Micro-dosing to Survive Family Gatherings
(Because sometimes “elevated consciousness” means not throat-punching your cousin.)
Family gatherings, a cherished tradition where you eat beige food, answer the same three questions about your life, and try not to get into a passive-aggressive slap fight with someone who still thinks COVID was caused by wind turbines.
Fear not, Skippy. There is a way to survive these annual minefields with grace, detachment, and maybe even a wry smile. It’s called microdosing—the gentle art of consuming just enough weed to transcend the conversation, but not so much that you mistake the stuffing for a small, warm dog. Just enough to take the edge off without turning you into a decorative pillow. Think of microdosing as emotional Teflon. Everything bounces off you: family guilt, political hot takes, or your aunt’s two-hour story about switching yogurt brands.
Before you set out on the trail of tears to your next family gathering, arm yourself with a vape cartridge whose THC concentration is 75 percent (or more). A typical hit from that puppy contains roughly 2.25–3.75 mg of THC.
Thus, if you’re microdosing with one or two hits, you’re likely getting between 2.25 and 7.5 mg of THC—which is right in the sweet spot for a light, functional buzz without tipping into full-on psychoactivity.
Microdosing is flexible and is easily adapted to dealing with the four stages of grief at family gatherings.
Stage 1: Arrival Anxiety (1-2 hits)
You’ve just pulled up to the driveway, and already you regret your life choices. Microdose now. You’ll walk in smiling, your chakras humming softly, and when Grandma asks why you’re still single, you’ll respond with gentle laughter and a weird but non-threatening comment about the moon’s alignment.
Stage 2: Unfiltered Uncle Trap (1-2 additional hits in secret)
This is when dinner gets dodgy. Incel Uncle Ernie is three beers in and ready to explain how birds are government drones. Here’s where the second bump of THC earns its keep. You can wisely, say “Interesting theory,” and mentally drift off to a place where kitchen utensils have personalities. Maintain eye contact. You’ll look like you’re listening, even when you’ve moved on to communing with your spirit monkey.
Stage 3: The Dinner Table Minesweeper Zone
Conversation becomes a battleground of polite sabotage. Topics include: veganism, parenting styles, MAGA, real estate envy, immigration, woke sports, and who really should’ve gotten Dad’s boat. This is the moment to nip off for a refresher (1 or 2 additional hits) just enough to keep your third eye slightly ajar but not fully receiving.
You will hear everything, but feel nothing, and pass the mashed potatoes with the calm certainty of a monk.
Meanwhile, Conspiracy Uncle mentions “they” in every paragraph. Your Whiny Aunt begins a sentence with “I’m not racist, but…” Your Keto Cousin describes his bowel movements in harrowing detail.
Stage 4: Exit Strategy. After dessert (what the family calls “fruit salad” but is really cut-up bananas and despair), you’ll want to initiate your extraction. Microdosing is your go-to here also. You’ll thank everyone sincerely, hug the appropriate number of people, and leave with your dignity and your serotonin intact. You’ll wake up the next morning with no regrets, a mild craving for stovetop stuffing, and the satisfaction of having outmaneuvered generational dysfunction chemically, but politely.
(Because sometimes “elevated consciousness” means not throat-punching your cousin.)
Family gatherings, a cherished tradition where you eat beige food, answer the same three questions about your life, and try not to get into a passive-aggressive slap fight with someone who still thinks COVID was caused by wind turbines.
Fear not, Skippy. There is a way to survive these annual minefields with grace, detachment, and maybe even a wry smile. It’s called micro-dosing—the gentle art of consuming just enough weed to transcend the conversation, but not so much that you mistake the stuffing for a small, warm dog. Just enough to take the edge off without turning you into a decorative pillow. Think of micro-dosing as emotional Teflon. Everything bounces off you: family guilt, political hot takes, your aunt’s two-hour story about switching yogurt brands.
Before you set out on the trail of tears to your next family gathering, arm yourself with a vape cartridge whose THC concentration is 75 percent (or more). A typical hit from that puppy contains roughly 2.25–3.75 mg of THC. Thus, if you’re micro-dosing with one or two hits, you’re likely getting between 2.25 and 7.5 mg of THC—which is right in the sweet spot for a light, functional buzz without tipping into full-on psychoactivity.
Micro-dosing with a vape pen is discrete, flexible, and easily adapted to dealing with the four stages of grief at family gatherings.
Stage 1: Arrival Anxiety (1-2 hits), You’ve just pulled up to the driveway, and already you regret your life choices. Micro-dose now. You’ll walk in smiling, your chakras humming softly, and when Grandma asks why you’re still single, you’ll respond with gentle laughter and a weird but non-threatening comment about the moon’s alignment.
Stage 2: Unfiltered Uncle Trap (1-2 additional hits in secret), This is when dinner gets dodgy. Incel Uncle Ernie is three beers in and ready to explain how birds are government drones. Here’s where the second bump of THC earns its keep. You can wisely say, “Interesting theory,” and mentally drift off to a place where kitchen utensils have personalities. Maintain eye contact. You’ll look like you’re listening, even when you’ve moved on to communing with your spirit monkey.
Stage 3: The Dinner Table Minesweeper Zone, Conversation becomes a battleground of polite sabotage. Topics include: veganism, parenting styles, MAGA, real estate envy, immigration, woke sports, and who really should’ve gotten Dad’s boat. This is the moment to nip off for a refresher (1 or 2 additional hits) just enough to keep your third eye slightly ajar but not fully receiving. You will hear everything, but feel nothing, and pass the mashed potatoes with the calm certainty of a monk.
Meanwhile, Conspiracy Uncle mentions “they” in every paragraph. Your Whiny Aunt begins a sentence with “I’m not racist, but…” Your Keto Cousin describes his bowel movements in harrowing detail.
Stage 4: Exit Strategy, After dessert (what the family calls “fruit salad” but is really cut-up bananas and despair), you’ll want to initiate your extraction. Micro-dosing is your go-to here also. You’ll thank everyone sincerely, hug the appropriate number of people, and leave with your dignity and your serotonin intact. You’ll wake up the next morning with no regrets, a mild craving for stovetop stuffing, and the satisfaction of having outmaneuvered generational dysfunction chemically, but politely.
