Once you hear Jen’s story, you’ll know medical marijuana is anything but medical.
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Crissy Groenewegen sat down with her for the Fortitude podcast. Jen’s daughter, a bright and driven young woman, once overcame an eating disorder with the full support of her family. She was thriving, preparing to start college, and had every promise of a successful life ahead. But then came the introduction of marijuana—first through a peer’s medical card, and later, under the advisement of a therapist and a “wellness clinic” doctor, her own.
What followed was a descent from recovery into relapse—not of anorexia, but into a disorienting, terrifying world of delusions, isolation, and psychosis. Not from street drugs, but from state-sanctioned, “medical” marijuana.
“It Gave Her a False Sense of Safety”
Jen and her husband were not supporters of marijuana legalization. As a physician assistant, her husband had firsthand knowledge of medications like Marinol that were already FDA-approved for very specific conditions like chemotherapy-induced nausea. Yet, in Florida—where recreational use remains illegal—medical cards were being handed out for conditions like anxiety and insomnia.
“It was ridiculous,” Jen said. “Kids were getting these cards and sharing their weed with others. That’s how it started.”
After grounding their daughter for using marijuana obtained from a peer’s medical card, Jen believed they had put the issue to rest. But what began as a single act of rebellion would become a much more serious problem months later—when, at 18, their daughter legally obtained her own card under the guidance of a therapist who insisted she be treated “as an adult.”
Despite Jen’s protests, the therapist dismissed her concerns, framing the marijuana use as part of her daughter’s emerging independence.
From Healing to Harm
After getting her card in October 2022, Jen’s daughter began using more frequently. Initially, the family tried to set boundaries: no use while driving, and only small amounts at night to help with sleep. But they quickly realized how little oversight the system provided. Dispensaries offered no dosing guidance. No one tracked how much she was purchasing—or how often.
“She could walk out of one dispensary and into another and get more. There were two within five miles of our house.”
By January 2023, her use had escalated to “any chance she got.” And the behavioral changes followed: isolating from the family, missing events, and exhibiting paranoid thoughts—believing people were spying on her, or that pastors were speaking to her directly during sermons.
At one point, during a family outing to Cirque du Soleil, she was so anxious and paranoid she couldn’t leave the car. “You’re sitting in a locked car while we celebrate your sister’s birthday,” Jen told her. “And you still think this is helping you?”
“She Was Not Herself Anymore”
The turning point came on a walk with her mother in June 2023. Her daughter excitedly shared that she had new spiritual gifts—she could read minds, teleport, and communicate telepathically. She spoke of astral projection and nightly visits from people she knew in middle school.
“She was happy, almost euphoric,” Jen recalled. “But this wasn’t my daughter anymore. I tucked her into bed and went outside and just sobbed.”
Despite their daughter’s increasingly strange beliefs and behaviors, the neurologist who had prescribed the marijuana refused to engage unless she signed a HIPAA release. And even after reaching out to her trusted psychiatrist, they received only vague reassurances—until Jen did her own research and discovered the work of Johnny’s Ambassadors, an advocacy group focused on cannabinoid-induced psychosis.
“I became an expert overnight,” she said. “And when I showed the psychiatrist, he finally admitted: ‘This doesn’t surprise me. This is going to get worse.’”
The System Had No Guardrails
Eventually, the neurologist revoked the card—but not before Jen had to threaten legal action. He claimed to have never heard of cannabis-induced psychosis, a stunning admission for someone prescribing high-THC products.
No dosing guidelines. No follow-up appointments. No accountability.
“She got zero paperwork. Zero education. Nothing to warn her what she was getting into,” Jen said. “She thought she was being responsible.”
The withdrawal process was brutal. On a family vacation to Key West, her daughter became so overwhelmed she couldn’t function. Desperate, Jen’s husband—an ER veteran—reluctantly bought a vape to relieve her symptoms, recognizing them as withdrawal-related.
“She needed help,” Jen said. “And she knew it.”
Rehab, Recovery—and Relapse
By July 2023, her daughter entered a 30-day dual diagnosis treatment center, where she was misdiagnosed with schizophrenia and heavily medicated. Though the marijuana use was likely the true cause, the facility had no official diagnosis for cannabis-induced psychosis.
She got sober, moved back home—and relapsed again less than a year later.
“It was just a hit,” her daughter said. “I didn’t even buy it.” But it was enough.
Today, Jen’s daughter is under the care of a therapist, a psychiatrist, and a recovery coach. She participates in Johnny’s Ambassadors’ youth support group and is back on medication. The family is cautiously hopeful—but always vigilant.
A Broken System, A United Front
“I don’t know how many more times she can relapse before it becomes permanent,” Jen said. “It terrifies me.”
She credits her survival to support networks like Johnny’s Ambassadors, Every Brain Matters, and the Parent Action Network (PAN). Weekly Zoom calls, Facebook groups like POCCIP (Parents of Children with Cannabis-Induced Psychosis), and shared advocacy efforts have kept her sane in an increasingly lonely fight.
“You can’t do this alone,” she said. “Society doesn’t get it. Even my close friends—professionals—use marijuana. If I cut everyone out, I’d be totally isolated.”
What’s Next
Jen plans to attend Hill Day in Washington, D.C. in February 2026. She hopes her daughter, now fully aware of what marijuana has cost her, may one day join her in advocacy.
“We need stories like hers. We need to stop pretending this is medicine.”
Final Words
To any parent facing similar grief, Jen offers this:
“You are not alone. Stay connected. Find your people. There is no shame in protecting your child—even from something that’s been sold as safe.”
This content was created with assistance from generative AI.
Want to share your story?
Reach out to Crissy Groenewegen at [email protected] or [email protected]