A ramble - a walk in the dark and the park….
HONOUR
It was a dark, rainy night and I was curled up with a book but not really reading. My mind was wandering all over that word…h o n o u r. Other words joined in the march – promises, failures, quits, shame, elation, frustration, and freedom.
I spent so much time quitting smoking…only to return to it…time after time. I quit for my children especially Andrew, quit for my grandchildren, tried my best to quit by choosing very special days with important meanings…anniversaries, birthdays, dates of a death in the family…only to lose it. I quit too because others bugged me to quit. I think of all the times I quit and made someone else happy.
But I remained miserable…and smoking.
So many thoughts! Why had I taken up this nasty habit in the first place? Why was I continuing it? Long after I knew it was affecting my health and my ability to laugh (a laugh always ended up in a coughing spell…and laughing was one of those things I enjoyed so much!) I still smoked.
The dastardly childhood years from age 6 to 14…age 6 when my mother died and left me with a family that didn’t want me. I spent days being in bed without food or water, suffered blows from a yardstick, strap, or cane that were meant to silence me and bring me into line with what was expected of me. Then there were the days of being shut down in a cold, dark, damp cellar hatch where all manner of bugs and mice crawled on me, dropped on me…and played havoc with my sanity. Screams and shouts meant a prolonged stay so I learned to be quiet…to find a shelter, a refuge from the assaults. My only salvation came in the form of a small bundle of wood that I stood upon and the light from that one little window shone on me…creating a feeling of safety, security. On a daily basis, to survive, I had to learn how to be silent and blend into the woodwork. I learned how not to attract attention…I became a nobody, a nothing and this was certainly reinforced when at home I was referred to as ‘the thing’. I had lost my name…and for quite a few years, I lost myself.
Yet, I had another life in my childhood; one that I lived outside the confines of that house. I had school…and my teachers. God bless every one of those people…especially Margaret MacKenzie, my grade 2 teacher. She is the one who gave me hope that good people, people who cared, still lived in the world. Miss MacKenzie loved the little stories I would tell. She encouraged me to write, and write, and write. I did and I still do. In those days, a teacher could have physical contact with the students and my hugs…the love I was missing at home…came from those teachers. I loved school and always did well because I was in a safe place. My happy place existed from 9 until 3:30 each school day.
Years later, out of the blue one day, I decided to quit smoking. I realized I needed to but it was a big step for me. Smoking had been, for so many years my shield between me and a world of hurting. I didn’t know that then…but came to understand that smoking had been such a pain killer for me. I could hide so well in my smoke filled world…and no one would notice me. It was my pile of wood with the sun shining on my face.
I accidentally stumbled upon Blairsville after giving up a quit and was trying to quit again. I came to BV and meet a group of people who were trying to quit smoking…just as I was. I learned that for a few, it was an easy task. There were others who had a difficult time, and they struggled through quit after quit. But the one thing I noticed was that they kept coming back looking for the same freedom from smoking that I wanted but didn’t know how to capture.
There were the early days of coming to the board where I found that I couldn’t ‘talk’. I had so much to say, so much to be rid of…and no way to say it. That’s when ‘Margaret’ showed up – the child in me who on occasion let the flood gates open to wash the hurt away from the early years of childhood in the telling. The hurts have lost their power, lessened with each recounting, every visit to the past.
To me, my life is like a well worn, very used and much loved quilt…intact and faded but still useful. I am that quilt – a Baltimore Album – a quilt full of meanings and experiences that the quilter is sharing with the world…much like my life and all the events that make me the person that I am today. Each piece has its place in the make up of the whole quilt.
I began life as a beautiful raw quilt that someone was making. I now realize I had a strong, loving, secure foundation but was smothered for a time, forgotten – shut away…but once uncovered; the substance, the person that was once me had always been there and still is. Though quiet for a time…perhaps too long a time…I am now stronger for my experiences, more confident and sure, decisive. I came to know that I was worth saving. I have value.
BV has played a major role in helping me realize that I could do it…I could save myself. My early days at BV helped me in teaching me how to quit. I’d post…and force myself to wait. One word or a few sometimes was all it took to help me hold on…a quick little response from someone. A simple hug sent my way made a day bearable. Often, there was no one at BV so I just ‘talked’ to myself in print. It helped. Studying what everyone else was doing and listening when offered advice, trying people’s suggestions helped me. I shared. I learned that by helping someone else, I was helping myself. I also learned how to ask for help. I stood up and spoke.
The most important things I learned at BV are that decision making, determination, and waiting make a quit successful but only if you stick with it. I learned that I am an addict and I feel that…which to me, is more important that just knowing it. I also learned the hard way that there is no such thing as ‘just a puff’ when you are an addict. To me, a puff is a carton or two…or three…as there is no such thing as one in my world. I’ve also learned - now that my skin is not covered with a smoke screen, it is as thin as tissue paper. I am easily hurt…and I had to learn how to take what I need and leave the rest. I had to learn how to read what people were saying…and how to write. Without the diversion of putting all the words in print these past few months, and in reading others’ posts, I may have become lost again in that smoky world again.
I knew I needed to quit….and stay quit if I wanted any quality of life at all. I not only had to find a way to quit but a reason and a reminder as to why I didn’t want to smoke. Honour is defined as the act of doing something to make somebody feel proud and pleased by agreeing to do something for that person. The person I want to feel proud of me is me. I needed to quit. I needed to honour me.
THM – To Honour Myself
For all these minutes, hours, days, and weeks, THM has helped me to put things into perspective. I am saving me by honouring myself.
How many nights lately have I stretched out in bed, tired from a long day…only to feel panic set in as my mind drifted to thinking about writing a ramble? What does a person say that adequately describes the feelings of reaching a whole year of not smoking? What does one say so that you will understand what it took, what I went through on sometimes a minute to minute struggle for weeks at a time to just stay quit?
And then I remember. I am talking to you and you will understand…as you are on this journey with me, doing the same thing I was and am doing. You have quit smoking. So have I.
The minutes, hours have stretched into days of learning how to wait…how to say no. I did it! I made it to my first year and am feeling so proud, so satisfied that I could just burst! It’s still almost unbelievable.
There are too many people to thank so let me just say this. To all the Miss MacKenzie’s, past and present, in my life, I offer you a heartfelt thank you. Each and every one of you is an angel who has touched my life in some way.
THM
I will not smoke today.
Marvella
THM - To Honour Myself.
A day is all I need to do. I need not worry about the future or fret over a lifetime of days. I need only worry about today.
I was and am a smoker who doesn’t smoke a day at a time. Thanks (((Jan my Jan))).
