Parenting
By Jessica Lane
Updated: Dec. 18, 2023
Originally Published: June 11, 2015
It all began in a secluded canyon where I met my friend, Sarah. She lit a cigarette and handed it to me, and I couldn’t help but admire its slender form as the wisps of smoke danced into the dry California air. My first puff sent me into a coughing fit, but I quickly adapted.
Before long, smoking became a regular weekend escape. Whether hanging out with Sarah in the canyon or sneaking cigarettes in her backyard, I felt a sense of rebellion that was thrilling. My friends and I would gather in parking lots, sharing laughs and smoke, forming a bond over this shared indulgence.
Before I knew it, I was a daily smoker. I tucked a pack of Marlboro Lights away in my underwear drawer, often taking one out at night just to savor the smell. I was well on my way to becoming a true addict.
When I found out I was pregnant at 19, I made the decision to quit. I managed to stay smoke-free for a few weeks after my son was born, but as soon as he was asleep, I would sneak out to the patio for a quick smoke. For me, a cigarette was a much-needed relaxation tool—a quick fix that calmed my high-strung nerves. I would often talk on the cordless phone just outside the sliding door, always able to hear my baby if he stirred. I justified it in many ways: I wasn’t drinking or doing drugs, I wasn’t smoking around the baby, and honestly, I loved it.
Throughout my adult life, smoking became my escape from the demands of parenting and societal expectations. My husband and I, both smokers in our early twenties, would retreat to the patio for a smoke and a chat, momentarily shedding the weight of our responsibilities. Those evenings, filled with laughter and intimacy, felt like a world away from our daily roles.
After my daughter was born eight years later, I knew it was time to quit for my children. I couldn’t bear the thought of explaining why I chose to engage in something that could harm me, nor did I want to risk setting them up to justify smoking when they reached their teenage years.
Still, I can’t shake the longing for smoking. I miss it when I relax with a cold beer in the evenings, savoring the tranquility. The way smoke swirled around me added a unique ambiance to everyday life. I miss curling up with a crime novel, cigarette in hand, or enjoying a post-intimacy smoke, feeling that satisfying release.
Even sipping hot coffee while trying to spark creativity reminds me of those moments—how good it felt to take a drag between sips. Society often dictates that grown-ups shouldn’t crave things that are harmful—whether that harm comes from unhealthy relationships, work stress, or lung damage. Yet, the emotional, sensual, and intellectual pleasures that smoking offered are hard to forget, even years later.
I’ve tried yoga, running, and hiking—all recognized methods for relaxation—but none replicate that unique serenity that smoking provided. As a writer, the combination of a notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other was a ritual that sparked my creativity, with ideas swirling around me like smoke.
It feels strange to feel nostalgic about something so harmful as a thin tube of nicotine, so I keep these feelings mostly to myself. However, as I grow older, I find myself caring less about whether others understand my feelings about my life choices. The more I connect with my loved ones, the more I realize the importance of knowing myself and making choices that feel right for me. I’m grateful I quit, but a part of me still yearns for smoking.
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Summary
This blog reflects on the author’s journey of quitting smoking for her children while grappling with the nostalgia and longing for the habit that once provided moments of relaxation and creativity. It highlights the conflict between personal desires and parental responsibilities, ultimately celebrating the choice to quit while acknowledging the lingering cravings that remain.
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