Lying motionless in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines attached by wires to her tiny body, my four-month-old daughter was fighting for her life.

As a new mother, I felt guilty for not spotting the signs of bronchiolitis, a viral lung infection that can leave infants gasping for breath, before it got this far.

But, in many ways, it was no wonder.

For where was I, for most of the nine days my baby girl was lying in that hospital bed?

Not sitting beside her, but sneaking up to the roof, alone, to smoke marijuana.

It was 2011 and, as well as being a mother of two young girls – my eldest was two at the time – I was a drug addict, using weed all day, every day.

If you’d met me back then, you probably would have had no idea. I was what you’d call a ‘functioning addict’: I looked after my daughters, socialised and ran my own successful business – all while high.

I don’t look like a typical ‘druggie’ either: I have always dressed well; I looked after myself and had a nice, clean house and plenty of friends. But looks can be deceiving.

If you’d met me back then, you probably would have had no idea. I was what you’d call a ‘functioning addict,' Elizabeth writes

En route to the hospital that day, when my mind should have been on my baby, worryingly ill in the back seat, I smoked a joint while driving.

Looking back on my selfish behaviour is utterly shocking – and the guilt I feel has taken me many years to process.

But at the time, I didn’t know any other way to exist.

I smoked weed almost constantly throughout both my pregnancies. While pregnant with my eldest, I stopped for the first three months, but then I went back to my old ways.

I remember Googling how much weed it was OK to smoke before it crossed the placenta – and I’d always stay on the ‘safe’ side of that.

I know now of course that no amount – not even a tiny bit – is safe. NHS guidance says smoking marijuana during pregnancy can affect the baby’s brain and nervous system, and may increase their risk of developing autism, as well as tremors after birth.

Chemicals from weed, even if you’re taking very small amounts, can also pass into your breast milk, so what I was doing was extremely risky and selfish.

NHS guidance says smoking marijuana during pregnancy can affect the baby’s brain and nervous system, and may increase their risk of developing autism

When I was pregnant with my younger daughter, I didn’t even try to stop taking drugs. I thought, ‘I’ve had one and she’s fine, so it can’t be that bad.’

There’s a common misconception that cannabis isn’t addictive, that it’s harmless. But this isn’t true. It blunts your emotions and suppresses your brain’s natural chemical functions, leaving you feeling flat, unmotivated and trapped in a cycle of dependency.

I justified my drug use, saying it made me more easygoing and less angry – that being high made me a better mum.

Today, I know that’s nonsense. I look back at photos of me with my daughters as newborns and I have a glassy, puffy-eyed expression. I wasn’t really present. My mind wasn’t on them; it was on my next fix.

This was never how I’d imagined motherhood – nor how my mother and father imagined I would one day end up.

I can’t blame my upbringing for any of it. I came from a happy, middle-class family, growing up in a big house in Blackheath, south-east London, with my parents and sister.

My father travelled with his job in financial services, and we spent the first five years of my life in Jordan.

Things there were idyllic: I’d play in the garden with our pet tortoise and neighbours’ kids. It was sunny, safe and felt like a permanent holiday.

Then, one day when I was three, someone broke into our house. A knife was held to my throat. I was badly affected; so was my mum. We moved back to the UK shortly afterwards.

In London in the mid-1980s, where it was dark, grey and rainy, I became a depressed child.

When I was eight, my parents separated and then divorced when I was ten. I became even more unhappy and, as my mother was a homeopath, she took me to see one to diagnose my behaviour.

Elizabeth justified her drug use, saying it made her more easygoing and less angry – that being high made her a better mum. Today she knows that isn't true

They banned me from eating any sugar for six months, which was disastrous: rather than making me feel better, I became obsessed. I started hoarding sugar, keeping sweets and chocolates to scoff when the ban was over.

I remember always wanting more; I now believe my brain was already chasing that feeling of being ‘high’ and happy.

To make matters worse, I was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis aged ten, around the time mum, my sister and I moved to a small town in north Dorset.

I used to love gymnastics – but suddenly my knees and ankles were in agony. The kids at my new school called me ‘The Cripple’.

Aged 14 and lonely, I began saying yes to peer pressure in a bid to find acceptance and fun.

One day, one of my friends’ big sisters introduced me to weed – and I loved it. As an awkward teenager with buck teeth and frizzy hair, being high made me feel calm and at ease with myself.

I started smoking more and more; on the way into school, in my lunch breaks, at house parties on the weekends.

This continued throughout university, and got worse when I started work in a dead-end job in London. I hated it. But weed was my relief, my escape from reality, and even when I changed to a job I enjoyed, I still couldn’t say goodbye to it.

In 2004, I met my ex-partner and my daughters’ father. Our relationship was on and off, but I was scared of being on my own.

When he moved to Cyprus for work the following year, I went too. I set up a massage practice, which I managed to make really successful.

My partner left when I was three months pregnant with my eldest – and it’s no coincidence that’s when I started smoking again, trying to block out reality.

He did come back when the baby was born, and our younger daughter was conceived 13 months later. It was a damaging relationship; we were never officially ‘together’ again, but we continued living under the same roof for another six months.

I hid my weed addiction amid the ‘mummy wine’ culture that was so prevalent in our social circle of young, middle-class parents in Cyprus – and soon found others who enjoyed weed too.

I had one friend who’d invite me and the girls for playdates so we could smoke while the kids were downstairs.

By this point, every day started with a joint and my world was crumbling.

Cannabis stays in your system longer than most substances as it’s stored in the fat cells

Bills went unpaid because I couldn’t keep track. You might think my baby daughter’s traumatic illness, in 2011, would have shocked me out of my stupor. But I’m ashamed to admit it didn’t.

In 2014, my girls and I moved to Ibiza and, though I told myself it would be a fresh start, I stashed some weed in my suitcase, then quickly found a new dealer who lived across the road.

My daughters knew about my drug-taking. Once, when my eldest was 11, I picked her up from school and asked about her day.

‘We had a talk on drink and drugs, mum,’ she said then added: ‘You’re a drug addict, mum’.

I had nothing to say to that, except: ‘Yes darling, you’re right.’

For their sakes, I tried to quit. Every New Year’s Day, and every year on my birthday, I’d resolve never to smoke again. I tried everything: AA, support groups, counselling, crystals, chanting – but nothing worked.

At times, I didn’t want to go on any longer. I found myself fantasising about disappearing: packing a bag, leaving a note for my family and vanishing without a trace.

I remember one day in 2022, my daughters were bickering in the back of the car and I just couldn’t take it.

I pulled over and screamed at them: ‘If you two don’t shut up, I’m going to go mad. I want out. I want to be dead. I don’t want to live any more.’

Their faces crumpled – and I was filled with horror at who I’d become. That’s when I knew I had to do something, fast.

Six weeks later, at the age of 44, having confessed the truth to my mum and begged for her help, I went to rehab.

It was life-changing. I cried for the first five days, then I went on a rollercoaster of emotions: guilt, sadness and an enormous sense of relief.

Recovery wasn’t easy. Cannabis stays in your system longer than most substances as it’s stored in the fat cells, and I suffered insomnia, anxiety and mood swings.

But slowly, the fog lifted. Today, I don’t touch weed – or any other vices.

Recovery wasn’t easy. But slowly the fog lifted and today Elizabeth doesn't touch weed – or any other vices

Recovery didn’t just save my life, it gave me one worth living. I used to think life without weed would feel like walking a tightrope without a safety net. But what I’ve found is the opposite: a grounded, vibrant, connected existence I never thought was possible. For the first time, I’m fully present, not just for my daughters, but for myself.

The laughter is real now, the emotions are rich (yes, even the hard ones), and the relationships I have are built on honesty, not performance.

There’s peace in my nervous system that I never knew I could access. Joy in the smallest of moments, appreciating the spring flowers as they bloom, a walk with my dog, belly laughs over dinner with my girls.

When my time in rehab was up, I stayed on to work at the clinic as a volunteer peer support worker. Now, I’m a recovery coach, helping others like me – parents, professionals, anyone with an addiction. If I can do it, after 30 years hooked on weed, anyone can.

Perhaps in spite of me, my girls are beautiful, brilliant, resilient humans, now 14 and 16.

They could have followed in my footsteps, but instead they turned me off the toxic path I was walking. I’m so grateful they did.

As told to Sarah Rainey.

For more information see: www.theempowermentwarrior.com.