My Biggest Embarrassment? I Am Terrified of Driving.

Look into my purse - and you’ll see that pink plastic. That’s right, baby. I passed my driving test in 2019. With just three minors. 

So, have those seven years flown by, full of road trips and cruising with friends? No. No they have not.

And, they haven’t, because of a simple fact: I am terrified of driving. And that fact plagues my life and embarrasses me to the core. This piece of writing is not a love letter to the open road. This is, in fact, my confession, my screech for redemption, my cry into the abyss as I ask: is anybody out there?

But before I start screeching, let me paint the full picture. Getting behind the wheel for me is akin to telling my body I am about to fight a bear. The physical reaction my body has is so encompassing - my head heats up, I can’t breathe as easily, I can feel my whole system going into melt-down. I like to think of myself as a (mostly) intelligent person, but in the car I just can’t get a grip of my mind. Something as simple as remembering which side of the road to drive on becomes a genuine feat for me. And what makes all of this worse is that driving isn’t just seen as a skill - it’s a badge of adulthood. It shapes how people see you, and lacking said badge has started to feel like a very heavy mistake.

But, if that’s the case, how did I pass? Well, my fiancé tells me - in the very, very, very rare - some may say endangered - moments that I drive, that I am a “good driver.” I have never crashed, and, as mentioned, objective reports - and my driving certificate - tell me that I am fine.

It’s not really a practical skill thing, it’s more a confidence thing - but here, confidence is everything. And I do not have it. 

It’s always been this way. I was never the kid badgering her parents for a car. I would have happily sat - and still partially want to - sit on the bus for the rest of my life. Driving lessons never helped, and instead they felt like meeting a line-up of the least sympathetic 47-year-old’s in Radstock, UK. 

I googled for so many hours as a younger person trying to find a driving instructor who helped with the panic.  I found people who claimed they did, and then - during the lesson - kindly asked “what the fuck is wrong with me?” and then ended the lesson by telling me to buy cod liver oil tablets for my obvious lack of intelligence. The lessons were full of tears, palpable annoyance from the instructors, and about as much sympathy that I would offer someone who struck a dog. 

The thing is, I get it. I get so annoyed at myself too.  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” is a question that I ask a lot when it comes to this. It’s hard to actually convey how much of an impact not being able to drive has had on my self-belief. For me, not driving means I am not capable. This statement about myself leads me to hold other beliefs about myself, and to group other things into “what a capable person can do” and what I therefore, cannot. I see people going on grand adventures - things I’d love to do - and instantly am met by a voice that says, "but you can’t even drive a car?”.

Driving is the mark of an adult; of independence; of freedom - and I just can’t get myself there. 

It also makes me feel like a burden. I get to a lot of places under the power of my own steam, but, occasionally, I get lifts - and that makes me feel pathetic. I can’t offer to split long drives with my fiancé, I can’t pick my twin up from a night out, I can’t collect a friend from the airport. 

And so, with this one anxiety, it reduces my life - and my vision of myself. 

But, if it impacts my life so much, why have I not made it my mission to conquer it? Ten trillion people have said to me that everyone gets anxious and you just need to stick through it; that it's a rite of passage for driving. 

I’ll be honest, I should have done more at the beginning when I passed. But there was - and is - a delicious combination of my existing panic with other things: namely - driving a car is expensive and not actually necessary for my life. We’re also not talking about a little bit of anxiety - we’re talking about proper blown panic attacks behind the wheel.

For a long time, I simply couldn’t afford to buy or run a car. And, also, I didn’t need a car. I get the train to work, and driving would actually take longer. So, why on hell would I put myself through the pain?

And, then, things shifted. I started trying again. I created myself a driving lesson schedule.  I would make my fiancé wake up in the crack of dawn to drive around empty roads with me, car parks became my best friends, I tried doing familiar routes, I watched hypnotherapy YouTube tapes. And now, I’ve just committed to spending £295 on a half-day with a driving instructor who specifically deals with driving anxiety (oh how we’ve come on.) I am trying. I really am. 

But, in the back of my head, I wonder if I will ever overcome this. I try to picture myself driving down the road or, dear God, parking - and I just can’t imagine how I could ever do it. 

I promise you when I say that, in everything else in my life, I am a doer. I do not take ‘no’ for an answer and I attack all of my goals - but the practical hurdles of driving, combined with the fear, has created this obstacle that I am finding almost impossible to handle alone.

The internet tells me I am not alone with this. In fact, a study by Aviva Insurance group tells us that more than a third of motorists feel anxious behind the wheel, with almost half (43%) of this group saying nerves affect their ability to drive. Moreover, up to 10% of people meet the criteria for a diagnosed driving phobia, AND (yes the stats keep coming) a third (32 per cent) of UK drivers say their time in the car is unenjoyable.

So, with that in mind, why do I feel like I never hear about anyone who doesn’t drive due to anxiety? The lazy - but maybe obvious - answer within reach is stigma. Maybe lots of other non-drivers feel like burdensome cry babies. Maybe lots of people have a stronger sense of resilience than me and just suck it up? Who knows.

But it does make me wonder, maybe the world isn’t as obsessed with driving as it seems. Despite the fact that I cannot begin to tell you how many times I have been made to feel inferior, less practical and less helpful because of my inability to drive, maybe lurking under the surface, under all of the “Oh but the FREEDOM”, is a society that secretly understands driving isn’t the ONLY option. 

All I seem to hear from my driver friends and family’s is car-related misery. Parking tickets, speeding tickets, sudden astronomical MOT bills, catastrophic breakdowns, traffic - you name it. That’s before we begin to talk about the impact on the environment. So, why are all my loved one SO keen on getting me on the road?

For a lot of people driving just isn’t worth it. It’s an expense we can’t afford - whether that be driving lessons or just purchasing a car - and we’re perfectly happy navigating our lives through trains, planes and - not - automobiles. In fact, you may not believe me, but I personally love public transport. I love not being stuck in traffic and instead reading a book as I coast through the English countryside - even when I factor the tyrannical, delay-ridden beast that is GWR.

I’m not saying I don’t dream of driving at night alone on the motorway listening to the XX like I’m 17 again, or that I don’t want to rock up outside my best friend’s house and yell “get in”, or that - biggest of all - I don’t, one day, want to be able to pick up my kids from school. But, I’m just trying to put it out there, if you don’t drive - it doesn’t make your life any less big. It doesn’t make you any less able, or any less free, or any less helpful. It means one thing, you just don't drive. Maybe that’ll change. Maybe it won’t. But at least you’ll never have to pay £60 for a parking ticket.

---

Written by mag founder, Jessica Blackwell