My religious family found out that I smoke.
My family found out I smoke. My religious family found out I smoke. The words still echo in my head like a bad dream. How can I tell my family that I smoke? What are some ways that I could hide the smoke smell from my family? These were questions I had asked myself for years—questions I thought I had all the answers to. I was careful, methodical even. But still, I got caught.
It all started with a suspicion, a lingering scent I thought I had washed away. The layers of perfume, the extra showers, the obsessive laundry routine—none of it mattered when my mother leaned in for a hug and pulled back with a look I’ll never forget. That moment was the beginning of the end.
How I Hid It for So Long
I wasn’t careless. I knew exactly what I was doing. Here’s how I kept my habit under wraps for years:
- Showers and Clothing Changes – I never smoked in my “home” clothes. I had a separate hoodie for sessions, and I’d shower immediately after.
- Perfume, Lotion, and Gum – I layered scents strategically—mint gum for my breath, scented lotion for my hands, and a light spritz of perfume, never too much.
- Air Fresheners & Candles – My room always smelled like something else—lavender, vanilla, anything but smoke.
- Outdoor Sessions & Ventilation – Never indoors. I always made sure there was wind or a way for the smoke to clear fast.
- Handwashing & Hair Care – My hands and hair were my biggest giveaways. I kept wipes in my bag and dry shampoo on standby.
For years, this worked. But no method is foolproof.
How They Found Out
It wasn’t a dramatic intervention. No angry shouting or slamming doors—at least not at first. My dad just sat me down and asked, “Are you smoking?” The weight of the question nearly crushed me. I could’ve lied, could’ve denied it, but the look in his eyes told me he already knew.
Then came the questions I had feared for so long:
- “Why would you do this?”
- “Do you know how dangerous this is?”
- “What kind of example are you setting?”
I tried to explain, to rationalize, but nothing I said mattered. To them, smoking wasn’t just a habit—it was a failure, a disappointment, a break in everything they believed in.
What Happens Next?
That’s the thing—I don’t know yet. The trust is fractured, the conversations are tense, and every glance feels like a silent judgment. But maybe, just maybe, this is an opportunity to be honest, to have a real conversation about choices, boundaries, and respect.
If you’re in the same situation, I won’t lie to you—it’s tough. But whether you’re trying to hide it or preparing for the inevitable, know this: the truth has a way of surfacing, no matter how many showers you take or how much perfume you spray.
So, what do you do when your religious family finds out you smoke? That’s a question I’m still figuring out. Stay tuned.