𝓜𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

36# THERAPY

JAMIL KHALIL RESIDENCE,
JABI, ABUJA.
JANUARY, 2022.

"It's so hard getting to this place", Intisaam said as she plopped down on the dining chair next to Jamilah.

"But your husband pays me well", the woman concluded, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly.

The last time Jamilah had met her therapist, she hadn't the title 'Mrs' fixed to the front of her name.

"How's married life?", Intisaam asked, going therapist mode.

Jamilah sighed, "It's not what I expected". Intisaam adjusted on her seat, "how?". "Well for one, he makes me smile", she admitted, and then flushed furiously. Intisaam cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, "the same Jamil I know?".

Jamilah chuckled in response, hitting the woman's arm lightly.

"He's not that bad. I mean, I know it hasn't been that long but all I've felt is authenticity from him. Also, it's not whirlwind romance like in those books you gave me. There isn't a trail of red roses that leads to the bedroom, or him professing love with stars in his eyes twenty-four, seven, but he uses his words. He speaks to me, and I feel it... everywhere.

He doesn't profess things that are out of this world to me. But when he tells me I'm beautiful, I can tell that he means it. When he feeds me, I can see that it's something he does because he truly wants to. And when he teaches me, he does it only if I'm ready to grasp it. He's also very intentional about getting me to communicate".

Intisaam listened carefully, noting things down where she needed to.

Already, the initial symptoms of Jamilah's illness had worn off, those little spurts she'd have where she seemed to be trapped in the mind of her younger self. Since their last meeting, she'd gained perfect articulation of her diction, the larger words she'd been having a hard time reaching flowed more smoothly, and she seemed to be capable of more complex thought.

Jamil must've helped improve her confidence in herself.

In their meetings, part of what was holding her back was her fear that she could never attain the level she'd fallen from.

Intisaam asked a few more questions, mainly regarding how she felt being at home alone, but other than the occasional loneliness, Jamilah didn't seem to harbour feelings of abandonment. That was a good sign.

"Jamilah, this week is going to be very hectic. I need to know if you're ready for it", the therapist said, her eyes holding Jamilah's steadily. "Why?", Jamilah asked, confused.

Jamil had told Intisaam not to tell Jamilah about the event so she wouldn't crawl into her shell or regress, but Intisaam knew from experience that mental preparation was the best motivation when trying to achieve a goal. "There's a possibility you might have to talk to a few people. I just want to make sure you're ready for that", she said.

Jamilah was silent. The thought of meeting new people in itself, wasn't something she found particularly scary. If she delivered her speech well, she had no doubts that she would keep her head high till the end. But when faced with the image she had to maintain; Of the Jamilah that was meant to be her, the confident woman with perfect diction and witty remarks, she couldn't help but feel light-headed.

"I'll just have to face it", Jamilah said after a while, her voice carrying a confidence that she certainly didn't feel.

Fake it till you make it, that's all it took.

"While I can't help you overcome your fear, I can help you with boosting your confidence", Intisaam said, drawing out a few books from her bag.

They were Jamilah's old books. The ones in which she'd written her plans for her charities. They had statistical data in them, her ideologies, her philosophies. There was also a small journal where she'd written more personal feelings...a small green hardcover book with a tiny lock.