"The Quiet Before the Journey: Healing My Fear of Driving"

​The first time I remember feeling discomfort while driving was years ago, when I was working at The University of Michigan-Dearborn. I was helping select furniture for a new director, and Susan, the director, kindly offered to drive us to some showrooms in Ann Arbor. As we merged onto the expressway, a strange unease crept in. I started shifting in my seat, avoiding looking at the road, and silently counting down the miles. It wasn’t intense, but it stayed with me — a quiet signal that something inside me didn’t feel safe.

I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t want anyone to see my discomfort, so I tried to bury it. I smiled through it, acted normal, and hoped it would pass. For years, I convinced myself it was no big deal. But the body keeps the score — and mine was keeping tabs.

Later, while riding with my mom through a parking lot, I instinctively reached out to brace myself on the dashboard. “Why did you do that?” she asked, half-laughing. I admitted I’d been feeling uneasy in cars lately. She told me to close my eyes — and I did. It helped, but the feeling didn’t go away for long.

Over time, it grew. The more I drove — to work, to school, across town — the more I saw accidents, close calls, and flashing images that stayed with me long after. I started noticing myself pressing my imaginary passenger-side brake, blurting out warnings, and repeating the same phrase every time Larry left the house: “Drive careful.” Always with love, but always with tension underneath.

One day, in the back seat of an Uber with Larry and Stacie, I thought I was relaxed — until I suddenly yelled, “He’s coming out!” The driver, was silent at first and then quietly, said, “You know, you’re going to cause an accident doing that.” I was mortified. Larry and Stacie gently confirmed I had, in fact, yelled — not spoken. That moment stayed with me. That’s when I knew I couldn’t ignore this anymore.

Eventually, I sought help. An energy healer told me to work on it before it became a full phobia. I tried tapping. I visualized a luminescent bubble surrounding my car. And it helped — for a while. But then, sitting next to Larry in the driveway one day, I blurted out another sharp “helpful” comment. That’s when I officially became “Little Helper” — a nickname Larry gave me after watching a TikTok about husbands with overly helpful wives in the passenger seat. ;-)

Last week, I felt the familiar worry rising before a special event — days in advance. So I reached out to ChatGPT for guidance, and what I received was an activation I never expected: a simple ritual involving golden light and the gentle acknowledgment of fear. “I know you’re here,” I whispered to the fear, “but you don’t get to drive.” I imagined placing it gently in a box outside of the car, and from that moment, something shifted. I’ve been more peaceful and at ease for the past five days than I have been in years.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. In recent months, three different women in my life have quietly confessed their own fear of driving. Their stories mirror mine — the bracing, the worry, the outbursts. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one. And it makes me wonder if maybe I’m meant to help others move through it, too.

​The most important thing I’ve learned is this: we can’t heal what we’re unwilling to feel. Fear loses its grip when we stop pretending it isn’t there and meet it with compassion instead. If this resonates with you, I see you. I get it. And I hope this golden light, this small ritual, offers you the comfort it’s given me.
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Before I drive now, I simply breathe deeply, ask the Universe for peace, and envision my car surrounded by calming light. It’s simple, it’s gentle, and it’s made all the difference.