The Driving Force of Healing

Today is the day.

I’m going to get back behind the wheel.

I don’t want to, but I have to. I can’t be a fully functioning adult if I just give up on driving, can I?

I used to love driving. I’d get in my car, crank up the stereo, and sing at the top of my lungs to whatever was playing. Have you ever noticed how amazing your voice sounds when you’re singing alone in your car? I could just drive and not think about where I was going or what I was doing. Now, I’m terrified to get out on the road again.

As I get up and go about my day, I replay the moment in my mind for what feels like the thousandth time.

I was driving down a quiet laneway, thinking about my day ahead. I came to an intersection and looked both ways. I couldn’t see any cars, so I continued driving. Before I knew it, a horn blared. I had just enough time to look up and see a ute heading towards me. Then I heard a screech of tyres, followed by the smashing of metal and glass, and my car skidded across to the other side of the road.

I swear I looked. How fast was he driving? Where did he come from?

Luckily, I managed to get away from the crash without any serious injuries, though I had a sore back and neck for months. My car was a total write-off. The other guy’s car looked like it didn’t even have a scratch on it.

I haven’t been behind the wheel since. The crash completely broke my driving confidence. I’m still not sure I checked for oncoming traffic properly. How could I see nothing, only to have a car come flying into me a second later? I’ve lost all trust in my own driving ability.

In the months since the crash, I’ve had plenty of time sitting on public transport to torture myself over it.

There are those “if only” moments.

I took a shortcut to avoid the traffic that day. If I’d just been patient and stayed on my normal route, this never would have happened.

Then there are the “what if” moments.

I’d been driving my cat to the vet the day before. What if the accident had been a day earlier, and my cat had been seriously harmed?

And then, the simply grateful moments.

I’m so lucky. I could have been seriously hurt. Worse still, the other guy could have been harmed, and then I’d have that on my conscience too.

Of course, some of my friends and family made a joke of it.

“We better watch out when you get back behind the wheel.”

To them, it was a harmless joke. But to me, it just piled on another layer to the emotional trauma.

It’s my day off, and of course I’ve been awake since 5 a.m., thinking about the drive. I figured it would be a good day for my first journey. I’m starting small, just driving to the shops down the road. It’s only five minutes away, and I don’t have any other plans, so I can slowly work my way up to getting in the car if I have to.

I open the kitchen drawer and grab the car keys. They feel like a foreign object in my hand.

I head out the front door and make my way down the driveway to my new car.

I didn’t even want to buy a new one. But when the insurance money finally came through, I knew if I didn’t buy one straight away, I might never do it.

I lift the handle to open the door. Its cold, metallic touch adds to the chill of the winter morning.

I sit down in the front seat. The leather feels hard and sterile beneath me.

As I turn my key in the ignition, the radio blasts on, jarring my nerves. My boyfriend always drives with the music turned up so loud. I quickly turn it down until I can barely hear it. I need to concentrate.

Maybe I’m just stalling for time, but for a moment I wonder if I can remember which pedal is the brake and which is the accelerator. Leaving the car in “Park,” I lightly tap the pedal I think is the accelerator and the engine roars to life.

I adjust the seat so it’s as far forward as possible, then grip the steering wheel with sweaty palms.

Okay, I can do this.

I turn the key in the ignition, and the car makes a loud screeching noise. Oh yeah, I already did that.

With a shaking hand, I move the gear stick into “Reverse” and slowly back out of the driveway. I carefully check the reversing camera, while also turning my head to look out the back window, just to double-check.

So far, so good.

I take a deep breath, move it into “Drive,” and head down my street. I realise my mouth is dry. I wish I’d brought my water bottle.

I turn right at the end of my street, and now I’ve hit my first real challenge: merging onto a busy road. I feel like I wait longer than I need to, trying to find a suitable break in the traffic. Eventually, I find a gap I’m comfortable with and turn left onto the road.

I end up conveniently behind a slow bus. In the old days, this would have annoyed me. Now, I’m grateful for an excuse to drive at a slow, steady pace.

As I’m driving, my hot, anxious breath starts to fog up the cold window, and it’s getting harder to see. I wonder for a moment if I can remember how to turn on the demister. The window is becoming hazier, and I’m starting to worry, but then I approach a red light. This gives me a second to breathe and calm my nerves. And that’s when I realise, I do remember how to turn on the demister.

The window fog quickly clears. The traffic lights turn green and I’m on my way.

As I approach the shopping centre, I make a snap decision to park in the outdoor car park across the road instead of the shopping centre’s multi-level car park. Those places stress me out, even at the best of times.

I find a parking spot with an empty space on either side and I park the car. I move it into “Park.”

I made it!

I get out of the car.

With my feet firmly planted on solid ground again, I feel relieved that the journey is over.

But I know it’s only the beginning. I’ll have to drive home later.

Then tomorrow, I’ll need to drive again. And the next day.

The only way to get my confidence back… is to keep driving.

Today was the day.

I got back behind the wheel.

And I’ll do it again.