Let me be honest: I picked up smoking during my sophomore year of college. It really took off when I moved in with a boyfriend who was a heavy smoker. We kept cartons of cigarettes stashed in the freezer. By the time I reached graduate school, my habit had escalated to the point where I was smoking like a 1950s housewife—up to a pack and a half daily. That’s a serious amount of cigarettes.
At that time, many of my friends were also smokers. We would gather outside academic buildings, sharing cigarettes while discussing classic literature. My writing sessions were intertwined with this smoky haze; I didn’t just smoke while writing, but took frequent breaks to indulge in a cigarette whenever I hit a wall.
I finally managed to quit smoking when my first son was born. I was battling severe depression during my pregnancy, and while I yearned to quit, my focus was on just getting through each day. Ironically, the chaos surrounding my birth plan—originally intended to be at home with a midwife—helped me forget about smoking altogether.
I managed to stay smoke-free for nearly ten years. However, as I began writing more and spent time in my friend’s garage—who is an avid smoker—the urge to smoke slowly returned. It crept back into my life: one cigarette a day turned into two, and now I’m up to five or six. I enjoy the ritual: sitting outside, chatting with my best friend (who also smokes), or messaging another friend in South Africa. I find myself reaching for a cigarette to celebrate finishing a draft or to calm my nerves. I am, without a doubt, a smoker.
And yet, I loathe it.
My fingers reek of nicotine, my hair carries the scent of smoke, and I can feel my sense of smell fading once again. There are days when I’m out in the cold just to have a smoke. I know I can cut down; on some days, I manage only one or two cigarettes. But it’s a struggle. I need something in my hands and mouth, and my ADHD tendencies certainly don’t help.
I desperately want to quit smoking.
We all know the dangers: smoking is a leading cause of death. My pack of cigarettes reminds me of that, warning of lung cancer and other health risks. Statistics show that 90% of lung cancer cases are linked to smoking. My grandmother suffered from lung cancer and died from smoke-related illnesses. It’s as if smoking is a low-grade death wish, a total disregard for the future.
But it’s not just my health that’s at stake; it affects my family too. According to the CDC, there’s no safe level of secondhand smoke. The smoke I exhale contains over 7,000 chemicals, many of which are toxic, and 70 are known carcinogens. I have three sons, and my habit increases their risk of asthma, ear infections, and respiratory issues. My husband’s risk of heart disease, stroke, and lung cancer rises significantly too.
Even if I try to smoke away from my kids, they are still exposed to thirdhand smoke—residual toxins that cling to my clothes, hair, furniture, and car. Research shows that these chemicals can linger for decades. It’s a troubling realization, and I can’t help but think that I’m putting my children at risk.
I want to quit. Yet the rituals associated with smoking are as addictive as the act itself, from the click of the lighter to the moments of camaraderie shared over cigarettes. Talking on the phone with friends has become intertwined with smoking, creating a habit that’s both costly and harmful. With cigarettes often costing over seven dollars a pack, and even the cheaper options running four bucks, I find myself spending a dollar a day on something that’s damaging my health and my family’s.
I’ve devised a plan: I want to transition to e-cigarettes, which might allow me to maintain the hand-to-mouth action without exposing my family to harmful smoke. However, even e-cigarettes can release chemicals into the air, contributing to indoor pollution. While they might be better than traditional cigarettes, they’re not entirely risk-free.
Over the years, I’ve tried countless methods to quit—gum, patches, prescription medications aimed at helping smokers quit. I genuinely want to kick this habit for my own health, for my family’s well-being, and to banish the lingering smell of smoke from my life. But every time I finish an essay, I find myself drawn back to the habit that I know is hurting me and my kids.
It’s tough. Nicotine is incredibly addictive.
So, I’m going to step outside for a smoke now—at least the kids are asleep.
Summary
This piece delves into the internal conflict of a mother who struggles with smoking, exploring the guilt and shame associated with her habit. Despite her desire to quit for her health and her family’s well-being, the addictive nature of smoking and its rituals make it a challenging battle. The narrative highlights the health risks not only to herself but also to her children and husband, emphasizing the urgent need for change.