Chapter 2: Perhaps We Can All Fight
I don't want to be afraid.
So, when Mira tells me softly, reassuringly, that "one more session, and the results will come," I hate that I'm afraid she might be wrong. I hate that I feel like this isn't working.
At the same time, though, I can't ignore her. A part of me simply believes her, or perhaps more accurately, it simply... believes.
She says it with such utter confidence. That's the part that does me in.
Mira Temple, doctor and hypnotherapist, regal queen of her domain, a woman that seems to radiate intelligence with every breath... a voice so husky and so deep... how could a silly girl, a snivelling bundle of insecurities like me, not listen to that voice?
I try to summon the energy to voice my doubts. Suggest that maybe we should change approach, or... something... but my lips tremble, my throat contracts helplessly, and the words die before they can even be formed.
I trust Mira to help me overcome my selfishness, my timidity, and fear of flying.
I trust Mira. I trust Mira to...
Overcome...
I need to trust Mira. I need to come back next week. And the next, the next, the next, the next...
Until the job is done. That is all. One step, and then another, and eventually, the destination is reached. Three goals. One at a time, yes. I trust Mira.
"One more thing before you go," she says, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "An exercise for our next session. Take pen and paper, and write down any things you encounter that make you feel afraid, that are not flying."
That breaks me out of my reflective stupor. "Why?" I ask, confused. Is there an underlying pattern to this? Is my fear of flying not just about flying? Is Mira suggesting that I'm generally fearful? A scared, little girl... needing someone strong to take care of...
"We need to understand what triggers certain thoughts, certain emotions," Mira says, in a voice that seems to hold so much thought into it. Like every word has been weighed for centuries. "Your fear of flying may not be an isolated phobia. You may be afraid of confrontation, or social situations, or, say, spiders, or maybe even women."
I blink, stupefied, incomprehending. "Women?" I ask, my voice shaky. "What's that got to do with... why would I be afraid of women?"
Mira shrugs, so casually, so nonchalantly, that I feel immediately reassured. Almost sedated. "I've seen everything in my profession, trust me."
I laugh, even though I'm not sure that's the appropriate response to what Mira's just said. It feels like such an annoying laughter, too, grating and dumb, but Mira seems to approve. Her eyes glimmer.
"Society teaches women to be demure," Mira says, her smile widening into a grin. "But women can also be strong, women can fight. And sometimes, a strong, combative woman will be very intimidating to a woman who still lives in fear."
I nod along, though I'm not sure I'm following her reasoning. I mean, I guess... there's plenty of girls that have internalised misogyny, or try to tear each other down, but I'm not one of them, so...
But I need to trust Mira. Her words envelop me like a warm blanket, as she says, "It can be very daunting, for a fragile girl, to be in the presence of a woman who's overcome this conditioning."
Overcome.
It's such a beautiful word. It's perfect, a semantic crucible of overwhelming power, a power that rises like the tide, sweeping away all opposition. Overwhelming it.
"Just trust me," Mira says, flashing that impossible smile. Every subtle movement of her body is a perfect exercise in non-verbal communication, every word rolls off her tongue like it's the product of enormous wisdom, accumulated over time scales that make no sense.
I trust her. In spite of myself, I believe every word. I'll write down what makes me feel afraid. Women. I'll be writing about women... for Mira.
To overcome my...
"See you next week!" she says jovially, and I find myself stepping over the threshold, sleepwalking down the hallway and towards the exit, as if I'm lost in some kind of lucid dream.
***
Every step I take feels heavier, the rhythmic clack clack of my heels against the cobblestone streets echoing like a metronome. The world feels so dull and soundless, without Mira's voice.
I've always enjoyed people-watching, but now... I seem to only be noticing women, and with a blush, I have to admit that Mira was right. They do scare me.
They just look so... put together. Women in power suits, women in leather jackets and jeans and boots, women who are happy mothers, or happy to be with other women, or to be on their own. Women jogging or heading to the gym, and elegantly dressed for an evening out on the town.
Next to them, I look just like... a girl. Someone of lower status and stature, unimpressive, middling, mediocre... or worse. Someone they could accidentally stomp underfoot, if I don't get out of their way.
I'm in awe of Mira. She was so right. I would have never made the connection if she hadn't pointed it out, and that only begs the question... what else am I afraid of, without even realising it?