My Quitting Smoking Journey Isn’t Romantic It’s Personal

I’ve quit a lot of things in my life.

Drinking was one of them.

Back when I found out I was pregnant, alcohol stopped being part of my day to day without much resistance. These days, I only drink on vacation, and even then, maybe once or twice the entire trip. My body can’t tolerate liquor the way it used to. The taste doesn’t hit the same, the buzz isn’t worth it, and apparently my stomach now takes offense. I tried a mango margarita Cutwater recently, and it gave me instant heartburn. Loudly. Lesson learned.

But cigarettes stayed.

I used to joke about it. Little miss whiskey neat and a pack of smokes, with a cigarette holder between my fingers like I was Audrey Hepburn in my own head. People knew me for it. It was part of my image, part of my edge, part of who I was in my twenties, when life was loud, reckless, kid free, and wide open. Somewhere in my brain, smoking still lives in that era. My nostalgic side clings to it like a memory I don’t want to fully let go of.

I thought quitting drinking would naturally lead to quitting smoking.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, cigarettes became my stress response. The thing I reach for when I’m overwhelmed, touched out, mentally fried, or emotionally spent. I don’t smoke the way I used to, but I sneak cigarettes now. Quiet ones. Quick ones. The kind you don’t brag about and definitely don’t feel proud of.

And that’s the part that scares me.

Because when something becomes your fix, it stops being a habit and starts being a problem.

I’ve tried to quit more times than I can count. Cold turkey. Gum. Water. Food. Chewing on anything that would keep my mouth busy. Patches. Prescription pills from my doctor. Every responsible option available. The longest I made it was a week, and that week was brutal. I was sick, irritable, miserable. Cigarettes tasted awful by the end of it, but somehow that still didn’t stop me. It was winter, freezing outside, and even that wasn’t enough to fully break the cycle.

I know myself well enough to admit this. I’m stubborn. If I want something, I’ll do it, even when I know better. That’s both my strength and my downfall.

And no, replacing cigarettes with weed isn’t an option. One hit, and I’ll fall asleep standing up. Sleep deprivation and THC do not coexist peacefully in my body.

I want smoking to be over. Completely. Not reduced. Not only when stressed. Not replaced with another crutch. I want it gone.

But I’m also honest enough to say this isn’t about nicotine alone. It’s about grief for an old version of myself. A life that didn’t require so much restraint. A time when my coping mechanisms didn’t have to be healthy because the stakes weren’t this high.

Reset and Rise isn’t about pretending change is graceful. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable, messy, and deeply personal. This is one of those moments for me.

Let’s Talk

If you’ve quit smoking, or are trying to, how did you actually do it? Not the textbook answer. The real one.

What finally made it stick? What failed before it worked?

And if you’re still in it, what keeps pulling you back?

I’m listening. I’m open. And I’m ready to hear what worked for you, because clearly, I haven’t cracked this yet.