Letting Them Leave: Hypnosis for Abandonment Fear

Welcome. Before we begin, I want you to know something important. The fear you carry, that sharp pull in your chest when someone you love steps away, is not a flaw in you. It is a very old part of you doing its very best job. Somewhere along the way, your nervous system learned that closeness could disappear without warning, and it has been standing guard ever since. Tonight, we are not going to fight that part. We are not going to shame it, or argue with it, or try to talk it out of its job. Instead, we are going to meet it with warmth. We are going to build, slowly and gently, an inner place of safety that belongs to you. A safety that does not depend on anyone staying close, answering quickly, or proving anything. You do not have to try hard for this session to work. You only have to let the words land, in whatever way feels right. Find a position that supports your body. Let your shoulders drop. And take a slow, easy breath in. And out. You are safe here.

Let your eyes close now, whenever it feels natural. And begin to notice the weight of your body where it rests. The small points of contact. The places that are held. You do not need to do anything to be here. You are already doing enough, simply by listening. Let your breath move at its own pace. In. And out. There is no rhythm you need to match. Only your own. And as you breathe, imagine that every exhale is soft. Unhurried. As if your body is saying, it is alright to rest now. Bring your attention gently to the top of your head. And let a feeling of softness begin there. A quiet warmth, like the feeling of being covered by a familiar blanket. Let that softness move down, across your forehead. Behind your eyes. Let your eyes feel heavy and cared for. Down through your jaw. Let your jaw be loose. Your tongue resting easy in your mouth. The softness moves down your throat. Down through your shoulders. And here, you may notice your shoulders have been carrying something for a long time. Let them lower. Just a little. You do not have to hold it all right now. The warmth continues, down your arms, into your hands. Into your chest. Around your heart. Be kind to this part of your body. It has worked so hard. Down through your belly. Your hips. Your legs. All the way down to your feet. Your whole body now, held in this gentle warmth. Cared for. Unhurried.

And now, in your mind's eye, I want you to imagine a place. A place that belongs only to you. It might be a room, or a garden, or a shoreline, or a quiet house tucked into the side of a hill. Let it appear however it wants to. You do not have to invent it. Just notice what comes. In this place, the light is soft. The temperature is exactly right for your body. There is a feeling here that you may not have felt often in your life. The feeling of not needing to scan. Not needing to check if someone is upset with you. Not needing to predict what comes next. Here, you are simply allowed to be. Look around you. Notice what is here. There may be a place to sit, something familiar, something that holds you. And as you settle in, feel how the walls, or the trees, or the sky of this place do not go anywhere. They do not leave when you are tired. They do not withdraw when you need too much. They are simply here. Steady. This is the beginning of a safety that lives inside you. A safety you can return to, any time, no matter where anyone else is in the world.

And from this place, I am going to count down from ten to one. With each number, you will drift a little deeper into rest. A little deeper into your own warmth. Ten. Letting go of the day. Nine. Letting the mind grow quiet. Eight. Your body sinking a little more into support. Seven. Breath slowing on its own. Six. The thinking mind softening. Five. Halfway down, and you are doing this beautifully. Four. Each word landing deeper than the last. Three. A warm heaviness through every limb. Two. So safe. So held. One. All the way down, into a gentle, receptive place. And here, something inside you is very willing to listen.

I want you to bring to mind, very gently, a part of you that is afraid. The part that panics when the person you love is far away. The part that checks the phone, that listens for footsteps, that feels a cold drop in the chest when a door closes. You do not have to make it bigger than it is. Just let it be here, in the room of your mind. Notice where you feel it in your body. It might live in your chest. In your throat. Low in your belly. Wherever it is, place a hand there if you like. Or just let your attention rest there, like a warm light. And now, instead of telling this part to stop, I want you to say something to it that it has needed to hear for a very long time. Inside, slowly, let these words form. I see you. I know you have been afraid. You have been afraid for so long. And you were right to be afraid, once. But I am here now. And I am not going anywhere. Let that last line land fully. I am not going anywhere. Because here is the truth your body has been waiting for. The one person who has always been there is you. Through every heartbreak. Every silence. Every distance. You were there. You are the home that never leaves. Let that settle, slowly. And now, imagine that this frightened part of you is a younger version of yourself. Maybe a child. Maybe a teenager. Whoever arrives. See them in your inner place. Notice how small their fear actually is, once you are looking at it with kind eyes. Go closer. Not to fix them. Just to be with them. And say, gently, you do not have to hold this alone anymore. I am the grown one now. I can handle it. You can rest. Feel how this part of you softens when it is met with warmth instead of impatience. Now, I want to offer you some truths, and let them move into you like water into dry ground. Love does not disappear when someone is in another room. Love does not disappear when someone is busy, or tired, or quiet. Distance is not the same as leaving. Silence is not the same as rejection. A person stepping away for a little while is a person living their life, not a person abandoning yours. And even if, one day, someone does leave, you will still have you. The you who has survived every difficult thing that has already happened. The you who is breathing right now. Steady. Whole. Let something deep inside you begin to believe. My safety is mine. My worth is mine. I am not borrowing my okayness from anyone. And because I am my own home, I can love without clinging. I can let people come close, and I can let them move, and I stay whole through both. Feel how different the body feels when it is not bracing. When it is not waiting to be left. Feel the ease that becomes possible. The softness in your breath. The sense that you can finally put something down. This is self-compassion. Not a performance. Not a mantra. A way of being with yourself, especially when it hurts. And from this moment forward, when the old fear rises, your first move will be inward. A hand to the heart. A kind word to the part that is afraid. A return to the home inside you that never left.

Now let yourself drift forward in time, just a little. Imagine a moment that used to send you into panic. Perhaps your partner has gone on a trip. Their flight has landed, but they have not texted yet. Or maybe they are in the next room, quiet, absorbed in their own world. See yourself in that moment. But notice, this time, something is different. There is still a flicker. The old alarm is still there, faint, in the background. But you notice it early. And instead of spiraling, you place a hand on your chest. You breathe. You say, quietly inside, I am here. I am safe. I am my own home. Feel how the panic does not take over. It passes through, like weather. See yourself going about your evening. Reading. Cooking. Resting. Present in your own life, not suspended in waiting. And when the person you love does return, or does message, you greet them from steadiness, not from starvation. Notice how much better that feels. How much more possible real closeness becomes when you are not clutching. This is the version of you that is growing, beneath the surface, every time you listen.

And now, it is time to gently return. Bringing with you everything you have felt, and built, and softened into here. I will count from one to five. With each number, becoming a little more awake. One. Awareness returning to the room around you. Two. A little more energy moving into your body. Three. Wiggling your fingers and your toes, at your own pace. Four. Feeling rested, clear, and carried by a new kind of calm. Five. Eyes opening, when you are ready. Fully here. Fully home.

From today forward, whenever someone you love moves away from you, even for a moment, your body will remember this session. A hand to the heart will bring back this warmth. A slow breath will bring back this steadiness. You will find yourself able to be alone without feeling abandoned. Able to love without clinging. Able to let them leave the room, knowing you are still here, and so are you. Be gentle with yourself in the days ahead. This work takes time, and you are already doing it. Thank you for trusting yourself with this. Until we meet again.