Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Indiana Jones was afraid of snakes. Peter Pan was terrified of adulthood. I, like the greats, have a fear too: driving. I’m 23-years-old, and I only have my state ID. I have not been behind the wheel of a vehicle in over nine years, and I don’t plan on that changing anytime soon.

A lot of people ask me why I don’t drive, but I don’t think they fully understand when I tell them it scares me. “Scares” is actually an understatement. It’s more of driving stirs up all of my anxiety into a nice little bundle of panic attacks with a bow on top. One of the last times I drove as a teenager, I cried. I completely freeze behind the wheel. I worry about harming myself or the people riding with me. It becomes debilitating. My fear runs that deep.

My mother was in a life-altering car wreck when I was in the fourth grade. A girl I was in Campfire with passed away when I was starting the necessary paperwork for my hardship in the ninth grade. I’ve been witness to far too many car wrecks in my day. Plus, living in a giant, busy city doesn’t do much to calm my nerves. While the majority of my driving stems from my anxiety, it also isn’t possible financially.

I barely get by the bills I have, so there is no way I would be able to make car payments, pay for repairs, and constantly fill the tank. Even if my anxiety magically disappears, I wouldn’t be able to afford a car.

Now, I know not driving can be a real pain in the ass, and quite frankly, you have no idea how bad I feel having to ask for rides. I feel like a hassle. I feel like a burden. I feel like a downright bum. I delete and rewrite messages a million times before sending them. It worries me sick that people see me as an inconvenience or a bother. You may not be able to tell how terrible I feel on the outside (because as a wise woman once told me, I’m like a Snickers bar: you have to get through the crunchy bits to get to the soft, nougat-y center), but I’m kicking myself on the inside.

While I really, really do appreciate all of the messages encouraging me to learn how to drive, I can’t help but feel a little hurt. Yes, one day I will conquer my fear; until then, all I ask for is a little understanding and compassion. It’s like asking me to change a part of myself I have no control over. It makes my phobia seem unjustified or insignificant. I know all of these messages come from a pure place of concern, but it’s hard of me. I wish I could be afraid of clowns or bunnies like Anya or even something ridiculous like chalk, but I’m not. I’m legitimately terrified of driving, and my anxiety makes sure I know it. Please respect that.

P.S. I don’t know how to ride a bike, and the thought of biking is equally terrifying.