The Question I Was Too Embarrassed to Ask
“So… did you cluck like a chicken?”
Rachel looked up from her coffee, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“You know. The hypnosis thing you mentioned last week. Did you—” I made a vague hand gesture, immediately regretting it.
“Did I bark like a dog? Forget my own name? Strip naked in front of strangers?” She was grinning now.
“I mean, that’s what happens, right? That’s the whole thing.”
“That’s stage hypnosis, Maya. What I did was clinical hypnotherapy. They’re not even the same category.” She set down her mug. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? That’s why you asked.”
I shifted in my seat. “My doctor suggested it. For the insomnia. Said it might help more than the pills.”
“And you’re terrified you’ll lose control and embarrass yourself.”
“…Yes.”
Rachel laughed, not unkindly. “Okay. Let me tell you what my introduction to hypnosis was actually like. Because everything I thought was wrong too.”
What My Introduction to Hypnosis Got Wrong: Myth #1
“First thing,” Rachel said, “you don’t lose consciousness. I thought I’d go under like anesthesia—lights out, wake up later with no memory. That’s not what happens at all.”
“Then what does happen?”
“You’re awake the whole time. Aware. You can hear everything, you can stop whenever you want, you can even open your eyes and walk out.” She pulled out her phone. “There’s actually research from Stanford that shows hypnosis is a distinct state of consciousness—not sleep, not unconsciousness. Your brain is active in specific ways.”
I frowned. “But then how is it different from just… sitting there?”
“That’s the thing. It is different. But not in the way you think.”
She leaned forward. “My therapist—Dr. Chen—she explained it like this: You know how sometimes you’re driving and you zone out, but you’re still driving perfectly fine? Or you’re reading a book and you’re so absorbed you don’t hear someone calling your name?”
“Sure.”
“That’s basically trance. You’re focused, absorbed, your critical thinking takes a backseat. You’re more open to suggestion because you’re not analyzing every single word.” Rachel tapped the table. “Hypnosis just does that intentionally. Guides you into that focused state so your brain can work differently for a while.”
“So it’s like… meditation?”
“Similar. But with a specific therapeutic purpose.” She smiled. “And no one’s going to make you cluck like a chicken.”
“So What Actually Happens in the Room?”
“Walk me through it,” I said. “Start to finish. What happened in your first session?”
Rachel settled back in her chair. “Okay. So I walked in—regular office, comfortable chair, nothing weird. Dr. Chen had me sit down and we talked for like twenty minutes first. What I wanted to work on, what my concerns were, how hypnosis actually works. She was super clear that I’d be in control the whole time.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Not really,” Rachel admitted. “I was still thinking about stage hypnosis. But she explained that clinical hypnosis for therapeutic purposes is completely different. The American Psychological Association recognizes it as a legitimate therapeutic tool for things like pain management, anxiety, smoking cessation.”
“Okay. So then what?”
“Then she started the induction. That’s the process of guiding you into hypnosis.” Rachel closed her eyes, remembering. “She had me focus on a spot on the wall. Then she just… talked. Her voice was calm, rhythmic. She told me to notice my breathing, notice tension in my muscles, imagine relaxing them one by one.”
“How long did that take?”
“Maybe ten minutes? But it felt shorter. And longer. Time got weird.” She opened her eyes. “That’s when I realized something was happening. Because normally I can’t sit still for ten minutes without my mind racing. But I was just… there. Present. Focused on her voice.”
“Were you scared?”
“At first. Then I realized I could open my eyes whenever I wanted. I tested it once—just cracked one eye open to prove to myself I could. Dr. Chen noticed and said, ‘It’s okay, you can check. You’re safe. You’re in control.’ So I closed it again and let myself relax.”
What Hypnotic Trance Actually Feels Like
“This is the part I don’t get,” I said. “What does it actually feel like? Everyone describes it differently.”
“Because it is different for everyone,” Rachel said. “For me? It felt like… you know when you’re almost asleep but not quite? That floaty feeling where you’re aware but distant?”
“Yeah.”
“Like that. But I could still hear everything Dr. Chen said. I could think. I just didn’t want to. Thinking felt like effort, and not thinking felt good.” She paused. “My body felt heavy. Not paralyzed—I could move if I wanted to. I just didn’t want to. Moving seemed unnecessary.”
“That sounds creepy.”
“It wasn’t, though. It was peaceful. Like how you feel right before you fall asleep in a really comfortable bed.” She smiled. “Actually, research shows hypnosis can increase theta brain waves, which are associated with deep relaxation and light sleep. That’s probably why it feels that way.”
I stirred my coffee, thinking. “But you were still… you? Still Maya?”
“Completely. That’s what surprised me most. I kept waiting to feel different, like someone else was controlling me. But I was just… a really relaxed version of myself. A version that wasn’t fighting everything for once.”
“What did she have you do?”
“Visualization, mostly. She had me imagine a staircase, walking down it, each step making me more relaxed. Then she had me picture a safe place—I chose a beach I went to as a kid. She asked me to notice details. The sound of waves. The feeling of sand. The smell of salt air.”
“Why?”
“Because the more vivid the visualization, the more your brain responds like it’s real. Your nervous system calms down. Your stress response shuts off.” Rachel leaned forward. “That’s the whole point. Your conscious mind steps back, and your subconscious gets to work on the problem without interference.”
The Control Question (And Why I Was Wrong About It)
“Okay, but here’s what I don’t get,” I said. “If you’re in control, why do people do weird things under hypnosis? Why do they act like chickens on stage?”
“Because they choose to,” Rachel said flatly.
“What?”
“Stage hypnosis works because people volunteer. They go up on stage wanting to be part of the show. They’re giving permission to act silly. And they only do things they’re comfortable doing—no one’s going to do something that violates their core values.” She pulled up another article on her phone. “Look, Scientific American published research showing you can’t be hypnotized against your will, and you won’t do anything under hypnosis you wouldn’t do otherwise.”
“So all those people acting stupid…”
“Want to act stupid. Or at least don’t mind it. They’re playing along.” Rachel set down her phone. “Dr. Chen told me this explicitly: ‘If I suggest something you don’t want to do, you’ll just ignore it. Or you’ll come out of trance. Your subconscious protects you.'”
“Did she test that?”
“Not on purpose. But at one point she suggested I imagine myself floating, and I immediately didn’t like it. Made me feel out of control. So I just… didn’t. I stayed sitting in the chair in my visualization. She noticed and adjusted—had me imagine being on solid ground instead.”
“And that worked?”
“Perfectly. Because I was participating, not being controlled. That’s what introduction to hypnosis should teach everyone: it’s collaborative. The hypnotist guides, but you’re the one doing the work.”
I sat with that for a moment. “So I couldn’t be made to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Correct. If your doctor tried to make you cluck like a chicken, you’d either ignore the suggestion or you’d open your eyes and say, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Your free will doesn’t disappear.”
Why Clinical Hypnosis Works Where Stage Hypnosis Misleads
“So why does stage hypnosis even exist if it’s not real?” I asked.
“It is real. It’s just a different application. Stage hypnotists are looking for highly suggestible people who want to perform. Clinical hypnotherapists are working with people who want to change something about themselves.” Rachel finished her coffee. “The trance state is real. The question is what you do with it.”
“What did Dr. Chen do with it?”
“She gave me suggestions about sleep. Told my subconscious that when I got into bed, my body would know it was time to rest. That my mind would quiet. That I’d feel safe enough to let go.” Rachel’s expression softened. “And she taught me to do it myself. That was the biggest thing—she said hypnosis isn’t something done to you. It’s a skill you can learn.”
“Self-hypnosis?”
“Exactly. Once you know how to get into that state, you can do it on your own. Use it for stress, pain, focus, whatever you need.” She pulled up another link. “Harvard Medical School reports that self-hypnosis can be effective for chronic pain, anxiety, and habit change once someone’s been trained in the technique.”
“How long did it take you to learn?”
“Three sessions before I could do a basic induction on myself. Now I use it almost every night before bed. Five minutes, that’s all I need.” She looked at me seriously. “The thing about introduction to hypnosis that no one tells you: it’s not magic. It’s not mystical. It’s just accessing a natural state your brain already knows how to do. Dr. Chen was teaching me to drive my own nervous system instead of being a passenger.”
“And it actually works? For sleep?”
“I sleep through the night now. First time in two years.” Rachel’s voice was quiet. “I know that sounds too good to be true. But it’s not about the hypnosis fixing everything. It’s about giving your brain permission to do what it already wants to do. Your brain wants to sleep. Hypnosis just gets your anxiety out of the way long enough to let it happen.”
When the Conversation Changed My Mind
I realized I’d been leaning forward for the last ten minutes, completely absorbed. “Okay. I’m actually considering this now.”
“Good. Because you’ve been a disaster lately, and those sleeping pills are making you worse.”
“Rude. But accurate.” I pulled out my phone. “What do I look for? How do I find someone legit and not some charlatan?”
“Look for licensed professionals. Psychologists, licensed clinical social workers, psychiatrists who are also trained in hypnotherapy.” Rachel counted on her fingers. “Check their credentials. The American Society of Clinical Hypnosis certifies practitioners—that’s a good sign. And avoid anyone promising miracle cures or making it sound mystical.”
“What about cost?”
“Depends. Dr. Chen charges the same as a regular therapy session. Some insurance covers it if it’s part of treatment for a diagnosed condition. Mine didn’t, but honestly? Worth it even out of pocket.”
I was already searching for hypnotherapists near me. “What should I ask in the first appointment?”
“Ask about their training. Ask what a typical session looks like. Ask if they’ll teach you self-hypnosis.” She smiled. “And ask them to explain what hypnosis is and isn’t. If they give you the stage hypnosis pitch or make it sound like magic, walk out.”
“Got it. Evidence-based, collaborative, no magic.”
“Exactly. And Maya?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s okay to be nervous. I was terrified my first session. But that’s actually good—means you’re taking it seriously, not just expecting it to fix everything without effort on your part.”
What I Wish I’d Known Before Dismissing Introduction to Hypnosis
Three weeks later, I met Rachel at the same coffee shop.
“So?” she asked before I’d even sat down.
“So I had my first session with Dr. Patel yesterday.”
“And?”
“And you were right about everything. It wasn’t what I expected at all.” I sat down, shaking my head. “I spent the whole first half of the appointment terrified I’d lose control or say something embarrassing. Dr. Patel spent the whole time reassuring me that wouldn’t happen.”
“Did you go into trance?”
“I think so? It was subtle. I kept expecting some big dramatic moment, but it was just… calm. She had me focus on my breathing and count backward, and somewhere around 93 I stopped caring about counting and just listened to her voice.”
“What did she suggest?”
“Stuff about my bedroom being associated with sleep, not stress. About my body knowing how to rest. About giving myself permission to stop solving problems for eight hours.” I smiled. “Honestly, the suggestions weren’t that different from what my regular therapist has said. But somehow hearing them while I was in that relaxed state? They landed differently.”
“That’s the whole point,” Rachel said. “Your critical mind stops arguing with the good advice long enough for it to sink in.”
“She also taught me a basic self-hypnosis technique. Just progressive muscle relaxation and counting down. Said to practice it every night.”
“Have you?”
“Twice so far. Last night I actually fell asleep during it. Woke up six hours later.” I looked at my coffee. “First time in months I haven’t woken up at 3 AM in a panic.”
Rachel grinned. “Told you.”
“You did. And I dismissed it because I thought it was pseudoscience nonsense.”
“Most people do. That’s why I wanted to tell you what my introduction to hypnosis actually taught me.” She leaned back. “It’s not magic. It’s not mind control. It’s just a tool. A really effective tool for people who are willing to learn how to use it.”
“I wish someone had explained it to me this way years ago,” I said. “Instead of letting me think it was all stage tricks and snake oil.”
“That’s on the hypnosis community, honestly. Too much mystical language, not enough clear explanation of the neuroscience. Research shows hypnosis can literally change brain activity patterns, but people hear ‘altered state of consciousness’ and think it means losing themselves.”
“Instead of just… quieting the noise for a while.”
“Exactly.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then I asked, “What else should I know? Now that I’ve started?”
“Be patient with yourself. The first few times feel weird because you’re learning a new skill. You’re teaching your brain to shift gears intentionally.” Rachel traced the rim of her cup. “Also, don’t expect it to fix everything immediately. It’s not a magic bullet. But over time, it compounds. The more you practice getting into that state, the easier it becomes.”
“Dr. Patel said the same thing. She said some people are naturally more hypnotizable than others, but everyone can learn to some degree.”
“That’s true. About 10% of people are highly hypnotizable, 10% barely at all, and everyone else is somewhere in the middle. But even if you’re in the middle, you can still benefit.”
“Did Dr. Chen test you for that?”
“Yeah. Simple test—she had me imagine holding a balloon in one hand and a heavy book in the other. People who are highly hypnotizable will actually feel their hands move in response to the suggestion. Mine moved a little. Enough.”
I thought about my session yesterday. Dr. Patel had done something similar—had me imagine my hands were magnets pulling together. They’d moved, but not dramatically. “I think I’m in the middle too.”
“Most people are. And that’s fine. You don’t need to be a superstar at hypnosis for it to help with sleep and anxiety.”
“I really thought you were going to tell me you’d been brainwashed or something,” I admitted. “I thought I’d have to talk you out of a cult.”
Rachel laughed. “Instead you got a boring story about a therapeutic intervention that’s backed by decades of research.”
“Not boring. Just… not what I expected. Which I guess is the whole point.”
“The whole point of introduction to hypnosis should be demystification. Taking away the stage show nonsense and showing people what the tool actually does.” She stood up, grabbing her bag. “And now you know. So when your doctor suggests it again—”
“I’ll actually listen this time.”
“Good. Because you’ve been a disaster, and I’m tired of you complaining about insomnia.”
“Still rude.”
“Still accurate,” she said, grinning. “Text me after your next session?”
“Yeah. And Rachel?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks for telling me about this. Really.”
She smiled. “That’s what friends are for. Even when their questions about chicken noises are deeply insulting.”
I watched her leave, then pulled out my phone. Dr. Patel had given me a recording to practice with—a guided self-hypnosis session, her voice walking me through the same relaxation process from yesterday.
I thought about everything Rachel had told me. About control and consciousness. About the difference between stage tricks and therapeutic tools. About how sometimes the things that sound too good to be true are just things we don’t understand yet.
My phone buzzed. Text from Rachel: Also if you do end up clucking like a chicken, please record it.
I laughed, typed back: If that happens I’m blaming you for getting me into this.
Her response was immediate: Worth it.
That night, I tried the self-hypnosis recording. Lay in bed, headphones on, lights off. Dr. Patel’s voice guided me through counting down, relaxing each muscle group, imagining myself safe and peaceful.
Somewhere around step seven of the imaginary staircase, I stopped listening to the words and just floated in the space between awake and asleep. That strange, calm place where thinking felt optional and sleep felt possible.
I didn’t hear the end of the recording.
I woke up eight hours later to morning light and realized I’d slept through the night.
No chicken noises required.
