I was hypnotised last week as a last-ditch resort to cure my nail-biting habit — and I walked out of that appointment hundreds of dollars poorer and wanting to gnaw my nails right down to the quick.
Yeah, it was not what you’d call a success.
Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. Because my failure to convert my nails from the messy, ragged stubs worthy of a third grader to long, Iggy Azalea-style talons was not inevitable (as my more sceptical friends might claim).
Because here’s the thing: my recent hypnotism session was just plain awkward. During every minute of the one-hour, insanely priced affair — $5.80 per minute, in case you’re wondering — I felt about
as far from relaxed as humanly possible, so I never really had a reasonably shot at success.
Here’s how the whole thing went down.
“My recent hypnotherapy session was just plain awkward.”
I found my hypnotherapist online and was immediately suckered in by his shiny-looking testimonials page and logo (which, on reflection, he could’ve crafted himself using Microsoft Paint.)
In my mind’s eye, I pictured my hypnotherapist — let’s call him Trent* — rocking a clean white coat, polishing a high-tech relaxation chair in preparation for my arrival, and blasting the gentle sound of whales around a very slightly dimmed room as his jovial colleagues diligently went about their business in their adjoining rooms.
That’s what a friend had described to me of their hypnotherapy experience and for half a weeks’ pay check, dammit, that’s what I expected to get.