The 3 Vices I Was Finally Able to Quit

I had been addicted to pot, alcohol and cigarettes.

By

Susan Shapiro

 
Published March 19, 2026
Jon Krause

I was in 9th grade when I reached for my first cigarette, glass of wine and joint. It seemed like a fun, cool escape from social awkwardness. I didn’t know I’d get hooked for 27 years.

Trying to quit smoking, toking or drinking cold turkey felt impossible. I’d sweat, shake, gain weight, lose sleep and rush back to my bad habits. Then, when I turned 40, my husband yelled: “I can’t be married to someone who’s drunk and stoned every night. You have to stop.”

“You can’t quit for someone else!” I argued.

But I actually could — especially when he offered to pay for a substance abuse specialist. I didn’t even know there was one-to-one treatment to stop addiction. It was $125 a pop, but our insurance reimbursed us for most of it.

When the doctor asked why I was depressed, I told him I wasn’t.

“Underneath every substance problem I’ve ever seen is a deep depression that feels unbearable,” he countered. “It’s not, but it feels that way.”

At 41, right after September 11, I was reeling, living two miles from where the Twin Towers fell. “I know people my age who died. I feel like I could die tomorrow and never have gotten what I wanted most,” I blurted out.

“What do you want most?” the doctor asked.

I admitted there were problems in my marriage and career. I’d been broke, trying to sell a book for seven years and getting rejected everywhere.

He felt my bad habits were hurting me and promised: “If you commit to seeing me once a week, in a year you’ll be smoke- and drug-free and publish your book.”

“But I’m not really ready to change everything,” I argued.

“The only way to change is to change. Understanding follows,” he said, explaining nobody’s ever ready to change. He warned that I’d probably feel lousy for a year. We picked a date to quit cigarettes in October — intentionally not January 1, which had too high expectations.

When I asked how to stay clean, smoke-free and sober, he said: “Lead the least secretive life you can.” With our weekly sessions, I uncovered the underlying insecurities and anxiety causing my addictions.

I used to wake up and decide to cease cigarettes, pot and alcohol at once. No wonder I’d go nuts, relapse and feel like a failure. Instead, I focused on one goal at a time — first up was my pack-a-day tobacco dependence. I used the nicotine patch every morning, journaled about my weird patch dreams and slowly weaned myself off them to avoid extreme withdrawal symptoms.

I made my home a smoke-free zone (where guests had to go outside to puff), avoided places that allowed cigarettes and used cinnamon sticks to quench my oral fixation. After six months, my next assignment was going pot-free.

“You depend on substances, not people,” the doctor told me in one session. “It’s better to rely on humans, even when they’re unreliable.”

Instead of bars, soirees and concerts where I’d be tempted, I scheduled walking-talking dates with my students and comrades. My husband held me for one hour every night without speaking while we watched TV or a movie so we couldn’t argue. It was soothing.

I next quit cannabis, then alcohol. Sober buddies were on call when I feared I’d relapse. My friend Karen would say, “Hey, let’s go out and get some water.”

Though I was told you can’t do it alone and need help quitting an addiction (whether it’s a mentor, counselor, sponsor, accountability partner or cohort), I never felt comfortable at Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous and Marijuana Addicts Anonymous since people were smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee and eating donuts. All this while I tried to avoid nicotine, caffeine and carbs.

Instead, I found comfort teaching college journalism classes at night, going to literary events and joining two weekly writing workshops.

“When you’re feeling uncomfortable, don’t smoke, drink, drug, eat or screw it away. Let your feelings tell their own story,” my doctor advised. I’d write down why I was upset, let myself cry, scream or feel depressed. If someone asked, I’d say, “I’m in a mood.”

“Learn how to suffer well,” he suggested.

When I lost my father, I mourned by staying home, sitting on the couch under the blanket and watching Judge Judy reruns. I’ve since allowed myself that same grace, even if the reason for my mood or grief isn’t as clear or immediate.

I thought I’d conquered my substance abuse. Then I chewed gum so obsessively it led to cavities. Sugar-free gum gave me stomachaches. “You have such an addictive personality, you could get hooked on carrot sticks,” the doctor warned, calling my behavior “the substance shuffle.” When stressed, I found myself hooked on other dependencies like caffeine, diet soda, cake frosting, popcorn and cough syrup that helped me sleep.

Since I could wind up dependent on anything, I had to be vigilant with my diet, work and exercise schedule. After a year, I was closer to my husband, and I’d sold three books and tripled my income.

I admit I became a workaholic — my Type A personality transferring to yet another compulsion. I realized I was always in recovery, never fully recovered. I remained careful not to overdo everything or spend time in environments where others would be puffing away, getting high or drunk lest I get a contact buzz and want more.

I tried to maintain a careful diet (knowing I’m one cupcake away from relapse), watch my sleep habits (as sleep deprivation lowers resistance to EVERYTHING) and never cancel plans based on my mood, as letting emotions reign will often lead an addict back to using.

Now clean and sober for two decades, I’m celebrating my 30th wedding anniversary this summer. Whenever I crave a smoke, drug or junk food, I call my mom or my college roommate, swim laps, take a walk (13,000 steps a day) or journal. I’ve kept publishing books, including one with my former addiction specialist called Unhooked, which was a New York Times bestseller.

Turns out, when you stop a toxic habit, you leave room for something more beautiful to take its place.

Susan Shapiro is the author/coauthor of 18 books her family hates, like the memoirs Lighting Up, The Forgiveness Tour and Five Men Who Broke My Heart, recently optioned for a movie. She now teaches her popular “instant gratification takes too long” writing/publishing classes online. You can follow her on Instagram or email her at Profsue123@gmail.com

Susan Shapiro is the author/coauthor of books her family hates, like the memoirs The Forgiveness Tour and Five Men Who Broke My Heart, recently optioned for a movie. She now teaches her popular “instant gratification takes too long” writing/publishing classes online. You can follow her on Instagram or email her at Profsue123@gmail.com.