The Geography of Disguise: Understanding Cannabis Addictions

The Burial

Dark inside the dark. Grit and damp. Dank air squeezed thin in this place. My breath gasping and ragged. Wet soil falls from above, spatters my neck and face, falls into my nostrils, abrades with black dirt the smooth and shiny surfaces of my eyes. I gaze upward, blinking and sputtering, the taste of mold in my mouth. But no longer is there anything to see. The faint stars are gone, and with them the slate sky and sliver of moon, and I am left only with the ghosts of my retinas, flashing and bursting upon my eyelids as my oxygen dwindles.

My upturned face presses into the accumulating soil. I inhale dirt as I prepare once again to shout for help. My consciousness begins to fragment. Part of me drifts into a disjointed stream of childhood nightmares—of being devoured by a swarm of spiders, of a monster crunching its way in the dark, of countless fears edging toward me from beyond the rim of my world. These images are accompanied by a wet and sliding gravelly sound, which I cannot precisely identify but which seems crucial to this business. Elemental, unquestionable. Rotting and seething things.

I hear it, muffled now, drawing my attention back to this shallow grave in which I can no longer feel my legs or move my head. The pressure of the soil, layer upon layer packing and pushing down, will soon immobilize my right arm, the only part of my body with space in which to move, to scrabble in the dirt, fruitless.

I cannot make a sound. I cannot breathe. I can only listen to that sliding and gravelly sound, that distant and repetitive echo made by the shovels of the men who are burying me.

I recognize that I will remain conscious for three more beats of that rhythm, a trio of shovelfuls into the hole. Then I will die. The decay has already begun. I am aware of roots spreading across my belly, insects crawling upon my ribs. The surface is impossibly distant, survival an absurdity. My lungs surrender the last of my warm breath. A shovelful of dirt falls into the hole, heavy, tamping down the weight upon me.

My life force—which has been trackless, devoid of center, flimsy—cannot muster a thread of resistance. I recognize that I should have died long ago. I give myself over, finally. I hear the scrape and thud from above as a second shovelful falls. I let it go, all of it, and I slide away into the dark.

In the vacated space of my consciousness, within the presence composed of my absence, something beyond me makes itself known.

But that was long ago. The evening of another day. An undercurrent of warmth, winter fading, the brightening of trees along the creekside. Perhaps the hush of the day was the same, then as now, or the dampness of oncoming twilight, or the sounds of water lapping in the distance. Yet it is none of these impressions that reminds me. Instead, I am drawn into this reverie by the scent drifting back toward us along the sidewalk, trailing in the wake of the boy who walks twenty paces ahead, his marijuana joint held between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He swings that hand and arm as he walks, makes a small bouncing movement with each step. It's as though a swagger is trying to emerge from him, a bubble of confidence that might suffuse the presence of this boy, perhaps fifteen, as he looks back furtively—to make sure I am not a neighbor, a teacher, a stodgy adult who might blow the cover of his cool.

The swagger is not coming. He's tight, and cautious, and he holds the joint low, almost hidden in the crook of his hand. He raises the hand, takes a quick toke, and glances sidelong down the street. I glimpse a halo of thin smoke—a wisp, a straightening of his spine, a stuttering movement of his shoulders as he exhales—then he pulls inward again, his budding defiance not yet strong enough to temper his anxiety at being caught.

This image captures something essential about cannabis use: the sideways movement, the attempt at disguise, the neither-here-nor-there quality of it. Unlike the other substances and patterns we've explored—each with its clear directional pull (elsewhere, inward, onward, backward)—cannabis moves laterally. It doesn't take you dramatically away like hallucinogens, doesn't numb you into frozen stillness like opioids, doesn't activate you into hypervigilant motion like stimulants, doesn't unleash defiant anger like alcohol. Instead, it softens the edges, blurs the boundaries, makes everything slightly sideways. It's the substance of disguise, of deferral, of not-quite-being-here and not-quite-being-gone.

Understanding Cannabis Through an Ecological Lens: The Challenge of Complexity

To understand cannabis addictions, we must first acknowledge something that distinguishes this substance from most others: its chemical and phenomenological complexity. Cannabis contains more than a hundred psychoactive compounds—cannabinoids, terpenes, flavonoids—each with different effects on different neurological systems. By contrast, alcohol contains essentially one psychoactive chemical (ethanol), opioids typically one primary compound, stimulants one or two main active ingredients. This chemical complexity may partially explain what I've observed across decades of clinical work: cannabis users don't present with a single, unified pattern the way users of other substances often do.

Where opioid users consistently show patterns rooted in the freeze response and depression, where stimulant users reliably demonstrate chronic orient response and anxiety, where alcohol users predictably present with fight response and anger—cannabis users appear across the entire spectrum. Some cannabis users are profoundly depressed, some are intensely anxious. Some show clear freeze response patterns, others demonstrate dissociative tendencies, still others exhibit the scanning hypervigilance of the orient response. Fight responses are less common among cannabis users than among alcohol users, but they do occur.

This creates a challenge for the developmental framework we've been using in exploring other addictions. With elsewhere, inward, onward, and backward patterns, we could trace clear pathways:

• Elsewhere addictions: Bonding stage disruption → flight response → dissociation → hallucinogens
• Inward addictions: Need stage disruption → freeze response → depression → opioids
• Onward addictions: Autonomy stage disruption → orient response → anxiety → stimulants
• Backward addictions: Will/Power stage disruption → fight response → anger → alcohol

But cannabis doesn't follow a single pathway. Instead, it seems to serve as a kind of universal adapter, a substance that can be used to manage whatever the underlying pattern happens to be. It's sideways precisely because it doesn't have a specific directional pull—it works with (or more accurately, disguises) whatever direction the person is already moving.

This makes cannabis addiction particularly insidious. The substance doesn't announce itself the way others do. It doesn't create the dramatic departures of hallucinogens, the nodding unconsciousness of opioids, the manic intensity of stimulants, or the explosive rage of alcohol. It just makes everything slightly softer, slightly hazier, slightly more manageable. It defers. It disguises. It allows the person to continue functioning—to go to work, maintain relationships, appear relatively stable—while never actually addressing the underlying developmental vulnerabilities, trauma responses, or mental health adaptations that drive the use.

The Developmental Complexity of Cannabis Use

Given this chemical and phenomenological complexity, we need a more nuanced developmental framework for understanding cannabis addiction. Rather than tracing a single pathway from one disrupted developmental stage through one trauma response to one mental health adaptation, we must recognize that cannabis users may carry vulnerabilities from multiple developmental stages, may employ multiple trauma responses, and may present with complex mental health pictures that don't fit neatly into single diagnostic categories.

Consider these varied clinical presentations I've observed:

The Depressed Cannabis User (Need Stage/Freeze Pattern) This person uses cannabis to manage the same underlying freeze response and depression that might lead another person to opioid use. They experienced early disruptions in need fulfillment—parental absence, neglect, overwhelming chaos—and learned that needs are futile, that reaching out doesn't work. The freeze response became their primary adaptation. But instead of seeking the profound numbing of opioids, they use cannabis to take "just the edge off" the depression, to make the frozen state slightly more bearable without fully surrendering to unconsciousness. Cannabis allows them to remain marginally functional while never fully engaging with the pain of chronic unmet needs.

The Anxious Cannabis User (Autonomy Stage/Orient Pattern)
This person uses cannabis to manage the same underlying hypervigilance and anxiety that might lead another person to stimulant use or compulsive activity. They experienced disruptions during the Autonomy stage—overcontrol, unpredictable environments, punishment for exploration—and developed chronic scanning, perpetual assessment of threat, inability to settle. But paradoxically, rather than using stimulants that amplify this activation, they use cannabis to dampen it, to blur the sharp edges of hypervigilance, to make the world seem slightly less threatening. The orient response continues beneath the cannabis haze, but feels more manageable, less overwhelming.

The Dissociative Cannabis User (Bonding Stage/Flight Pattern) This person uses cannabis to facilitate the same kind of departure that elsewhere addicts seek, but in a gentler, more socially acceptable form. They experienced early bonding disruptions—parental unavailability, neglect, trauma—and learned that being fully present invites pain. The flight response, internalized as dissociation, became their survival strategy. Cannabis enhances dissociative capacity, makes it easier to "leave" without fully departing, to be physically present while psychologically elsewhere. It's hallucinogen-lite, providing enough disconnection to feel safe without the dramatic alterations of consciousness that might interfere with daily functioning.

The Socially Anxious Cannabis User (Multiple Stage Disruptions) This person may carry vulnerabilities from several developmental stages—difficulties with bonding, unmet needs, punished autonomy—resulting in profound social anxiety and fear of judgment. Cannabis becomes their social lubricant, their means of managing the overwhelming activation that arises in social situations. It doesn't make them confident the way alcohol might (through fight response disinhibition), but it makes the anxiety more tolerable, creates a buffer between them and their fear of others' perceptions.

The Emotionally Overwhelmed Cannabis User (Complex Developmental Trauma) This person experienced chronic, pervasive developmental disruptions across multiple stages, resulting in poor affect regulation, difficulty managing emotional intensity, and a nervous system that easily becomes overwhelmed. They use cannabis as a general dampening agent, a way to turn down the volume on all emotional experience. It's not targeting a specific trauma response or mental health adaptation but rather serving as a broad-spectrum emotional regulator, doing the work of affect management that should have been learned through consistent, attuned caregiving.

The Function of Disguise: How Cannabis Maintains Multiple Patterns

What unites these diverse clinical presentations is the function cannabis serves: disguise and deferral. Regardless of the underlying developmental vulnerability, trauma response, or mental health adaptation, cannabis allows the person to continue in their pattern without the pattern becoming immediately obvious—to themselves or others.

This is crucial: cannabis doesn't maintain trauma responses through dramatic amplification the way other substances do. Alcohol amplifies the fight response, making anger more explosive, more obvious, more problematic—which eventually creates crises that may motivate change. Stimulants amplify the orient response, creating increasingly obvious hypervigilance, paranoia, and restlessness that become unsustainable. Opioids deepen the freeze response to the point of nodding unconsciousness, making the pattern undeniably problematic.

But cannabis works differently. It softens, blurs, disguises. It allows the underlying pattern to continue while making it slightly more tolerable, slightly less obvious. The depressed person remains depressed but feels less acutely miserable. The anxious person remains anxious but feels less overwhelmed by hypervigilance. The dissociative person continues to disconnect but in a way that doesn't prevent them from showing up to work or maintaining a relationship.

In dynamical systems terms, cannabis doesn't create a new attractor state but rather stabilizes whatever attractor state already exists. It makes the existing pattern more stable, more resistant to disruption, more comfortable—just comfortable enough that the person doesn't seek change. This is why cannabis addiction can persist for decades without creating obvious crisis, without forcing the confrontation that might lead to transformation.

The disguise operates at multiple levels:

Disguising from Others: Cannabis use is increasingly normalized and socially acceptable. The person can maintain their habit without the social consequences that come with other substances. They appear relatively functional, hold jobs, maintain relationships. Others don't recognize the addiction because it doesn't look like the stereotypical image of addiction—no dramatic binges, no violent episodes, no obvious physical deterioration.

Disguising from Self: Perhaps more importantly, cannabis allows users to hide their underlying struggles from themselves. The substance creates just enough distance from emotional pain, just enough softening of anxiety or depression, that the person can tell themselves they're fine. They don't have to face the freeze response, the unmet needs, the chronic hypervigilance, the dissociative tendencies—because cannabis makes these patterns slightly more bearable.

Disguising the Passage of Time: Unlike substances that create dramatic crisis, cannabis allows years to pass without forcing a reckoning. The person continues their pattern, slightly numbed or buffered, while opportunities for growth, connection, and healing slip away. They look back one day and realize that a decade has passed, that they've been the same person with the same struggles the entire time, that nothing has fundamentally changed.

The Deferral of Resolution: Why Cannabis Users Can't Quit

One of the most consistent observations across decades of clinical work: habitual cannabis users who try to quit often find themselves unable to manage the emotional intensity that arises. Rage, overwhelm, panic, despair—emotions that have been slightly muted by cannabis—come rushing forward with overwhelming force when the substance is removed. This is why so many cannabis users, even those who recognize the addiction is problematic, choose to continue using. Their instinct about what lies beneath the disguise is accurate: it's terrifying.

The group talks about the ubiquity of marijuana, the difficulty of resisting its use after other substances have been discontinued. Like nicotine, marijuana is widely available and foisted as a panacea for all types of distress. Just a little something to take the edge off the craving for crack, heroin, or booze. A relaxation strategy, a medication to cut the sharp anxiety of recovery. A few of the group members grow quiet at this juncture; others are more strident. As everywhere in the world of addiction, the conversation swings between abstinence and harm reduction.

Besides, they know about the marijuana users who try to quit and find themselves unable to contain their emotions, and for whom rage and overwhelm and panic become consistent companions. Yes, perhaps marijuana does encourage civility more readily than other substances. But the disguise is thin, and it is ripped away when the substance is gone. Former users find that the unresolved emotions are still there. They've only been deferred, and now come rushing at them, knocking them into free fall, leaving them scattered and angry and scared. Few habitual marijuana users quit. Their instinct, their sense of what lies beyond the addiction, is enough to keep them using. They go on, never opening the door.

This is the cruelty of cannabis addiction: the substance has served as a buffer against overwhelming affects for so long that the person has never developed the capacity to manage these experiences without chemical assistance. They've never learned to sit with anxiety without dampening it, to experience depression without softening it, to notice hypervigilance without blurring it. The developmental work that should have been done years or decades earlier—learning to regulate emotion, to tolerate distress, to maintain presence in the face of activation—has been perpetually deferred.

When cannabis is removed, the person faces not only the original developmental deficits but also the accumulated backlog of deferred emotional experience. It's like removing a dam: everything that's been held back comes flooding through at once. Most people reasonably conclude that this is intolerable, that they cannot manage this intensity, that continuing to use is the only viable option.

Clinical Implications: Working with the Complexity

The developmental and phenomenological complexity of cannabis addiction requires a more nuanced clinical approach than work with other substances. We cannot assume a single underlying pattern, cannot trace one clear pathway from developmental disruption through trauma response to current presentation. Instead, we must conduct careful assessment to understand each person's unique constellation of vulnerabilities, responses, and adaptations.

Comprehensive Developmental Assessment Rather than focusing on one developmental stage, assess vulnerabilities across all stages: Were there bonding disruptions? Unmet needs? Punished autonomy? Crushed will? Each developmental period may contribute to the current pattern, and cannabis may be managing the effects of multiple disruptions simultaneously.

Multiple Trauma Response Patterns
Don't assume a single dominant trauma response. Many cannabis users employ multiple responses depending on circumstances—freezing in some situations, fleeing in others, scanning for threat in still others. Cannabis may be dampening all of these responses without distinction, creating a general flattening of the nervous system's natural protective strategies.

Complex Mental Health Pictures Cannabis users often present with what appears to be comorbid conditions: depression and anxiety, dissociation and hypervigilance, social anxiety and general emotional dysregulation. These may not be separate disorders but rather interconnected adaptations to multiple developmental disruptions. Cannabis is managing the entire complex, making clinical assessment challenging.

Recognizing the Function of Disguise A critical aspect of assessment is helping the person recognize how cannabis serves to disguise their underlying patterns—not only from others but from themselves. Many cannabis users genuinely believe they're managing well, that the substance is helping them function. They need support in recognizing what's been deferred, what's been hidden, what's been left unaddressed during years or decades of use.

Preparing for Emotional Intensity
If a cannabis user chooses to reduce or stop use, they must be prepared for the emotional intensity that will arise. This requires building affect regulation skills before cessation, not after. The person needs tools for managing anxiety without dampening it, sitting with depression without softening it, tolerating hypervigilance without blurring it. Without these skills, relapse is almost inevitable.

Addressing Multiple Developmental Needs Simultaneously
Recovery from cannabis addiction often requires addressing developmental work across multiple stages. The person may need to: learn that reaching out can bring response (Need stage work); discover that autonomous exploration can be safe (Autonomy stage work); recognize that they can have power without losing connection (Will stage work); experience that belonging doesn't require departure (Bonding stage work). This is complex, long-term therapeutic work that cannot be rushed.

Working with Ambivalence and Resistance Many cannabis users are profoundly ambivalent about change. The substance has allowed them to function for so long that they reasonably fear what life might be like without it. This isn't denial or lack of insight—it's accurate assessment of their current capacity to manage without chemical assistance. Resistance should be respected as protective, not confronted as obstruction. The work is to slowly build capacity for tolerating what cannabis has been managing, making change less terrifying and therefore more possible.

The Shadow and the Light: Understanding Cannabis's Paradox

The epigraph that opens this chapter—"To light a candle is to cast a shadow"—captures the essential paradox of cannabis. The substance provides relief, makes difficult things more manageable, offers respite from chronic distress. This is the light: genuine, valued, understandable. People don't use cannabis for decades because it does nothing for them; they use it because it helps, because it makes life more tolerable, because it serves important functions in managing overwhelm.

But in lighting this candle, a shadow is inevitably cast. The relief is temporary, the management is superficial, the tolerable life is also a limited one. Opportunities for genuine resolution, for developmental healing, for transformation of the underlying patterns—these remain in shadow, unaddressed, perpetually deferred. Years pass. The person remains comfortable enough not to change, uncomfortable enough never to fully thrive.

This is why cannabis addiction is sometimes called an addiction of disguise: it hides not only from others but from the person themselves. The underlying freeze response, the chronic hypervigilance, the dissociative tendencies, the unmet developmental needs—all continue beneath the cannabis haze, determining the person's capacity for connection, their access to vitality, their range of possible experience. But because cannabis makes these patterns slightly more bearable, the person can avoid fully recognizing them.

Working with cannabis addiction means helping people see both the light and the shadow: honoring the genuine relief the substance provides while also recognizing what remains hidden, deferred, unresolved. It means building capacity to face what's been disguised, to do the developmental work that's been postponed, to learn the affect regulation skills that cannabis has been providing chemically.

The Process of Emergence: Digging Out from the Burial

I think of how the young man in the baseball hat is digging himself out, resisting the gravity of disguise and burial that addiction brings. This is the work of recovery from cannabis addiction: emerging from the burial, from the layers of deferred emotion and unaddressed developmental needs that have accumulated over years or decades of use.

The burial metaphor that opens this chapter—being buried alive, unable to breathe or move, consciousness fragmenting, soil pressing down layer by layer—captures what cannabis addiction feels like when the disguise is finally recognized. The person realizes they've been buried, that layers of unresolved trauma and unaddressed pain have accumulated while they've been slightly numbed, that emergence will require sustained effort against tremendous weight.

But unlike the dramatic interventions often used with other substances—detox, inpatient treatment, confrontational approaches—emergence from cannabis addiction typically requires a slower, more gradual process. The person cannot simply stop using and expect to manage the intensity that arises. They must learn, often for the first time, how to:

Tolerate Emotional Intensity
Develop capacity to sit with anxiety without immediately dampening it, to experience depression without softening its edges, to notice hypervigilance without blurring focus. This is affect regulation work, learning to be with difficult states without requiring immediate relief.

Recognize Patterns Without Disguise See clearly the freeze response, the chronic scanning, the dissociative tendencies—whatever patterns cannabis has been managing. This recognition is often painful, bringing awareness of years spent in patterns that limited possibility, connection, and growth.

Address Developmental Needs Directly Begin the work that's been deferred: learning to trust that reaching out can bring response, discovering that autonomous exploration can be safe, experiencing that power and connection can coexist. This is deep, foundational work that cannot be rushed.

Build Genuine Regulation Capacity
Develop internal resources for managing what cannabis has been managing chemically: practices for calming the nervous system, tools for working with difficult emotions, relationships that provide co-regulation when self-regulation fails.

Face the Accumulated Backlog Gradually work through the years or decades of deferred emotional experience, trauma responses that were never fully processed, developmental needs that were never adequately met. This is the most challenging aspect of recovery—facing not only the original wounds but also the cumulative effect of years spent avoiding them.

For Professionals: Holding the Complexity

As professionals working with people struggling with cannabis addiction, our task is to hold the complexity—to recognize that each person's pattern is unique, that multiple developmental vulnerabilities may be present, that various trauma responses may be employed, that the mental health picture may be intricate and interconnected. We cannot apply a single template or assume a unified pathway.

Our work requires:

Careful, Comprehensive Assessment
Take time to understand the unique constellation of this person's developmental history, trauma responses, and current adaptations. What vulnerabilities does cannabis manage? What would emergence require? What capacities need to be built before reduction or cessation becomes viable?

Respect for the Function of Use
Acknowledge that cannabis has been serving important functions, that the disguise has been protective, that the deferral has allowed the person to continue functioning. Don't pathologize the use; understand it as an adaptation that made sense given the person's developmental history and current capacities.

Preparation Before Cessation Help build affect regulation skills, stress management strategies, and relational support before attempting to reduce use. The person needs tools in place before the cannabis buffer is removed, or they will reasonably return to use when intensity becomes overwhelming.

Recognition of Individual Variability
What works for one cannabis user may not work for another because their underlying patterns are different. The depressed cannabis user needs different interventions than the anxious one; the dissociative user requires different support than the socially anxious one. Clinical approach must be tailored to the individual's unique presentation.

Patience with the Process Recovery from cannabis addiction typically unfolds slowly. The person is learning to manage without chemical assistance what cannabis has been managing for years or decades. They're doing developmental work that should have been done much earlier. They're building capacity that was never adequately developed. This takes time, often years, and requires patience from both the person and the professional supporting them.

Holding Hope Without Forcing Change Many cannabis users are not ready to change, and forcing the issue typically backfires. Our role is to hold the possibility steady—to be clear about what's being deferred, what's remaining hidden, what opportunities are being missed—while respecting that the person must choose when and whether to emerge from the disguise. We're the light on the shore, calling them toward what's possible, but we cannot drag them from the comfortable numbing cannabis provides.

The Wisdom of the Instinct

Few habitual marijuana users quit. Their instinct, their sense of what lies beyond the addiction, is enough to keep them using. They go on, never opening the door.

This instinct deserves recognition and respect. Cannabis users who resist change are not in denial or lacking motivation—they're accurately assessing their current capacity to manage without chemical assistance. They recognize, often more clearly than clinicians do, that removal of the cannabis buffer would expose them to emotional intensity they cannot yet tolerate, developmental work they're not yet prepared to do, affect regulation demands that exceed their current capacities.

Our role as professionals is not to overcome this instinct but to work with it: to help build the capacities that would make emergence possible, to reduce the terror of what lies beneath the disguise, to create conditions where opening the door becomes imaginable rather than impossible.

For some people, this capacity-building happens and change becomes possible. They develop tools for managing anxiety without dampening it, sitting with depression without softening it, tolerating hypervigilance without blurring it. They begin the developmental work that's been deferred. They discover they can survive the emotional intensity that arises when cannabis is reduced or stopped. Slowly, incrementally, they emerge from the burial.

For others, the work of building capacity continues indefinitely, and cannabis use persists. This isn't failure—it's recognition that the developmental deficits are profound, the accumulated backlog is overwhelming, the capacities required for managing without chemical assistance are not yet present. These individuals may benefit from harm reduction approaches that accept continued use while working to minimize negative consequences and slowly build regulatory capacity over years or decades.

The challenge is to hold steady in our own presence, to neither force change prematurely nor resign ourselves to inevitable continued use. We work to create conditions where emergence becomes possible while respecting that each person must choose their own timing, must trust their own instinct about what they can tolerate, must find their own way from burial toward light.

The young man in the baseball cap, thanking me for coming to the group, hungry for connection and friendship and something to believe in—he represents what's possible. Some do emerge. Some do discover they can tolerate what cannabis has been managing. Some do the developmental work, build the regulatory capacity, face the accumulated backlog. They dig themselves out, resisting the gravity of disguise and burial, and find that life on the surface—with all its intensity and demand—offers something cannabis never could: genuine presence, authentic connection, unmediated aliveness.

This is what we work toward, what we hold possible, even as we recognize that the path from burial to emergence is long, difficult, and unique for each person. The work is to be patient, to build capacity slowly, to respect the protective instinct that keeps people using, and to hold steady the light that calls them forward—knowing that emergence, when it comes, will be their own accomplishment, their own hard-won freedom from the geography of disguise.

For Further Reflection

As you work with people whose patterns suggest cannabis addiction, consider:

• What developmental vulnerabilities might cannabis be managing? Are there disruptions across multiple stages rather than one primary stage?
• What trauma responses are present? Does the person show freeze, flight, orient, or some combination? How does cannabis affect each of these responses?
• What mental health adaptations has the person developed? Is the clinical picture complex, with multiple interconnected patterns rather than a single clear diagnosis?
• What functions does cannabis serve for this particular person? What would be exposed if the disguise were removed?
• What affect regulation capacities does this person currently possess? What capacities would need to be built before reduction or cessation becomes viable?
• How strong is the person's instinct about what lies beneath the cannabis use? Is their resistance to change protective wisdom or obstacle to growth—or both?
• What would it mean to honor the relief cannabis provides while also recognizing what remains deferred, disguised, unaddressed?
• How can you help this person slowly build capacity to face what cannabis has been managing, making emergence less terrifying and more possible?
• What pace of change respects this person's current capacities while still moving toward greater freedom and fuller presence?

Remember: cannabis addiction is complex precisely because cannabis itself is complex and because it can serve to disguise and defer almost any underlying pattern. Your work is not to force emergence before capacity exists, but to slowly, patiently help build the regulatory skills and developmental foundations that make life without disguise imaginable. Like the person digging themselves out from burial, emergence happens incrementally, against tremendous weight, requiring sustained effort and support. Your role is to hold the light steady, to help build capacity layer by layer, and to trust that some will find their way from the comfortable numbness of disguise toward the difficult freedom of presence.

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