‘Why do I berate myself more harshly for eating, than I ever did for smoking?’

I quit smoking on January 4 this year (January 1 felt too much like a cliche). This was the second time I quit smoking. The first time was nearly ten years ago. I hadn’t touched a cigarette during most of that time, but then my Dad was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumour in January 2022 and smoking became somewhat of a lifeline for us both.

Dad had always loved a cig, but rarely enjoyed one. As a teenager I once bumped into him in the bottom of the garden late at night, both of us caught red handed, cigs akimbo. Fast forward to two years ago, and with a terminal diagnosis under his belt, there was no more need for sneaking around.

Initially, I accompanied him for his cigs. We would stroll out to the balcony together, discussing life and death, him remaining ever the stoic. I would enjoy the wafts of his Benson & Hedges, inhaling deeply the moments as well as the second-hand smoke, trying to memorise everything. As the weeks went on, we moved more slowly to the balcony, me supporting him in his walking frame, and I started having the odd cig too, but only if we were having a glass of wine.

More weeks went by and as his condition worsened, I would roll him onto the balcony in his wheelchair, making sure he was tucked up under his purple blanket, onto which he would drop ash and burn cigarette holes as the feeling disappeared from his legs and hands. I would light the cigarettes for him as he could no longer. As I told him how much I loved him, I would light cigarettes for myself too.

Dad died on June 14, 2022 and I stood under that balcony and smoked an entire packet of Benson & Hedges, lighting one off the other.

Over the following two years, as grief ebbed and flowed, I parented two young children and worked hard at a job I love, smoking became my respite. It allowed moments in each day where I could pause life, step away for a moment and breathe.

I am not extolling the virtues of smoking. By the one-year anniversary of Dad’s death, I desperately wanted to stop. I never smoked in front of my kids, but the thought of them even smelling it off me was abhorrent. It took me a whole other year of silently berating myself until I got up the courage to do it. In the end, quitting for the second time was 90 per cent mental strength and 10 per cent nicotine gum. I did it in one fell swoop and I am proud of myself.

Since January 4, a “Quit Smoking” app tells me I’ve saved €642 – and I reckon most of that has gone on crips. Without cigarettes I’m missing a dopamine hit that provided me with essential comfort. Right now, food is taking that place, and that is a move in the right direction, right? So why do I find myself berating myself so much more harshly for eating, than I ever did for smoking?

I had very poor body image throughout my teens and 20s, and it has taken dedicated focus to begin to rewire my brain to accept that my worth has nothing to do with the size or shape of my body. Having lived through the noughties when all that mattered was the size of a woman’s body and having the discipline to deny yourself, I have done a lot of work to get to this place. Therapy, reading, curating my online following, throwing out scales, etc etc. I’ve done it all.

And yet here I am in 2024, my weight intruding on my thoughts multiple times a day. I am far more bothered by a few extra pounds, than I was by a daily habit that was literally killing me. Gone is the pride at putting my health first and in its replacement is a big dollop of shame at my lack of self-control. And it’s not just me, a quick Google search makes it obvious that putting on weight is the number one top concern for people thinking about quitting smoking.

Because when it comes down to it, despite how it might appear, we still live in a world where small bodies are the goal, at any cost. We might read about body neutrality and see content creators of all shapes and sizes demonstrating how beauty doesn’t fit one template, but the reality on the ground is different. You only need to look at the omnipresent success of a drug like Ozempic to understand that people will do anything to be thin.

We talk all the time about wellness and self-care for women, but sometimes it feels like the wellness industry is just the diet industry, cleverly rebranded. It’s just another way to sell us things we don’t need by preventing us from believing that actually, we are good enough just the way we are. Those deeply ingrained beliefs, that were battered into us for decades, aren’t going to go away overnight.

I suppose it boils down to comfort – whether cigs or food. My Dad and I used cigarettes as comfort when we needed it most and I will forever be grateful for those moments. As his health diminished and his body shrunk, my need for comfort grew. Smoking became an essential respite for me. Now, as my health improves, perhaps I can learn to be grateful for my body again. Perhaps I can relearn how to feed the body that allowed me to care for him in his last months, that birthed two children and that carries me onto that balcony still, just minus the lighter. And, perhaps my need for comfort will diminish in tandem. I will certainly keep trying.