When I was 13, a friend of my older sister gave me my first cigarette. Unlike many folks, no coughing, it was “where have ya been all my life”. It became a part of me.
My sense of why it’s so addictive: It permeates not just you lungs and your clothing and your aura, but every aspect of your life. Finish dinner? have a cig. Apres sex? cig.
First one of the day, last thing before bed. “how far do I travel to work? one cigarette”. “do I have enough time for a smoke?” “do I have cigs/matches/lighter before I head home?” everything.
When I was 28, my (then) husband quit, as well as my boss. they both nagged me to death. So I quit. Except I was pissed off every single second for that entire week. Went back.
Then, when I was 29, I learned I was pregnant (this won’t work for you **manny, ** sorry). I knew that smoking was very, very bad for kidlet. I knew that I could not simply cut down. If I was smoking at all, I was smoking 2 packs a day.
So, I said “the kid’s too young to smoke, so I’m just giving it up while I’m pregnant”. For the first few months, I held on to the image of me on the delivery table huffing and puffing “he he he (inhale) whoooooooooooo (exhale)”.
I’m not sure when it happened during those months, but some where along that time I realized a couple of things.
Quitting smoking was hell on earth and a harder thing than I’ve ever had to do.
If I picked it up again, I’d have to go through that hell again.
So, it’s now been 17 and a half years (will be 18 years in August) that I’ve been smoke free.
And I still give cigarettes a wide bearth - I try to never touch them, the only thing I do is now and then check out the price per pack (yikes!)
Best of luck to y’all.
(by the way, while the pregnancy thing is impractical for many of you, the point of telling yourself, at least at first that you’re only giving them up for this finite amount of time, might help)