My name is Nancy, and today marks 183 days—a full half year—since I quit! I started chewing in 1978 while studying at the University of Montana School of Forestry. Back then, a couple of us girls wanted to get back at the guys who would spit on us from up in the trees while we collected Norway maple seeds for a fundraiser. To retaliate, we started chewing Beech-Nut, the same brand most of them were using.
That summer, I switched to Copenhagen while working my first season with the Forest Service—because that’s what all the guys on my crew chewed. I threw up several times when I first started and again when I switched to Copenhagen. You’d think I’d have been smart enough to realize it was poison.
At one point, my boss told me I wasn’t going to make District Ranger because of my spitting habit. So, I quit…spitting. Not chewing. I went ninja, hiding my habit so I could chew everywhere, all the time—work, church, airplanes. I even had a lip full of chew while in labor with my son. I did manage to quit for three months during my pregnancy, but I caved.
Like most of us here, I’ve quit more times than I can count. My longest quit was four years, but the nic bitch got me again—this time from a convenience store shelf. “Just one can won’t hurt,” she whispered. Five years later, I was still hooked and desperate to quit.
I tried everything. I went to therapy, which helped me understand why I was addicted. Like many, I thought nicotine helped me manage stress and anxiety. But even with this insight, I couldn’t seem to quit. At one point, I read that psychedelic mushrooms often help break addictions. So, I traveled to a retreat outside of Amsterdam in the Netherlands. It was an incredible experience—but I was still a slave to Copenhagen.
I found another therapist who suggested I hold a funeral for my addiction. He encouraged me to grieve the loss of nicotine as if I were mourning a loved one. I set the funeral date for Memorial Day 2024.
Luckily, I discovered KTC a few days before. @Justin30WSM (Sep 23) and
@EdT3329 (Nov 21) urged me to quit immediately, but I stuck to my plan. On that Monday, I drove three hours to a special place, hiked in, buried my cans, read a eulogy, and drove home.
@UncleBubba (Feb ’04) welcomed me into September 2024, and here I am—183 days later. My quit hasn’t been easy, and I’ve learned that 100 days isn’t some magical number. What’s made the difference for me is waking up every day, making my promise to my brothers in the Mud Wizards, and holding myself accountable.
I know how easy it is to cave, but I also know I’ve got a lot of people here ready to help me—and I’m ready to help them too.
