I Was a Mean Girl in the Cannabis Community, And I Admit It.

I’ll admit something that isn’t particularly easy to say out loud: I was a mean girl in the cannabis community. Not the cute, Regina George, pink-and-perfect kind of mean girl.

There were group chats. Conversations between women. Opinions about other women. Stories passed around without knowing the whole story. And sometimes, I jumped on the bandwagon too. Someone would be labeled difficult, problematic, fake, toxic, or someone we “shouldn’t support,” and it was surprisingly easy to accept the version of the story being told. Because when everyone around you agrees, you don’t always stop to ask, Wait… what actually happened?

I’ve participated in that kind of behavior. I’ve judged people without knowing their entire story. I’ve formed opinions based on what other people told me. I contributed to the very culture of tearing other women down that I now wish I had walked away from sooner.

Then something happened that changed my perspective: I became the person being talked about.

I was painted as a plagiarizer by a group of older, established women in the cannabis community, women I genuinely looked up to. Women whose work I respected. Women I thought were part of my community. Suddenly, my career as a cannabis writer was being attacked based on an accusation I knew wasn't true.

The worst part wasn't just the accusation. It was who it came from. I had admired these women. I wanted to learn from them. I wanted to be part of the community they had helped build. Instead, I watched people I respected turn against me based on a story that, as I understood it, originated with another woman who had her own reasons for wanting to see me pushed out.

Looking back, I was shattered. Not just professionally, but personally. When you're passionate about what you do and you've worked hard to build something for yourself, having your reputation questioned can feel like someone has pulled the floor out from underneath you. I lost confidence. I questioned myself. And for a while, I wondered if I even belonged in cannabis writing anymore.

Then there was another experience that taught me an entirely different lesson. One of these women actually hired me to write for a major cannabis news website. I was excited. I was proud. I thought this was my opportunity to prove myself and work alongside someone I respected.

I did the work. I put in the time, effort, and creativity. And then, after I had done what was asked of me, the opportunity was taken away from me and the credit went elsewhere. That one hurt in a completely different way because I had trusted her. I believed we were working together. Instead, I learned a painful lesson about what can happen when ambition, ego, and competition become more important than supporting another woman. It's been 7 years since that incident and I feel ready to dicuss it because it wasn't right. None of these women are in the industry anymore, so I feel safe.

And then karma put me in it's place: it put me on the other side of the same behavior.

I became the person people were talking about. The person being judged without being asked for her side. The person watching people jump on a bandwagon without knowing the full story. And suddenly, I understood.

It feels awful.

It makes you question who you can trust. It makes you replay conversations and wonder what was said when you weren't in the room. It makes you realize that those seemingly harmless group-chat conversations can become something much uglier when everyone decides someone else is the villain. That’s when I had to take a hard look at myself.

Because I realized that I had once participated in the very thing that was now hurting me. I had been that woman. Maybe not to this extent. Maybe my intentions were different. But I had judged people without knowing their stories. I had listened to one side. I had joined conversations I should have walked away from.

I learned my lessons. And I can honestly say that I haven't participated in that kind of behavior for many years. I made a conscious decision to walk away from the gossip, the group chats, the pile-ons, and the constant need to choose sides.

It wasn't always easy. I lost friends along the way. Some relationships simply couldn't survive once I stopped participating in the things that had brought us together. And while losing people I cared about hurt, it also made room for something much healthier.

I found my true group in the end.

The people around me now don't need to tear someone else down to lift each other up. They don't need a villain to create a bond. They can disagree, have difficult conversations, and still choose respect. They celebrate each other's wins instead of secretly competing with them. And honestly, I'd rather have a smaller circle of genuine people than a huge circle built on gossip and shared enemies.

That doesn't mean we shouldn't hold people accountable. It doesn't mean we ignore genuinely harmful behavior. And it doesn't mean every person deserves access to our lives. Boundaries are healthy. Accountability is necessary. Cruelty isn't.

There is a difference between protecting yourself from someone and trying to destroy them. There is a difference between having a disagreement and creating a campaign against someone. There is a difference between sharing your experience and convincing an entire group of people that someone else deserves to be ostracized.

I can't change the woman I was then. I can't take back the conversations. I can't undo the people I may have judged without knowing their full story.

But I can choose who I am now.And perhaps the most painful experiences of my career taught me the most important lesson of all:

Don't become the woman who hurt you.

When you know what it feels like to have your name dragged through conversations you're not part of, to have people believe a story without asking for yours, and to have someone try to take away something you've worked hard to build, you should never want to inflict that feeling on another person.

I learned the hard way.

I was a mean girl. I admit it.

But I also learned not to be her anymore.I lost people. I found myself. And eventually, I found the people who were meant to be in my corner.

Maybe that's what growth actually looks like, not pretending you were always the good guy, but having the courage to admit when you weren't, understand the damage, learn the lesson, and decide to do better.

I learned mine. And I haven't looked back.