Those realistic impressions of a different, fantastical life started a little while after she turned eighteen. They quickly turned from a strange nightmare into more of a living one. The woman always found it amusing to think of it like that, considering that alternate self was very much dead.
Around the time the plane leveled out, Renée's breathing steadied. The feeling in her gut remained. A heavy weight that would make food feel… excessive, for a while. In clinical terms, it was classified as OSFED.
Other Specified Feeding or Eating Disorder.
In practical reality, it was forcibly pretending she was fine in public settings until she found the privacy to throw up whatever she had just eaten. Or whatever she ate directly after the traumatic memory hit.
For the first couple years she would do this in order to not make anyone suspicious. Somewhat avoiding and somewhat ignoring her problem had been her method of 'dealing' with it.
Being seen as insane or broken wasn't something she wanted people to think. Especially her girlfriend at the time. However, it would be wrong to say that it was the leading reason that she ended the relationship with a person she cared about.
It involved that psychological matter - but the nuance was different.
Renée took a careful sip of water brought by the stewardess thanks to the stranger. She focused on its temperature as it added a slight pressure to her abdomen. The sensation anchored her to the present.
She'd learned to work through it over the years this way, gaining more control of her life.
[No more skipping days of eating. No more wasteful vomiting. No more-]
"Better?"
The woman asked with that same calm. Renée turned a bit in her seat to take better stock of her. She hadn't had a chance while the attack was crawling up on her.
"Yes, thank you. You're very good at this."
She paused while studying the woman's composed demeanor. The writer was used to taking stock of lots of details… and because of that she had turned into a bit of a face-fan. The woman she watched was ordinary - 5/10.
[Unprepossessing would be a fancy word for it.]
"You've done this before - helped someone through an episode?"
A pleasant smile spread across their face that allowed Renée to rate her a 6.
"I'm a middle school teacher. Managing young anxiety comes with the territory."
She reached for her phone and the author momentarily wondered how old she was. To be comparing her little moment to that of a teenager felt like a small insult, but also a compliment.
"Would you mind if I show you...?"
The mostly stranger made sure to ask before invading her space and Renée nodded, grateful for the coming distraction. The minutes after an episode were unpleasant no matter what coping skills she practiced. A photo of bright young faces was displayed on the screen.
"This is my class from last year. The girl in the front row, Sara - she used to have panic attacks before every oral presentation. Over the year, she found ways that worked for her to live with it rather than against it."
"That's impressive. How did she learn?"
"Small steps. She started by just attending debate club to watch, imagining herself up there. Then participating in group work where others would do the presenting."
[Learning to recognize her triggers. Probably suggested by a counselor or school therapist.]
The teacher swiped on the glass for a bit until she tapped to open another photo.
"This is from late in the year - her first solo presentation. Still plenty anxious, but she had developed tools to manage it. This year she helps one of our first year students who struggles with a similar fear."
Renée smiled while picking up on a truth within those words.
"Tools is my favorite way of looking at it. Though some people think of it in terms of fixing problems for good, it's really about management… not elimination."
"Exactly! You sound like you've done some work in that area yourself."
The writer admitted it with only a little surprise about her openness.
"Years of it. I used to think getting better meant not having episodes at all. Now I know it's about how quickly I can work through them when they happen."
The teacher nodded.
"That's what I tell my kids. It's not about never feeling scared or overwhelmed - it's about preparing for how to deal with it when you do."
Renée took another sip of water, feeling the weight in her stomach shift slightly.
"Your students are lucky to have someone who understands that. There was a time when most people would just tell you to get over it."
The teacher glanced at the notebook peeking from Renée's bag.
"Speaking of which, are you a writer? I saw you looking at a manuscript earlier."
"I am. And yes, everything becomes material eventually."
She let out a small chuckle and a soft grin.
"Even plane rides with kind strangers who know exactly what to say."
The teacher smiled back and nodded. Renée couldn't help but feel like she was being humored! At least until a wry look and a side eye were sent her way.
"Well, if I end up in a story of yours somewhere, please make me taller."
They shared another quiet laugh and the writer felt the last edges of her episode receding. The stone feeling was still there and would be for another hour or so. But it was manageable to ignore now. She'd learned to live with these incidents without letting them derail her entirely.
"I apologize. I never caught your name."
"Maria. And you're… Renée Laurent. Sorry. I recognized you from your author photo halfway through our conversation. My daughter loved your book."
Renée found herself pleasantly surprised and quickly touched her hair in understanding. She learned firsthand that a new hairstyle certainly could make a casual fan not notice you.
"Small world. Thank you for... well, everything just now."
"Thank you for being willing to talk about it."
"The more we normalize these conversations, the easier they become for everyone."
There was a time when she would have retreated into herself. The imbalances caused by the mental trauma would have interceded in the possibility of such a pleasant conversation. Now it was just a moment.
[Challenging - but not defining.]
She hoped that seeing a certain someone would be the same. That her past decisions would not completely define how she gets seen now.