No doubt about it—I still argue with my mother. And yes, I know I’m a grown man. But there’s something about our dynamic that still hits me in that raw place, like I’m a 59-year-old abused child trying to make sense of old wounds. The tough love, the brutal abandonment, the gaslighting, and those tiny strings of control she tugs on—it’s a perfect storm of triggers.
Ironically, during our last call, she said, “Don’t get upset—you might smoke.” Well, guess what? She was right. I lit up two or three cigarettes right after I hung up. It wasn’t even satisfying—it just deepened the feeling that I’d lost control of the moment. That’s not how I want to smoke.
If I’m going to light one up, I’d rather it be after a great meal. Or after sex with a girlfriend. Not after a screaming match with my mother. Not after revisiting every childhood trauma in a five-minute phone call.
Today’s Progress:
It’s been a rough one. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’ve gone through nearly two packs already—which, stretched over what would normally be a full day, comes out to about a pack a day. Not great, but I’m not giving up.
I’m preparing to try the patches again later this week. I’ve set a goal: smoke-free by next Tuesday, which also happens to be my final cessation class. That feels like a milestone I can work toward.
So here’s to progress, not perfection. Here’s to trying again. And here’s to learning what my triggers are—especially the emotional ones—so I can break the cycle.
Wish me luck.
by Dan and Bonkers
