Advertisements

Blog Archives

Why You Shouldn’t Tell Anyone You Decided to Quit Smoking

quit smoking

Contrary to popular belief, raking cigarette butts into piles like fall leaves in which one intends to jump is frowned upon.

It seems like almost a decade ago that I made the naive decision to start smoking. Maybe this is because it actually was a decade ago. That means I have probably consumed approximately 35 some odd thousand “joes” as we dubbed them. How appalling.

I was a mere fifteen years old when I decided it was necessary that I begin smoking. It was actually a dual decision made by Jazzy and me. We would do it together. Jazzy and I both maybe 100 pounds each yet were utterly convinced we needed to lose weight. I blame this on our environment at the time. We were just emerging as principal dancers in the ballet company we belonged to, and if you look up ballerina in the dictionary it will read: person who feels the need to achieve perfection at all times.

becca cord in a tutu

The Marlborough Man Marzipan

We were perpetually unsatisfied with our bodies, which I eventually grew out of thankfully, but at the time we scrounged for anything that promised a quick fix towards emaciating ourselves.  This lead to the smoking. We read somewhere back on AOL, in between getting kicked off of the dial-up, that nicotine boosts your metabolism. Thus, we ran with the idea like the stupid tweens that we were.

That 5-year-old, frail as it was stale, Virginia Slim that Jazzy had hidden from her mother when she was a concerned young tot, gave me the worst sensation I had ever felt, tasted and smelled in my entire life. Naturally, I had to have more. That is not to say that you immediately become overwhelmingly addicted to cigarettes after that first puff, but like I said, I was determined.

Fast forward to the present. I am a full believer in the notion that you mentally must be ready to quit and truly want to do so in order to succeed. Don’t quit just because it is more of a turn-off for your new boyfriend than the thought of Lady GaGa’s wiener. Don’t quit just because you want that same boyfriend’s mom to approve of you. Basically, don’t quit for the benefit of someone else. Quit because you are sick of it.

I’ve been sick of smoking for most of this year. Then, after two trips up north where they treat smokers in the same manner as I imagine they treated the witches of Salem, I was beyond sick of it. I began smoking less and less. I knew what time it was better than Flavor Flav and his army of clocks.

How would this be different from the other times I made the attempt but failed? This time, I refused to broadcast my goal to my friends and family. Here are some of the reasons why I didn’t, and why you shouldn’t (note: this goes for giving up anything unhealthy for you).

1. The majority of your affirmations and praise will come from others instead of yourself. Becoming your own cheerleader is the most important. The confidence you will have in yourself will be the most powerful, especially if that confidence is coming from no other sources.

2. Some of your still-smoking friends may tease you, taunt you or worse, ostracize you. They may feel just as uncomfortable smoking around you as you feel not smoking around them. If you don’t announce your decision at the front door, the pressure is off both sides.

3. Let’s say you become seduced by booze and light up. You will know you’ve slipped up, but no one will feel obligated to point it out.  

4. If everyone is tracking your “progress” when those downfalls happen, you won’t have to deal with the added stress of feeling like everyone thinks you failed. That stress can lead to a full-blown smoking relapse. Because, who are you kidding, right?

5. Bottom line: This decision is about you, not everyone else.

In conclusion, I would like to announce that I am not quitting smoking. I just haven’t had a cigarette in a while.

becca cord signature

Advertisements

Paperback Pause

The merit badge handbook grown up girls

[Look! I have a really cheesy cover, and I am cheap, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right? Click my obnoxious cover to buy me on Amazon. Yay!

[Also, the title says “for grown-up girls”, but that shouldn’t stop the fellas from checking it out. Would I steer you wrong? Well, not intentionally at least.]

I returned to reality and a Sunday of cooking stuffed bell peppers with a new addition to slide onto my make-shift bookshelf. In her normal fashion, Booger handed down a book to me as an early Birthday present. Its title is The Merit Badge Handbook for Grown-up Girls by Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas. Her name makes my jaw hurt a bit, and I didn’t even attempt saying it out loud. Filled with activities, projects, goal ideas, and new learning/experience opportunities, you could think of this book as a sort of generalized bucket list and guide. My initial appreciative reaction was quickly followed with eagerness to start flipping pages. Upon doing so, something unexpected happened.

The beginning of this year had me sulking in the realization of all the things I have yet to do in/with my life. I have a hard time being patient when on a quest. Nothing was helping, especially not seeing all the cool stuff other people around me were doing. Then, I began writing again and went from sulking to basking in the new-found determination I had to start doing things. New or different or scary or silly or constructive or whatever kind of things, it didn’t matter. No more ruts. Read the rest of this entry

Drinking Your Dinner is Challenging

Image

Friday night is always pretty magical for us 8 to 5ers. It is finally time to unwind with no fear of the alarm come Saturday morning. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t comprehend this. I found myself greeting the day at a precise 8:05 am. Sigh. I tried to combat the wakefulness, smothering my head back in to my fortress of pillows. Nope, you are wide awake Becca. I eventually succumbed. The only possible option now was to go down to the coffee shop, fuel up with a latte (that I apparently didn’t even need) and start this Saturday off with what other than a blog post.

I have two distinct memories from my Friday. One includes my best friend mistaking a shot cup, that I had adopted as my ash tray, for her beloved Jager. This was almost immediately after the above picture. See that grin gleaming on the left? That would soon turn in to the most unsettling grimace as the floor became painted in the aftermath. She was a good sport about it. She is a trooper. It’s why I keep her around.

The rest of the night consisted of many more Michelob Ultras, a few more shots that didn’t taste like tar, and conversations about men, the mechanics of winking and Tampa.  (more…)

Facebook, Y U Make Me Sad?

This morning, as I do most mornings, I arrived to work my usual fifteen minutes early. I snuggled myself in to my office, opened my files, email, and fired up the web browser. Then I almost mindlessly typed in f-a-c-e, and the rest manifested itself. Facebook. So, I began the trek of scrolling, reading, and taking in every detail until I felt satisfied. Only this morning did I realize it is not ever really satisfaction that I am experiencing. In fact, it is quite the opposite.

This is a relevant link. It is for clicking.

I don’t think I ever made the conscious observation that sifting though people’s Facebook posts could be making me feel less of myself. Nonetheless this is happening. Now, I am a pretty confident and positive person. I have some truely outstanding friends, few yes, but outstanding. I am intelligent and employed (whew). I don’t have a negative self image outside of Victoria Secret, etc. You get the point.  This is exactly why this article had me a little taken aback. Not only did it confirm what I was ignoring but made me feel a bit relieved at the same time, knowing I am not the only one experiencing this. Basically, Facebook is your cool older sibling having a slumber party. He will gladly let you in the room to see what is going on, only eventually to remind you that you weren’t the one with enough friends to have a slumber party of your own. Then he gives you a wedgie or something. Read the rest of this entry

%d bloggers like this: