Failing the Driving Test: The Hidden Burden No One Talks About

Every time I take the driving test, it feels like I’m carrying much more than just learning the maneuvers. I carry my nerves, my expectations, the money I’ve invested, my desire to move forward in life, and the pressure of needing the license. And every attempt that doesn’t go perfectly leaves a mark that is hard to explain.

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The emotional pressure is the hardest part

People think the driving test is just about steering straight, checking mirrors, and performing maneuvers correctly. But the hardest part is emotional. Before each test, I struggle to sleep, my stomach twists into knots, and my mind races nonstop. I think about work, money, everything that depends on passing—and it all feels heavier than the test itself.

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First Test

The day was cloudy, and that kind of weather always affects me. The examiner kept talking with his instructor, and even though I tried to stay focused, it threw me off. Sometimes, you don’t know what’s worse: talking too much or saying nothing at all. The atmosphere was tense; it was my first time, and my partner and I were nervous. Still, the test was going quite well… until they told me to turn onto a street I didn’t know. I got disoriented, froze, and made a mistake that ruined everything. It felt like in a single moment everything slipped out of my hands.

For that test, I had tried everything: affirmations, crystals, rituals, petitions to the universe, candles… I clung to anything that could calm me and give me confidence. But even so, the pressure got to me at the worst moment.

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Second Test

The day was awful: rain, bad weather, and I was feeling sick. Even so, I went with good spirits, even excited, convinced that this time I would succeed. I was second to take the test. The examiner was Andalusian, very kind, new to the city; his approach was pleasant. I did almost everything perfectly. I was flowing, calm… until the very end, when I made a small mistake: getting too close to a car and not positioning myself correctly. Those moments hurt because you know you were doing well, and suddenly everything goes wrong at the last minute.

After the test, my partner and I talked about how it had gone. I tried to stay composed, but inside I was crushed. Failing isn’t just “another missed opportunity.” It’s the feeling of stepping back, feeling exhausted, and questioning whether you’ll ever manage this.

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The days after

The worst part is the days afterward: that mix of anger, sadness, and fatigue that lingers. The feeling that you have to get up quickly because if you stop too long, you sink. If you stop, it’s like dying inside. So I keep going, even when it hurts. I remind myself that every time I take a deep breath, practice, or learn something new, I’m still moving forward, even if slowly.

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Reflections on the process

In both tests, I did many things right. I was focused, in my own world, but something always happens at the end, like the final stretch is an extra challenge. And it hurts to think you were so close.

Even so, I won’t give up. I keep learning, improving, facing my fears. This emotional struggle is also part of the process. It’s my invisible work: getting up, breathing, getting back in the car, and moving forward. Every attempt, even when imperfect, is a lesson in patience and resilience.

Writing this helps me recognize my progress, even when it feels invisible. It reminds me that every small step counts, every effort matters, and every failure teaches me something new about myself.

I also think about the small victories no one sees: handling a turn better than before, staying calm through a tricky maneuver, noticing traffic earlier than I did in the past. These little moments matter just as much as passing the test.

One day, I will pass. I know it. But until that day comes, I continue to grow, learn patience, and discover a strength I didn’t know I had. And that, I realize, is just as important as passing the test itself.