Monday, September 8, 2008

Some Addictions Begin With the Best of Intentions

We were discussing the things we hold on to, some people and I.

It was an interesting conversation, all about when to let go, what to let go of, what we want to hold on to. Sometimes it's not a conscious decision that makes sense. Mostly, it's not. (so you know). Our somatic self, our feeling body, that younger us that is our emotional self and connected and governed by our limbic brain and enteric nervous system, that part of us determines the unconscious comforts that can too often fall into addictions.

My son was getting ready to go off to College. All through High School he has been the nonsmoker among his friends. He never liked his father smoking, he didn't like the smell, the taste, and had had no attraction to it. He had criticized his father and over the years, begged him to quit. To his credit, his Dad has been 'quitting' smoking, and was down to taking a few puffs now and then outside, but this was a sneak. You know? None of us were really supposed to know.

This particular evening, I was in bed, and Dad went out on the deck to light one up. As he gazed around, his eyes went up to the roof, and there our son sitting with a lit cigarette in his hand. Both yelled at the other. Caught. There they were, both outraged at the other!

When my son came down to breakfast, he was mostly curious about his own behavior-why had he finally decided to try one? Why now? He knew he'd always had the opportunity, and he didn't get himself. He hadn't liked it, but somehow it had felt right. "Mom, why now? I could have smoked anytime. I've never wanted to. Didn't even like it. Why now?"

That was easy to explain. Unconscious comfort. I started scrambling the eggs as we talked. Kitchens are great for talks, aren't they?

"You're about to leave home for the first time. The smell of your Dad's cigarette smoke means home and safety and comfort. This is how it starts sometimes. We have an association. If you aren't careful you'll light up a cigarette every time your miss us, as an unconscious attempt to bring us closer." He nodded as I explained it.

"Your father didn't start to smoke until he left his home at twenty. His father had smoked, but your Dad had never smoked when he was home, only after he left. You're getting ready to leave, and your father smokes. It's a way of taking something of him with you, something familiar." He nodded. He got it.

I said, "Do what I did. I took a bottle of Old Spice with me when I left home and I put it in the medicine chest so I could see it every day. When I felt lonely or lost, I would go into the bathroom and smell it and remember my father's strength and love." He smiled. Smart kid, I only had to explain it once.

I kept thinking about it though. It's why I would particularly eat Fig Newtons when I was sad; my favorite Grandfather's treat. It brought him closer to me. I think it's why my husband's smoking has never really bother me, even though I don't like cigarette smoke.

My grandfather always smoked a pipe! I would see the smoke curling around his head as he watched tv and know that I was safe, anchored to that smell and the sight of the smoke in the air. His fingers would smell of tobacco, and my limbic brain had anchored smoking to comfort, home and safety. Why would I object? The smell of a pipe brings a smile to me. It means home.

Smells go straight to the limbic brain, straight to the amygdala, the somatic memory center of the brain. I think taste goes there too-joined hand in hand to smell, anchoring memories and experiences, but no one has proven that yet that I can tell. That smell of a pipe transports me back in time.

Time is a funny thing. It's elastic, isn't it? One whiff and we're back. Sometimes what later becomes an addiction, like smoking, starts out with the best of intentions. If we hadn't talked that morning over scrambling eggs, he might have continued trying to anchor home to a cigarette...as it is, he's never bothered to light one up again.

He's relieved actually, that he doesn't 'have to' start smoking to be 'home'. Me too!