I Quit Smoking. Here's What I Hope it Taught My Son

It would be great if children automatically inherited only our better qualities. But realistically, observant kids notice all sorts of examples set by authority figures—good ones, like making the bed, and not-so-good ones like smoking.

I grew up in the ‘80s in a smoking household. Everyone smoked—My parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents. At 14 years old, my friends and I hid behind some bushes and tried a cigarette. Everyone coughed but me; when I took that first puff, it went down as smooth as silk.

It didn’t take long to become a pretty regular smoker, especially with cigarettes at my disposal at home. One morning, when I was about 17, I decided to see if I was really addicted by not smoking for a whole day. I figured there was no way it had a hold on me yet.

I was going completely squirrelly by dinnertime. So, I decided, I’d just be a smoker.

For years, I tried to give up the habit. I made quitting a goal on my 30th birthday, on my 40th, on many New Year’s Eves, when I started a new job, spontaneously on an arbitrary Wednesday — but with no luck. I’d make it a few weeks and then buckle. I loved smoking. Cigarettes were my best friend. I loved those gross, first-thing-in-the-morning smokes, the after-dinner cigs, the cigarettes with coffee and the social cigarettes. It was my reward system and my support system.

Once I hit my 40s, the guilt of needing to quit weighed heavily on me. I had family members die of lung cancer, I had my own smoker’s cough and I had an 11-year-old who was now very aware of how unhealthy my smoking was. Though I’d tried quitting so many times, I didn’t know where to start. So, I made an appointment with a psychiatrist specializing in addiction.

With therapy, fidget spinners and a quit-smoking antidepressant called Zyban, I’ve been nine months cigarette-free.

Setting myself up for success

I invested two months in preparing to quit. I did sessions with my psychiatrist every two weeks and homework in between. So, when January 22nd, my infamous quit-smoking date arrived, I knew it was now or never. I couldn’t be more prepared. I had to do it. And for the first time, I went into quitting smoking feeling empowered because I had so much knowledge about my addiction. I finally felt ready to go through with it.

My son's role in the journey

I have a very open household and don’t hide much from my son. As he got older and more aware of my smoking, I would explain to him how much I regretted the habit, how frustrated I was that it had such a hold on me and why he should never try smoking in the first place. My philosophy was, “Do as I say, not as I do.” I hesitated to tell him when I decided to quit so I wouldn’t disappoint him if I started up again. But then I realized, what if I succeeded? He would be so proud.

I told him everything: that I wanted to quit and that I’d be starting therapy. After my first session, he greeted me at the door to ask how it was and he followed up with me after every appointment. The morning I quit, he left Post-it notes around the house with words of encouragement and continued to for weeks afterward.

One Friday night, about three weeks in, my son noticed that I was struggling. The next morning, he went on a planned shopping trip with his grandmother and returned with a gift bag for me—a crossword puzzle book, a gardening kit and my favourite chocolate bars, all purchased with his own money to help me keep busy. I teared up.

People forget to check in when you quit smoking and that’s okay because life gets busy. But the one person who regularly asks how it’s going is my 11-year-old. He asks me how long it’s been since I quit. He congratulates me. And it is so reaffirming when he does.

Lessons I hope my son learned

Some may argue that kids shouldn’t be burdened with adult problems, like addiction, but I really wanted to make my journey an important, life-saving lesson for my son. He’d seen me smoke his entire life, huddled outside in freezing temperatures to get my fix and stinky when I’d duck back inside. I wanted him to see how hard it was to stop smoking so that when his friends are hiding in the bushes with a cigarette, he’ll remember what his mom went through and won’t even try it.

We learn by observation and he’s really observed it all, from smoker to non-smoker. He’s seen for himself that, in the end, smoking just wasn’t worth it.

How quitting has changed our relationship

Shielding my son from the raw truth would not have served any purpose. My parents only gave up cigarettes years after I’d moved out, long after my childhood self had advised them to quit. I never saw what they had to go through to finally quit.

When my son asks me why I was able to quit this time around, I say it’s because of him. He kept me accountable, he supported me and, at the end of the day, I want to be around to watch him grow up.