It started with a visit to a hypnotherapist.

For a lifelong skeptic, this is not a natural occurrence. After the birth of my first daughter, I’d developed a raging, debilitating fear of flying that didn’t mesh well with my need to travel for work (never mind the “pleasure” trips to Sweden to visit my husband’s family) and I was desperate for a solution. Weeks before a planned journey, I’d lay awake at night, tossing and turning. The sound of a plane overhead would make my heart beat uncontrollably out of my chest and bring on a cold sweat. And flying itself? I always picked a window seat so I could turn away from the other humans on the flight when the inevitable panic and tears came upon take-off. I would do anything I could to avoid a flight – choosing to drive the six hours for short business trips between Los Angeles and San Jose, where most of my clients were based, or between L.A. and Las Vegas, where many of our technology conferences were held. 

My sister-in-law and her mother recommended a visit with Alex, a hypnotherapist, who had helped them through various traumas. My only experience to that point with hypnotherapy was as entertainment; a local hypnotherapist came to our high school and convinced exuberant volunteers that they were chickens, clucking away while the assembly of students and teachers laughed and cheered. How could this possibly help me with a fear of flying?

But as I said, I was desperate. I scheduled an appointment with Alex, an older gentleman with a kind face and a gentle manner. The first 30 minutes of my session was similar to traditional psychotherapy and I felt myself relax a bit, safe in the idea that I was NOT going to be hypnotized because the idea of it was just silly and besides, I was in control. Alex was calm and patient, and of course, pointed out the obvious factors that had led to my fear of flying: my underlying need to control situations, and my sudden awareness of my own mortality, brought on by my daughter’s birth, caused anxiety and fear in a situation – being 30,000 feet with an unknown person piloting the aircraft – wherein I had zero control.

But turns out there was a bit more to it than that. Alex asked me what I had always wanted to do that I had yet to do in my life. That was an easy one.

“I always thought I’d be a writer,” I told him. It was true. From school-age, I’d always expressed myself through writing. I’d always kept a journal, I’d written short stories and poems constantly throughout my elementary years and writing was my salvation when my mother and stepfather moved our family four times during my sixth grade year alone. My teachers had always encouraged and praised my writing and while I’d initially thought Journalism would be my calling, UCLA had discontinued that major the year I arrived, so I became an English major, reading and writing constantly, albeit about great works of literature. Writing was always my safe place until I graduated, went to work, became a wife and mother, and gradually let it slip away.

“Are you writing now?” he asked.

“No.”

“And why not?”

I listed the myriad valid reasons. I have a young child. I work full-time. I teach aerobics three times a week as a part-time “job” and try to get to the gym every day. I’m simply exhausted from my overly long “to-do” list.

“Those are all good excuses,” Alex said. “But still excuses.”

I was taken aback but realized the truth in what Alex was saying, remembering how someone once told me that if you want to do something – truly, want to do it – you will find the time. It’s what I always preached to those who asked me how I managed to fit exercise into my busy schedule. If you want to do it, you’ll find the time.

Alex told me that he often prescribed writing in a journal to his patients because writing is a valuable form of venting, self-discovery, and well, therapy. He asked if when he hypnotized me, beyond the normal suggestions he would give me to combat my phobia, he could also give me a suggestion to begin writing again.

“Sure,” I answered, internally rolling my eyes because, of course, he wasn’t going to hypnotize me.

For the next 30 minutes, I’m not sure exactly what happened except to say that I was totally present, conscious, and in control, while being fundamentally, not in control and – yes – hypnotized. I watched as Alex suggested that, despite my skepticism and desire not to be hypnotized, he would ask me to raise my hand off the table in front of him, one finger at a time, and I watched incredulously, as my fingers began a slow process of lifting off the table one by one, despite my mind rejecting the notion altogether. When Alex brought me out of hypnosis, I felt as if I’d had the best sleep of my life – refreshed and relaxed. I drove home knowing that despite my skepticism, I had been hypnotized but I was still doubtful that anything would come of this single session. Alex had given me a tape to listen to in the car on the way to the airport and had given me some mantras I could repeat to myself during those dreaded flights to calm my fear and anxiety. 

Did it work? I’d have to say that if it wasn’t a cure-all, it was certainly the most important step in my road to recovery. It was still a few years before I felt truly comfortable boarding a plane, but slowly, the dread and anxiety evaporated. I could sleep the nights leading up to a flight, I no longer panicked when hearing a jet engine overhead, and I was able to get through my travel without breaking down in tears.

But the most remarkable outcome of my short experience was that I did, indeed, begin writing again. Two weeks after seeing Alex, I was browsing through the UCLA Extension catalog that I typically sent directly into the recycle pile, and saw a slew of courses on creative writing. Impulsively, I signed up for a short story writing class. That class led to two more. And those classes led to a published short story and a ten-year journey during which I gave birth both to another daughter, and a novel. There have been many starts and stops since then with periodic bursts of productivity during which I wrote blogs and short fiction and tried to maintain the persistence and perseverance needed to get my novel published. While I have maintained the ability to fearlessly fly, I admit I lost my burning desire to write over the years, and have only recently, at the end of my sixth decade on the planet, returned to it. I’ve also decided that the works I’ve already completed deserve to live and breathe, even if just for my own sense of closure.

So I’ve created this new site, and eventually, I will publish “Daredevils”, the novel I wrote following that remarkable session with Alex, and I’ll be using this new blog platform to recount the long journey I’ve taken to get here. If you’re so inclined, you can read some of my short fiction – both published and unpublished – here, and soon, you can test drive the first three chapters of “Daredevils”, the novel one of my writing instructors called “fight club for soccer Moms” here. While I hope you’ll find it compelling enough to read the full novel, I’d be thrilled to have eyes (and comments) on any and all of what exists here.

In the past few days, as I’ve pulled this together, I’ve so wanted to go back and visit with Alex if only to tell him what a profound impact that single session with him had on my life. Alas, Alex is no longer with us. So here’s to you, Alex, for awakening the long abandoned desire – nay, need – I had to write.