I never really wanted to quit.

I had started chewing tobacco in college. I liked it. A lot. It was probably the same crutch for me as it was for a lot of people here, as I felt that I needed it, particularly when I was doing certain things. It was a constant companion that I thoroughly enjoyed.

I went through iterations of a lot of the same things that others in here went through. Brief flashes of determination to quit. Brief feelings of fright when the inside of my mouth would get raw. But the iterations were never anything more than brief and fleeting. I never really wanted to quit.

I got married to a wonderful woman after college. She found out despite my lame attempts to blame the cans she found on someone else. I kept coming up with different hiding places and she kept finding them, alternating between yelling, crying, and pleading. Then she stopped finding them as often. While I concluded that my hiding places were getting more awesome, what had really happened is that she had reluctantly and painfully accepted the fact that I was a liar. While I continued to do what I wanted to do, she had resigned herself to the fact that her marriage, and our relationship, simply wasn't what she had always dreamed it would be. And she stayed anyway.

We had children. Two wonderful boys. And every six months or so, she would find one of the signs of my addiction. She would talk softly or cry as she pleaded with me to quit, or sometimes she would subtly leave an encouraging note where I would find it.

As the boys got older, sometimes she would have each of them leave a note, either in my car or in my gym bag. They knew.

These were the times that the brief flashes of determination would arise. But they were always brief and looking back, it is obvious to me that I never, ever really made an attempt to quit.

Things continued as they had.

Until one day earlier this year.

It was one of those times in which she found a can in my gym bag. She didn't yell. She had the can in her hand and she was crying. Softly. I stood there...seeing for the first time how badly she was hurting. She said that this was the only hole in our marriage. She reminded me that she had lived with this unfulfilling void for sixteen years. She said that she admired me in every way but this. She said she believed that I could do anything I set my mind to do, and that she knew I would do anything for her and the boys. Then she said that she didn't understand why I refused to do this.

She left the room then, still crying. I stood there by myself like I had so many times before, but this time, something was different. I hurt inside – I was instantly ashamed, instead of being mad that she had thrown out a brand new can. I had this sick feeling in my stomach and I saw what this had done to her with a clarity that I had missed before. I had never felt so ashamed in my life and my heart ached, in part because of what I had done and in part because the three of them had loved me unconditionally despite my destructive selfishness.

My loving wife... Those two sweet, innocent little boys...

It instantly occurred to me that I was simply not, and never had been, the husband and father that my family deserved.

I don't know why it took so long. I don't know why I didn't listen before or what it was about her on that day in March that struck me. But something had. Something was different and the inclination to use tobacco was gone. I knew that I would never use tobacco again.

I found the site and signed on. Early in those days, my wife and I sat at the supper table after the boys had gone upstairs to get ready for bed. And I told her that I had something to confess. But before I could begin to speak, I began to cry.

Weeping softly, I told her that I had never really quit. I told her that I had lied to her for the last sixteen years. From across the table that we had shared for half our lives, I told her how sorry I was and how badly I felt. I told her that I wanted to be everything to her and to provide her with that which she deserved. And I cried.

I cried partly because of the terrible shame I felt. But I think I cried mostly because of her perfectness. Her tolerance had never waivered – For years, I had robbed her of a significant piece of what marriage is supposed to be, but she never faltered in her love or commitment.

I cried because she is as selfless and giving as I had been selfish and self-centered.
I cried because I need to be more like her...

I have posted here because it helps me. Unlike most of you, I don't seem to have formed many close relationships here and I very much doubt that anything I've posted has been an inspiration to anyone.

But I am going to continue to post because it helps me.

And that, in turn, helps me to finally be the husband and father that my family deserves...