My Dirty Little Secret

In the five-plus years that I've been writing my blog, I've never once mentioned this. If you know me in "real life", you already know. I've gone out of my way not to say anything because I'm embarrassed. Yes, I'm smart enough to know better. It's easy to point out how stupid and unhealthy it is. If you also indulge, you will understand. If you used to but don't anymore, you may feel a bit sanctimonious about it. So here it is: I smoke cigarettes. As with any vice, I've found ways to rationalize and justify, misguided though they may be. One thing that I've always said is that I knew I was rolling the dice, and so far I had been lucky. When the time came that it affected my health, I would stop. Now I have to stop. My breathing capacity (as I mentioned briefly yesterday) has dropped rather dramatically since my last physical a year ago, and I can't pretend smoking isn't hurting me. It is.

Over the years, the amount I've smoked has been inconsistent. I didn't smoke at all during my pregnancies, or in the year after each son's birth while I breastfed. Apart from that, though, I've ranged from a once-a-month smoker to a daily smoker, bouncing around from one to the other and everything in between. I think the best way to quit will be to just do it, go cold turkey without vaping or taking in other forms of nicotine. For me, I really believe it's less about physical addiction and more about routine. If it were only physical addiction, I could substitute another form of nicotine and taper off quite easily. In my case (and I'm sure the same is true for many other who have, and haven't, quit) I need to change everything about my routine and my surroundings.

I enjoy smoking quite a lot. If I could continue without consequence, I would. But I enjoy breathing even more, and it seems that I'm left with a choice between the two. It's going to suck, for a while at least, but breathing is infinitely more important -- and would be harder to give up.