I am not just a board member of the American Lung Association in Rhode Island; I am someone whose life has been personally shaped by the very mission Lung Association supports. When we talk about lung health, it’s easy to think in terms of data, percentages, outcomes and prevention strategies. Those things matter deeply, especially in rooms filled with leaders who are driving change at the highest levels.
But I want to focus on something even more fundamental. I want to talk about breath. Because breath is personal. For 18 years, I was a smoker. Not casually or occasionally; I was a multiple-pack-a-day smoker. It was part of my identity, my routine and my primary coping mechanism. It was my constant companion for dealing with stress, when celebrating and through everything in between. If I’m being honest, I never felt the urgency to stop. Until I did.
Everything changed because of a dramatic showdown at a pharmacy counter when my 12-year-old daughter pointed to nicotine patches and implored me to quit. I told her that I would quit, one day. Then she looked defiantly at me and said, “You gave me my life and so I’m giving you back yours!” Suddenly, I felt my well-constructed illusions collapse, and I saw clearly for the first time that I was trading something sacred for something temporary. I fully realized that every breath I took was meant to sustain my life… and I was slowly working against that design.
So, I made a choice, put the patches in my cart and vowed to try again. If you’ve ever started that challenging journey, or supported someone who has, you know it’s not just a physical change. Stepping away from tobacco is a mental, emotional and social decision that you have to recommit to every day. It’s a moment-by-moment surrender.
Truth be told, I tried to quit dozens of times before with little success, and I wasn’t sure this time would be any different. I felt sure I would once again end up returning to my regular smoking routine. And then my cousin was diagnosed with lung cancer. Suddenly, this wasn’t just about my past choices anymore; this was about someone I love. Someone who didn’t have the same narrative as I did. But even as a nonsmoker, this person I loved was now facing a difficult cancer battle they didn’t choose.
And in that moment, I felt something shift. Because lung disease doesn’t discriminate the way many people think it does.
Yes, smoking is a major risk factor, but it is not the whole story. There are environmental factors, genetic predispositions, access to care and early detection gaps. There are stories behind every statistic. And now I carry two stories, one of choice and one of circumstance. One of quitting and one of fighting. Both of these stories brought me to the American Lung Association.
As a board member of the American Lung Association, I have the privilege of standing in the space between those stories. Advocating for prevention, supporting research, championing education, and most importantly, humanizing the mission.
Behind every initiative, every policy and every innovation there is a person desperately trying to take their next breath. April 15, 2026, marked 19 years since that pharmacy incident with my daughter. It was two days later that my cousin was diagnosed, and she took her last breath just four short months later.
I want to leave you with this; you are a steward of breath. The decisions you make ripple far beyond boardrooms and balance sheets. They reach into homes and into hospital rooms. They create moments of fear and moments of hope. You have the power to change trajectories, to make quitting possible and affordable. You can make early detection accessible, to advance research and make treatments more effective. You have the power to make stories like mine and my cousin’s less common.
For me, every breath today is a reminder. A reminder of where I’ve been, of what I’ve been given and of what’s at stake. Thank you to the American Lung Association for the work you do, for the lives you impact and for the breath you protect. Because these words are more than a slogan, they are the absolute truth. When you can’t breathe, nothing else matters.
Blog last updated: July 3, 2026
