I was 14 when I smoked my first cigarette. I thought it would better my relationship with my father, that somehow smoking would make him see me. SMH. It’s amazing (and sad) what we do to get attention from our parents. 30 years later, I was still the participant of this prison-like ritual. I wanted to stop smoking, but my fear held me back.
The day before Passover I had asked my husband to pick up a pack of cigarettes at the store, but due to the COVID-19 lockdown, the sale of tobacco and alcohol products was prohibited in our country. I’ll never forget as my hubby walked into the house gently telling me the news. I felt something in me panic; the way a caged animal must feel fighting to get free.
I remember mumbling: “I’m not ready for this.” I looked out at our beautiful green garden.
“Maybe this is your Passover,” my husband said.
And so I began to brace myself for the first clawing craving.
The first week was really tough. Everything irritated me. Things made me sad and angry all at the same time. The tumble of emotions started to overwhelm me until the day I gave myself permission to cry. The tears engulfed me and washed through me with such a force that I laid on my bed exhausted. I slept for days. I cried for days. And then, all of a sudden, I felt better. It was like my soul was renewed, like a crisp white piece of paper.
It was during these throes of withdrawal I was introduced to a completely different side of me. It intrigued and scared me. You see, as a child, I was allowed to be happy and content, but tears were seen as drama. So I would take any and all hurt and push it deep inside. As a teenager, I would soothe the hurt by smoking and this continued for the next three decades. All of a sudden this numbing cream, this emotional crutch, was ripped away.
Now that I’ve kicked smoking things have changed. I am very direct in my speech. My thoughts are much clearer and that nagging screeching voice that used to tell me I’m not kind enough, I made too many mistakes, or I will never be good enough has disappeared. I feel a sense of encouragement after neglecting that feeling for years. I love it.
It feels like I have been born into a new world. It looks and feels so much different from the previous version. For example, we went to buy our groceries, and for the first time, I could drive my car like a normal person. Usually, I had this feeling chasing me, and I had to get there by driving as fast as I could to get my next hit of nicotine (which I can only presume caused my husband a lot of stress).
Many people feel that they are in prison during this COVID-19 lockdown. Hurrying through stores, snatching essential goods, wearing masks. Smiling cautiously at fellow shoppers while upholding social distancing feels so surreal. But I also see thankfulness growing in the most peculiar of ways.
Recently, we were given permission to exercise outside our homes as the lockdown begins to ease. Exercise is something many of us did every day without a second thought. The other day, as we were walking through the forest, a beautiful sense of peace came upon me. My lungs weren’t burning. The nagging cough was gone. And the forest smelled like pine needles and grass. I kissed my husband with my smoke-free lips. I was released from my prison and quietly thanked God for His grace.
When this ends it will feel like a new world; how a bear must feel when he wakes up from hibernation. Sure, it will feel uncomfortable at times wearing masks, slathering disinfectant on our hands, and keeping so much distance between each other. People are going to make mistakes. Stores are going to make mistakes. Governments are going to make mistakes. But we have it in us to be merciful and kind towards one another and just as importantly, toward ourselves. If you need to cry, cry. If you are angry, sad, or irritated, share your feelings. Maybe the struggle will allow you to pass over into your promised land.
