My Smoking Story

In last month’s post titled The Power of Our Personal Stories to Shape Our Habits, I discussed how our internal narratives can either help, or hinder, our ability to change. I provided two examples of men who sought my help as a hypnotist to quit their 50 year-long smoking habits. I suggested that their success hinged on their willingness to swap out outdated internal stories linked to smoking, for more generative, smoke-free narratives.

I also mentioned that I quit smoking with the support of hypnosis after trying every other smoke cessation technique I could find. What I didn’t say was that I quit twice using this approach. The first time, the change lasted ten months. The second time is still ongoing as I approach my 15^th anniversary as a non-smoker. The key to my long-term success was that I finally let go of my personal smoking story.

This month, I’ve decided to share my own smoking story—the interior narrative that kept me puffing on cigarettes for close to 40 years—that kept me coming back no matter how much I obsessed about quitting forever, or which smoke cessation program I tried.

Similarly to the two clients I discussed in The Power of Our Personal Stories to Shape Our Habits, I held many positive associations with smoking. My father smoked, and to me he was invincible. As a near-sighted, slightly cross-eyed, introverted, non-athletic, slip of a girl, I wanted a piece of that power, despite my differing gender.

I’ve included my story below. It’s written from a third person point of view, because that’s how it came out. I wrote it during a 10-minute timed writing session on February 2, 2026, and the prompt was, “What keeps recurring for you?”

It was the first time I’d ever written something like this and at first it scared me. I wondered what it might reignite within me. I believe the narrative point of view helped me remain safe, however. Even now, as I reread it, it’s as though I’m reading someone else’s story.

Here it is:

The cigarette gave her a reason to live. It’s what pulled her out of sleep in the morning—the thought of that first long drag, followed by a savoury mouthful of her favourite coffee. The cigarette also drew her outside to walks in nature and moments of sitting by streams swatting black flies and mosquitoes. The cigarette attracted her to people and made her chatty, its ring of smoke forming a halo of safety around her while making her feel tough at the same time. It allowed her a protective barrier through which she could narrow her eyes and land a well-aimed Fuck you! at the very moment sans smoke she might have had to run and hide, retreat behind a wall of silence. With a cigarette in hand—sometimes held between thumb and forefinger, sometimes between index and middle depending on her mood—she could feign indifference. Throw its burning ember to the ground, then crush it under the outsole of her high-heeled shoe. She could turn away and disappear into a crowd with barely a look back, leaving just a care-free laugh floating in the smoke behind. Feeling invincible, feeling whole, feeling like she would live forever—the cigarette gave her wings, made her float above others. Created a curtain she could hide behind. Gave her the pause she needed in her day. A reason to withdraw from the inevitable meltdowns that took place just before Christmas dinner. Allowed her a moment of freedom in a strange town. The ability to sit alone at a café on Bank Street at just 16 transforming her breath into a cloak of invisibility and permitting her to smile at strangers. Gave her the right to sit there resting in that moment.

As you can see, on a subconscious level, I believed that smoking empowered me. It became the thing I turned to when I needed strength and confidence. And it probably helped me achieve or survive things I might not have otherwise. Over time, however, it became a chain. I began to believe I couldn’t exist without it. It became hardwired into my psyche. Woven into my identity.

If you’ve never been addicted to anything lethal, you may find it difficult to understand what holds a person to a habit that could kill them. However, I hope my previous post, and this one as well, have provided you with some insight into the role our personal stories play in our lives.

In the near future, I will write more on this topic, as well as what it took for me to change my story so that I could embrace a life without cigarettes.

Did this post resonate with you? Did it give you insight into yourself or someone else? What else would you like to know? I’d love to hear what you think.
Send me a message.