She & I : A Conversation (Part-6) :

She & I : A Conversation (Part-6) :

Conversation continued from: https://www.dhirubhai.net/pulse/she-i-conversation-part-5-anisha-sharma-tkv5f/

In our next session, she arrived carrying a heaviness I could almost feel in the room. Her shoulders were tense, her hands tightly clasped together. She sat down slowly, as though the weight of her thoughts was too much to move quickly.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice unsteady. “About all of this. About being honest, being true to myself. And... I’m terrified. I’m scared I’ll get it wrong. That I’ll push them away, and it’ll all be for nothing.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she quickly looked down, blinking back tears. “It’s just that... the fear of being alone feels so overwhelming. Even the thought of someone I love turning away because I’m not what they expect—it’s like this sharp ache, deep in my chest. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw. I waited a moment, then asked softly, “What do you think will happen if you keep hiding who you are?”

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. But at least I won’t lose what I have now. I’ll still have... them.”

I leaned forward slightly, my tone steady but gentle. “But do you truly have them? Or do they only have the version of you they want to see? If their love depends on you hiding your true self, is it really love that connects you, or something else?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It doesn’t feel like love,” she admitted. “It feels... conditional. Like I have to earn it every day by being what they expect.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Conditional love is fragile—it crumbles when the conditions aren’t met. But love that’s rooted in truth, in seeing and accepting someone fully, is what endures. And that starts with you giving that kind of love to yourself. Can you see how vital that is?”

She exhaled shakily. “I understand that... but what if I lose everything in the process? What if I let go, and there’s nothing left for me? No one left for me?”

I nodded, acknowledging her fear. “That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? The uncertainty. Wanting to know what will happen before you take the step. But life doesn’t work like that. You can’t know what lies ahead, no matter how much you try to control it. And sometimes, standing up for yourself means letting go of the anchor and stepping into the unknown.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “But what if I fall apart?” she whispered. “What if it’s too much?”

“Sometimes,” I said gently, “we are stripped bare before we are rebuilt. Sometimes you have to feel broken, scrambling, gasping for even a thin breath of air before the fresh one comes in. It’s terrifying, yes. But it’s also where transformation begins. Do you have the courage to face that? To stand up for yourself, even if it means standing alone for a while?”

She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of her chair. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she said quietly. “What if I’m not?”

“Strength isn’t the absence of fear,” I said softly. “It’s being afraid and choosing to act anyway. Let me ask you this: Do you want to spend your life tied to the fear of losing what you have, even if it means never fully being yourself? Or are you willing to untie the ropes, let the ship sail, and taste the sweetness of the unexplored unknown?”

She looked away, her breath hitching as she tried to process my words. “But what if the unknown isn’t sweet? What if it’s worse than what I have now?”

“That’s a possibility,” I admitted. “But here’s what I know: a ship anchored forever never sets sail. It never explores the vastness of the ocean, never discovers new horizons. It just stays there, tethered, slowly wearing away. Is that how you want to live?”

Her face crumpled, and she buried it in her hands, her tears flowing freely. “I don’t,” she said, her voice muffled. “I don’t want that. But I’m so scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” I reassured her. “Courage isn’t about not being afraid—it’s about choosing to move forward despite the fear. And remember, you don’t have to do it all at once. Start small. Choose one step, one honest conversation, and go from there. Each step will make the next one a little easier.”

She lowered her hands, her face tear-streaked but her eyes holding a faint spark of determination. “I don’t know if I can be that brave,” she said softly. “But... I’ll try.”

“And that’s all you need to do,” I said with a small smile. “One step at a time. And when it feels too much, remember this: "Il faut casser le noyau pour avoir l’amande" – "You have to break the shell to get the almond." Your courage will lead you to the life you deserve, even if the path feels uncertain right now.”

She nodded slowly, her voice steadier now. “I’ll take the first step.”

As the session drew to a close, she began to realize that the life she yearned for could only be found by stepping beyond the boundaries of fear and embracing the unknown—and for once, she was starting to believe she could.