210 cigarettes not smoked.
Sometimes, it's been pretty easy, all things considered.
Sometimes, it's been downright (nearly) overwhelming, by comparison.
My quit is just a baby quit, so far. Kicking, crying, fussy, and completely dependent upon me to protect it.
Before I quit, the idea I could go over ten days without a cigarette - not even ONE cigarette - was something I couldn't wrap my brain around.
Now, it seems like the blink of an eye, a wisp of a moment, almost hard to recall (thank God I'm keeping a journal).
My quit is a baby, and it's got lungs! My quit can scream when it is awakened. It's up to me to comfort it, to hold it, to treat my quit with tenderness and love.
I've such a long ways to go before my quit is all grown up and mature and able to stand on it's own. I can't travel forward in time, and I can't make time move any more swiftly.
So I must accept each precious moment as it comes, and savor the sweet little victories, and acknowledge and accept that there will be struggles, and stay focused.
My quit is me, and I am my quit.