(This article was originally published in two parts on my journal at my weight-loss support site.)
I’m not even sure when it started. Up until I was nineteen or twenty, I was a “social smoker” at best, smoking only when I was drinking (which wasn’t often because I didn't have the money for it). And then my “Irish twin” sister (eleven months younger than me) was smoking; then my best friends were smoking as well.
And then, one morning, I was smoking in the kitchen when my father walked in. It wasn’t just that he was disappointed (a pack-a-day man himself, he would eventually die of complications from emphysema), it was also then that I’d realized I’d fallen into the habit without meaning to ... or wanting to.