This post is going to be difficult to write.
I am sure it will be THE MOST difficult to share, that’s for
sure. That is because it is filled with
shame, embarrassment, and I will be revealing a secret that only my good
friends and close family know.
I am a smoker.
I am one of "those" smokers, who has the following phrases
locked down, and can recite them anytime I am encountered with someone who is
shocked to find out I smoke:
- I only smoke occasionally
- I can quit any time, but I just don't want to because I enjoy it so much
- It relaxes me
- When I am stressed or upset, nothing calms me like a cigarette
In other words, I am full of shit.
You see, I care about my health. I eat well.
I use all natural beauty products (since so many of the conventional
brands have “cancer-causing” ingredients).
I make my husband feel guilty for the amount he smokes, because his
amount is far more dangerous than mine (hello hypocrite).
Yet I smoke. Every
evening, after a day of healthy eating and using natural products, I would go
outside and voluntarily poison myself.
Well, I DID. A few
days ago I got slammed with a cold/flu that knocked me off my ass. Sunday was my worst-feeling day, which was
the day my husband was out all day at the “Easy Way to Stop Smoking” seminar
that I signed him up for without his knowledge, and then sent him to like a mom
sending an unwilling child to camp for the first time. I decided I would read the book, and he would
do the seminar. I am an avid reader,
Jaime is not. I knew the seminar would
be more effective for him, and we had been talking about quitting together for
a long time. Jaime actually quit the
night of our wedding, and didn’t smoke for a year and a half. Then we went on a trip to Mexico with a whole
bunch of people for a friend’s wedding and it all fell apart. Plus, I didn’t quit when he did (see my
earlier comment, on my “harmless” smoking habit). I always felt guilty about this deep down,
but like all smokers, I came up with bullshit justification that allowed me to
push all rational thought from my mind in order to excuse my nasty habit.
Getting the cold, I now realize, was angelic timing. It gave me the time to read the book, and of
course I didn’t feel like smoking when I felt like crap. And it allowed me the time to really let the
book’s philosophy sink in; the most poignant point of all for me was to replace
every craving for a cigarette with a celebration that you actually aren’t going
to have it. Because it’s gross, or ugly,
or whatever it is to you that makes you feel ashamed to do it.
For me, it’s Sloan.
100 percent Sloan.
Of course, the moment I found out I was pregnant, I did not
dream of having a cigarette (OK, I dreamed
about it, and fantasized about it, and really, REALLY wanted to do it - but I did
NOT ever do it). It was tough. I was a pretty energetic preggo, and my
social life didn’t change much while I was pregnant, except I wasn’t smoking or
drinking. I was constantly surrounded by
it (sadly, almost all of our friends are smokers), but since no one we know
smokes indoors (thank goodness), I was constantly alone many times throughout
the evenings, while my friends “enjoyed” themselves outdoors. I’ve always
smoked socially. It’s part of my social
life (as of course it is for most smokers).
So being forced to “quit” didn’t have the same effect as quitting for
real. People often asked me if I planned
to quit forever, since I had gone so long without smoking, and my response was
always a VERY weak “ummm…maybe”. The
truth was I was dying for the moment I could have another cigarette.
Of course, when Sloan was born, the last thing on my mind
was smoking. I was so exhausted, and
there was no aspect of my life that was truly social. When she was sleeping, I let my head fall on
the softest spot near me.
But then I started to settle in to this baby thing. I’ll never forget the moment I realized I
could potentially smoke. I was at a
friend’s place, and they were outside smoking.
I had just breastfed Sloan and she was sleeping and I knew she’d be
asleep for 3-4 hours. And it hit
me. I NEED A CIGARETTE RIGHT NOW. AND I CAN HAVE ONE! I marched outside, grabbed the closest pack,
and lit one up. And it was so good. SO GOOD.
There was a nagging guilt inside
me, which I pushed away with force. This
was ok. It was just one. I had done research on smoking and
breastfeeding, and one little cigarette would be fine.
EW. Typing this is
sickitating me. But I will continue.
That one cigarette led to another…to another. Before I knew it, my daily routine began to
include a cigarette (or two, or three, or sometimes even four), after I had put
Sloan down for the night and I knew she’d be down for hours. After each cigarette, I would scrub my hands,
brush my teeth and hang up my “smoking sweater” which I would wrap around
myself in hopes of it catching the second-hand smoke, rather than my skin or
hair (dumbass).
But with EACH and EVERY cigarette, I felt GUILT. I felt SHAME.
Sure, I had felt those things before (especially when non-smokers would
see me smoke, and I could see the judgement in their eyes), but nothing like
this. My own mother, who doesn’t pull
out the judgemental card very often, saw me smoking one evening after Sloan was
in bed. She was completely shocked,
flabbergasted and clearly disgusted with me (she smokes “socially” too). “HOLLY!!
You are BREASTFEEDING!! What are
you DOING? You’re so into your natural
stuff, yet you are SMOKING??? I can’t
believe I am seeing this!!” Talk about
wanting to be swallowed by a sink hole and die.
I rambled off a bunch of bullshit (one cigarette a day won’t hurt, Sloan
is sleeping, BLAH BLAH BLAH), but I knew she was right. And I was SO wrong. But away those thoughts went with each cloud
of smoke I exhaled.
EW. I am so disgusted
with myself right now I need to take a break.
Continue…
But the guilt got worse.
Every time Sloan would stir in the night, and I had to go soothe her, I
knew that no matter how hard I tried to wash the smoke away, the smell (and the
chemicals) still lingered on me. Every
morning when I brought her into bed with me, she was cuddling up to our pillows
and blankets that were against our smoky bodies and hair all night long while
we slept (Jaime and I went so far as to have “Sloan Friendly Pillows” that would
replace our sleeping pillows before bringing her in with me in the morning, but
it’s not like I changed the sheets or duvet cover). Does all of this sound like a silly pain in
the ass? It was!
And we did all this so we could poison
ourselves!
The thought of Sloan ever seeing me smoke filled me with
dread.
And then it hit me (while reading the book).
As Oprah would say, I had an “aha” moment. The only way to guarantee Sloan never saw me
smoke was to never smoke again. Obvious,
right? Well, until I looked at it that
exact way, quitting seemed impossible.
That’s why the “Easy Way” book really helped me. I won’t go into the details of the book. All I can say is if you want to quit smoking
(and let’s be honest, EVERY smoker wants to quit smoking), read it. Open your mind to it. I will share with you the one thing I took
away from the book that I find the most helpful. Every time you think about having a
cigarette, and that sense of dread comes over you when you remember that you’ve
quit, rejoice in the fact that you will NOT have that cigarette. That you are now free of them. FREE of them!
It sounds quite simple, and that’s because it is. I am done.
I am a non-smoker. And saying
that feels better than that poison ever did.
Tonight will be my third night smoke-free. The past two nights, when I’ve gone in to
soothe Sloan or cuddle her (she got my cold L),
I’ve smiled to myself knowing I am clean.
There is no smoke on my clothes, or in my hair or on my breath. She is smelling mommy, pure and simple. This morning, when I brought her into my bed,
with our nice clean sheets, I let her wrap herself up in my blankets, and rest
her head on my pillow (same one I used last night) and smiled to myself knowing
it was all clean. And it felt glorious.
