I too had travelled far, but unlike Robert I suffered long-lasting and tormenting results from these travels. They had sown the seeds of a paralysing fear of flying, which grew like a giant weed in my mind in the months and years after our return home. By comparison with my carefree attitude to flying as a student only two years previously, this fear was both frustrating and incomprehensible. It was not until some time later that the reason for the phobia emerged. When I reviewed the events of those four months in America, I realized that the problem lay not with flying – since we had flown in many different aeroplanes over vast distances without incident – but with the attendant circumstances, the stresses and strains of being wholly responsible, a mere seven weeks after giving birth, for two other fragile but very demanding lives. That onerous and exhausting responsibility slowly crystallized into a fear of flying for want of any other outlet. The simple fact of being able to rationalize the fear did not make dealing with it any easier, because I was ashamed to admit to such a weakness, especially when our lives were strictly governed by Stephen’s laudably brave maxim – that if there was physical illness in the home, there was no room for psychological problems as well.
— Travelling to Infinity (Jane Hawking), Loc. 1745–54