Yesterday (day 5) was really hard. And while I was surprised at the sudden emotional intensity, I was also very amazed at how much writing it out (venting) and reaching out to the community for support really helped.
I shouldn’t have been surprised but it’s interesting how you can know something but be dismissive of it until you actually do the thing. Thank you so much to everyone who reached out in solidarity.
I was also surprised at how incredibly meaningful it was to participate in the daily pledge exercise. Even though it’s virtual, my imagination easily filled in the gaps and the resulting feeling of connectedness and honestly relief that I wasn’t going through this alone brought tears to my eyes.
Which in itself is very profound because I have been burying my feelings for quite a while now. Smoking is obviously part of that protective habit but wow what a sleeping dragon to wake…
Quitting smoking has shown me how much I use this habit to delay engaging in life, and deny my volatile emotions. I have my reasons — we all do. It’s interesting to see not only the addiction monster creating emotional upheavals but also the rest of the other emotions tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me that my emotions are not demons to be conquered, not ghosts to be feared, just the normal experiential barometer showing me the map of my existential angst.
I have many reasons to want to stay engaged with life, but I am very challenged post covid and smoking has helped me stay in emotionally traumatized avoidance mode.
Perhaps this is also tied to my father’s death a year ago. There’s a lot to unpack there and a heavy amount of identification with smoking from my father and grandfather — who were really heavy smokers.
I learned my smoking addiction from my parents — they were chain smokers so my sister and i were addicted to nicotine from birth on - we just didn’t know it. I had chronic ear infections and can’t count how many times we were accidentally burned by butts that were supposed to go out the car window but flew back in our laps, or begging to have the windows rolled down because the car interior was a smoky haze, or throwing up from “car sickness” but as an adult i realize it was nicotine toxicity from being in the cars “cigarette hot box” for four hours…
Reviewing this memory reminds me that I was a hostage to smoking culture of the 60s and that I am finally free of that.
