Ismoked my first cigarette at 18. My ex-boyfriend gave it to me, and we smoked it rather sneakily out my bedroom window, careful not to set off the fire alarm. I coughed so much I nearly got sick, all the while trying to act nonchalant and oh so demure. And somehow, despite the coughing fit, I was hooked. Not on nicotine, but the ritual.

From there, I smoked all the time. Through college and into my twenties, cigarettes were a fixture. Rolling them, lighting them, sharing them – it was constant. But if I’m honest, it was never just about the cigarette itself. I was addicted to the rhythm of it. The little break it gave you. The excuse to step outside, collect yourself, and, without even trying, end up in a conversation that felt a bit more interesting than whatever you had just walked awa

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