As a child, the majority of my family were smokers. Parents, grandfathers, uncle, aunts, cousins…, you get the picture. Having been born in the late 70s, this is hardly surprising. Of course, my parents told me “Don’t ever start. I wish I never had because now I can’t quit.” I was a super stubborn child and began experimenting with cigarettes at the tender age of five years old. My teenaged babysitters were smokers and they gave me my first inhaled puff. Had I not been so hardheaded, it would have ended there. It felt like fire had snaked its way down my neck to sear into my lungs. With great effort, I managed not to cough and choke as I exhaled it. As an adult I realize, it bespeaks just how often I was in a room with clouds of second hand smoke that I was able to get through that first time without coughing and gagging. Still, everyone was doing it including most of the people that I looked to for guidance and that I thought, as all small children do, were invincible. So, I began to sneak a cigarette out of an unattended pack here and another there. Every now and then, a pack would go missing from mom or dad’s cartons. One day, my dad found the stash I had under the porch. He was livid. At that time, though, it was more about theft than the smoking. Though, it did involve both. The punishment left a lasting impression; however, it did not dissuade me from smoking.
I have to tip my hat to my big brother here. He tried to talk me out of ever starting. As we grew up, he set an example for me that I utterly failed to live up to. He has never defiled his lungs with cigarette smoke.
So, the years rolled along and I didn’t take any further packages of cigarettes. But, if an unusually long “butt” was left in an ashtray, I would certainly collect those. After all, they had been discarded, right? While I wasn’t smoking regularly, I was doing so occasionally.
I began to use my lunch money to buy my own cigarettes at the age of 15. I would save a portion of my money each day and buy a pack each week. I was only able to smoke when outside of my parent’s supervision. I did manage to sneak a few here and there back in my room. But, it had become a much more regular thing. Then, my mother caught me red handed. As my parents spoke to me about everything, they were unhappy with the misuse of my lunch money. My mother was far more upset with my habit of smoking than my father was. He had started smoking at a much younger age than I was then and saw no real reason that I should be punished for something they were both modeling for us. At that time, there was still debate raging about the negative effects of smoking. He had, as yet, suffered no real harmful side effects. Thus he allowed me to smoke when I was around him and even shared a cigarette on occasion with me. I was not allowed to smoke in the house or around my mother at first because it upset her so. After a few months, it became an accepted idea that I was a smoker and those restrictions were lifted as well. The only time I got into trouble was when I got caught smoking at school and was sent to in-school detention.
Over time I progressed to a pack and a half a day, sometimes two packs. By mid-2008, I was noticing some severe issues when I woke up in the morning. Also, sometimes even just sitting around, I would have real problems breathing. The clincher came when my sleep was interrupted. It felt as though my throat had collapsed. Something was preventing me from breathing. Everything closed up. My heart raced and I was scared out of my mind. The more frightened I became the harder it was to breathe. I had to consciously slow my mind and mentally take hold of my body. As I began to gently try to breathe in and slow my thundering heart, the airways relaxed and eventually I was able to take in a normal breath. This lasted only a matter of a few minutes but it felt like an eternity. For a while I thought it was fluke, but, then it happened again; more than once. In November of 2008 I realized that smoking was, if not the cause, at least a primary contributing factor. I had tried so many times to quit before. Nothing had worked. I had tried getting rid of everything cigarette related in my household, washing everything down, and getting rid of anything that I couldn’t get the smell out of. I had tried “stepping down” the number of cigarettes I had in a day. I had tried drinking water every time I wanted to smoke or engaging in some other activity.
The days turned into weeks. A few times a day I would get an intense craving. I would be faced with the choice again.
Ultimately, every time the same feeling defeated me. I felt deprived. It felt like someone was telling me, “You can’t.” Anyone that knows me, will tell you; that is the absolute wrong way to get me not to do something. I’ll do it then, come hell or high water. I couldn’t understand it. It didn’t make any sense. I was making the choice to remove cigarettes from my life. Why did it feel like it was being taken away? The self-study I had done through the years of both my successes and failures, led me to a plan. I now knew that I had to be sure that I never felt “forced” to quit. So, I started to immerse myself in the literature about the stages of quitting smoking and the positive benefits at each time mile marker. I learned that it would take 10 years to be considered a non-smoker. At first, that was a bit discouraging and daunting. Then I related it to the rest of my life. Hopefully, 10 years wasn’t so long after all. And, I learned to think about it in terms of “today.” I looked into the Alcoholics Anonymous type of thought patterns. Get through this urge. Get through this day. Each time, focus on the urge at hand and conquer it. I planted all this positive information in my head. I began to envision myself with clear lungs, food tasting better, and fewer head colds. I concentrated on this for about two months while I devised my plan and quit date. I would quit on January 1st of 2009. I kept that date forefront in my mind. I taught myself to look forward to it. To think about the fact that I would no longer be chained to a pack of cigarettes.
I would no longer have to worry if I had enough for the night. There would be no more having to stop and buy cigarettes. I would no longer be a slave. Most importantly, nothing would be telling me I had to smoke. Switching my thinking from “I can’t have a cigarette,” to “Not being forced to have a cigarette,” was key to engaging that obstinate character trait in me that I mentioned earlier. Having learned that the physical cravings dissipate within a week, I knew that would be tough. But, I could do it. Then, the real challenge would take hold. Making sure my mindset stayed where it needed to be.
We need a bit of context here. I had owned my own business. It failed in 2008. My husband and I were both out of a job. We found ourselves and our children living with my parents. Eventually, we both found jobs but had not been able to recover sufficiently enough to move out on our own again yet. My health had begun to fail in other areas as well. To say the least, times were stressful. Everyone in the house smoked with the exception of my children. I chose to quit right in the middle of this situation. It was completely insane and worked like a charm.
Previously, I had always tried to finish off my “last” pack of cigarettes before going to bed. I had made up my mind that I would do things in an entirely different manner this time. It’s been said that repeating the same thing over and over again while expecting a different outcome is the very definition of insanity. I believe it. But, it also taught me where my weaknesses were and what I needed to be aware of. I was fully equipped and ready. December 31st was our normal family New Year’s Eve party. I announced that I was going to be quitting smoking. I did not say try or that I was making a resolution. Nope. Just, I’m quitting it. When the party was over and it was bedtime, I had a newly opened pack of cigarettes. Only two had been smoked out of it. In times past, I would have created reasoning for me to smoke the rest of them. Not this time. They would be used; just, not in the normal way. I hadn’t done any smoke removal from my environment. I hadn’t asked anyone not smoke around me. Everything was the same. Safe, secure, familiar.
When I got up the following morning, I wanted to go for my usual smoke first thing. This was the first of many, many urges I would face. I went about my day as I normally would. As I sat at my desk at home, the pack lay there beside me. The ashtray, still relatively full with butts, remained there. Everyone around me still lit up and smoke still hung in the air. I think this was both a blessing and curse. Harkening back to my childhood, I had realized that the second hand smoke was probably why I was able to handle that first puff so well. This meant, it very definitely had an effect. In this instance, it would help me lay down the habit for good. The smoke hanging in the air did trigger the urge, that’s true. It also helped to calm it. I didn’t have to smoke a cigarette because I was getting smaller amounts it of by virtue of just being in the house. Every time I got the craving, I looked at that pack. I had a decision to make. I had a choice. No one was taking anything. It was right there, if I truly wanted it. I didn’t even have to go to the store for it. I had only to reach out my hand. The lighter was still sitting atop the pack. The choice was mine, alone. I chose not to. This would be the same choice from that time on. Whenever I went somewhere, the cigarettes came with me. Just as though I were still a smoker. There were times that I would grab my husband, pull him close, bury my head in his chest, and breathe in the smell of the smoke deeply. I missed it. I craved it. At times, I felt like gnawing on my desk. Eventually, those overwhelming cravings died. The routines of it were harder though. Smoking pervaded every facet of life. Because I had worked from home, I even smoked while I worked. Having a new job, outside the home helped with that. Many times I caught myself picking up the pack out of sheer force of habit. I would be thinking through something, watching a T.V. program, taking in a movie, eating dinner with the family, talking into the night and have a cigarette in my hand before I realized what I was doing. Every time, I caught myself and put it back. I began to keep something close by to keep my hands busy and, sometimes, my mouth. That pack, in the end, became the symbol of those asthmatic like attacks I had endured.
The days turned into weeks. A few times a day I would get an intense craving. I would be faced with the choice again. And now, I had some success under my belt. I could add to it that I had come this far; did I really want to throw that time and effort out the window?
The weeks became months. Cravings were getting fewer and further in-between at this point. There were a few times when a particular scent or situation would trigger me in an unexpected and super intense way. It was unreal. It was overwhelming. Have you ever had that Pavlovian response to something? Like when thinking about a lemon makes your mouth water? Well, that’s something like what I’m talking about. My whole body cried out for a cigarette and the sentiment was echoed by my mind. The hold that this product had had on me was intimidating.
Eventually, I began to leave the pack at home when I went anywhere but work. It still went with me when I went there. I stopped doing even that at around seven months, I think. I vividly remember driving down the road and honestly missing smoking. Not a physical craving. I missed the act. It saddened me a great deal. I was utterly shocked, unprepared for it, and exceptionally grateful that I did not have them with me.
By this point we had been able to regain our footing and move out on our own. When we moved out, I was going to give the pack to either my husband or my parents. I asked who wanted it. My dad and my husband informed me that they had been smoking some out of it along and along. There were only two cigarettes left in the pack. It had been so long since I had picked it up that I had no idea. This had an odd effect on me. I nearly started back. That was my pack of cigarettes. It was supposed to have been my choice whether to use them or not. They were my security blanket of sorts. This almost undid me. It’s weird, I know. Still, I conquered that hurdle and moved forward.
Most of the rest of the time was a repeat. I had the system down pat by then. There were a few unforeseen challenges; but I had figured out how to work with myself rather than against myself.
When we moved into the new house, we had decided that there would be no smoking allowed in the home. My husband smoked outside on our deck. My dad refused to visit much. He said that I could come see him where he could be comfortable. (He and my mother eventually quit. I may ask them to contribute an article on their experience with it one day.) One night, about 11 months in, I had a dream that was so real it was hard to tell if it was true or not when I first awoke from it. I dreamed that I lit up a cigarette; all the while knowing that I shouldn’t. But I wanted to, so I did. The smoke slid down my throat so smooth. I felt that familiar cloud in my lungs as they expanded and exhaled with a sigh and a smile. I took a few more draws from it before I woke up. I could still smell it laying there in the dark. I could still taste it on my tongue. It was SO real. I couldn’t tell if I had actually done it. I lay there in the dark with the most gripping sadness I had felt in a very long time. I had failed! Again! I cried. It felt like this took several minutes. In reality, it was only one or two. Then I fully woke up. I retraced what had happened the day before in my mind. I hadn’t smoked! The relief that I felt was profound. When I say profound, I mean it in a very real sense. I cried again. This time because the solace I felt was so pronounced.
In the 10 years since that dream, I have only had a handful of other surprises. Usually when I’m dealing with traffic. There have been a few times that I have been tempted solely because I miss a great deal of time with husband. He still smokes. Our home is still smoke free. There is a lot of time lost due to that habit. He’s still struggling to find a way to work with himself in defeating this vice. January of 2021 will be 12 years for me. I have not actively craved cigarettes in a very long time. Having said that, there are times that I miss it. Though they are few and far between now. For anyone seeking to quit smoking, take heart. It can be done. You just “gotta do you, Boo.”
How About You?
Have any of you quit smoking? How did you do it? Any advice for those that may be looking for their way to slay this dragon? Comment below. We would love to hear your experiences!
