Thirteen Years
I had to be in 8th grade, sitting on the back patio with my younger brother as he taught me to inhale a cigarette. We grew up with a smoker (in the car, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room). A cloud of smoke was normal, and for a LONG time, I thought of it as a sign of fun and sophistication.
Thank the heavens, perspectives change.
For many years (nineteen, to be exact), I was a die-hard smoker. I mean, it was so "relaxing" anytime. There was nothing better than a smoke after a good meal, especially if wine and adult beverages were involved. Or in the morning with coffee. Enjoying a book. After sex. In the car. On a break from work. Getting ready for a night out. All the time.
I lit up for just about any reason and was one of those young 20-somethings who would roll into the gym parking lot with a cig hanging out of my mouth and then light one up before I pulled out of the parking lot afterward.
For many years, I justified my smoking by telling myself I’d quit when it caught up to me physically. I mean, I made it to the gym five times a week. I was 'healthy." One day, I noticed the new lines around my mouth and under my eyes. My skin was dull. And then, I had to pause at the top of the stairs.
For the following six months, I smoked in blinding denial of the damage and havoc I was inflicting on my sweet meat suit, my temple, my body, the only home I have. Until one day, I saw things clearly and my denial fell away.
That day was Saturday, March 19, 2011.
I’d just returned home to Arizona after meeting my youngest niece for the first time. This entailed a quick (long) roundtrip cross-country road trip with a husband and two dogs, none of whom traveled well in a not-so-large vehicle.
Upon returning to my cozy ranch outside of Phoenix, I made sure all was well, and all creatures were accounted for before I toddled out to the patio with my bottle of wine, a pack of smokes, and a stack of gossip magazines to decompress from travel.
That Saturday night, I devoured the magazines, polished off the wine, and inhaled half the pack.
It was the last time I smoked a cigarette. 🚭
Between sheer willpower and support (data) from an app (ironic because I hate apps), I quit smoking cold turkey thirteen years ago.
Not a single drag since, and by far one of my favorite decisions.
***Side note: I also ditched gossip magazines unless I’m flying. Then, the mindless flipping keeps my mind at bay during take-off when I often imagine the plane spontaneously combusting at 10,000 feet – the joy of anxiety and a writer’s imagination. ✈️
Also (more) noteworthy: What happens when someone kicks the habit? The effects of the health benefits begin immediately and last the rest of your life.
According to the American Cancer Society:
Within minutes of smoking your last cigarette, your body begins to recover:
These are just a few of the health benefits of quitting smoking for good, but there are others, too.
Quitting smoking lowers your risk of other cancers over time as well, including cancers of the stomach, pancreas, liver, cervix, and colon and rectum, as well as acute myeloid leukemia (AML).
Quitting also lowers your risk of diabetes, helps your blood vessels work better, and helps your heart and lungs.
Quitting smoking can also add as much as 10 years to your life, compared to if you continued to smoke. Quitting while you're younger can reduce your health risks more (for example, quitting before the age of 40 reduces the risk of dying from smoking-related disease by about 90%), but quitting at any age can give back years of life that would be lost by continuing to smoke.
Sadly, I remember puffing on and then eating those candy cigarettes when I was a kid – a great idea to hook them young. I knew then that I would be a smoker. I also knew someday I would be a non-smoker.
Thirteen years.
As always, thank you for stopping by. I’d love to hear your comments below.
Until next time: Be creative. Find your wild side. Stay sane(ish). ✌️
