We’re both stoners, broke, asset-less. He’s trying to quit in solidarity but he’s on his own journey – one I can’t control or direct anymore. It breaks my heart to feel like I’m pulling baby from daddy, but until he understands the grind it takes to steer a ship, I can’t risk another irresponsible path. Not with a child in the middle.

I’m an addict. I’m flawed. I’m scared. But this child deserves the chances I wasted.

I know I can’t blame the plant for my failures, but I can name addiction in their creation. Last year I fell head over heels for an enabler; this year I’m face-planting into reality. He didn’t force me to smoke, didn’t flinch when I did. But my addict brain scapegoats and takes no prisoners.

My mind still strays into “if onlys”:
If only I’d stayed clean in February.
If only I’d told Mum I was an addict at uni.
If only I’d stuck it out in journalism.
If only I’d kept promises.
If only I’d said no.

I’ve imagined having my baby here, but every nest I picture is clouded by a green haze I can’t break alone. So I’m going back to my parents’ home at the end of the world.

Nobody talks about how hard it is for mums to switch from everything to nothing in one day.