It took me seven years to do what most people do in high school. I’m not talking about having my first kiss, drinking alcohol out of red solo cups, or applying to college. Those things were easy. It’s getting from point A to point B the standard American way that scares me most. I was one of the first in my grade to get my driver’s license, but I was hardly ever the designated driver. Driving terrifies me, especially driving alone on freeways.
“Good luck, Erica! I know you can do it.” This was the message inside one of many encouraging birthday cards I received the night before the big test—the test that was graded according to parallel parking, not turning on red, and holding your hands at ten and two. The next morning, I awoke with anticipation and was relieved to see that the weather conditions were favorable. As I nervously sat in the driver’s seat, I hoped my outcome would be favorable too. I had already aced the written portion of the test, practiced dodging orange cones, and learned when to stop for pedestrians. Now all I had to do was drive without losing too many points—how hard could it be?
“Can you please put on the right-hand turn signal?” said the road test lady. I turned on the windshield wipers and sprayed the washer fluid. “There goes a point,” I thought. Next task up was parking. I attempted backing into a spot and managed to hit every single cone. How did I do so well during practice? My mom stood a few feet from the car and her face said it all: “Oh shit, she’s not going to pass. Poor Erica.” I didn’t even make it onto the road, so much for being a newly independent teenager with the freedom to drive. I felt like a failure in everything, not just driving.
“It’s okay, Erica. I failed my road test twice,” my mom said. How encouraging. We drove home and I was determined to practice parking everyday and retake the road test at the earliest possible date, the next week. I hoped not as many people would find out I had failed if I retook the test so soon. I worried what other people would think; I always do.
The weather conditions were not favorable the following week; it was gloomy and rainy and I was prepared to fail again. After parking, the instructor asked me to turn left. I panicked. “How the hell am I supposed to turn left when incoming traffic is coming this way? Does she want me to hit the cars head on?” I thought. I sat in the car deciding how to make that left turn for what seemed like an eternity. I looked back at my mother, hoping she would give me a subtle hint at how to make the impossible left turn. I wondered if maybe I had heard the instructor wrong and she had said “turn right”, not left. Then it donned on me. I was supposed to turn right and make a Michigan left around the median.
After a somewhat stressful, but surprisingly simple time on the road, we arrived back at the starting location. “I’m going to let you get your license, but you’re a terrible driver. Just so you know, most accidents occur because of new drivers,” said the evil road test lady. Passing your road test and getting your driver’s license is supposed to be a joyous occasion; one that signifies freedom, independence, and entry into adulthood. It isn’t supposed to leave you in tears, fill you with self-doubt, or crush your self-esteem. As soon as the too skinny, too blonde, wannabe cheerleading coach was far enough away not to hear me, I began crying hysterically. I passed, but I was a horrible driver. How was I ever going to succeed in anything?
Driver’s training didn’t give me the training or encouragement I needed. My first time doing a scheduled drive, I was accompanied by Anthony Marrocco, a boy I went to school with who was also taking driver’s training with me, and the driving instructor, a creepy old man. My turn to drive was first, but I didn’t get any instructions. I had practiced driving a couple times with my father and sister, but always in a neighborhood and never on a busy road with other cars. It was as if the creepy old man assumed I knew exactly what to do. Unfortunately, the driving video games do not prepare you for actual driving. Neither does driving around neighborhoods and parking in vacant school parking lots.
I pulled out onto the road and, within minutes, the instructor demanded I pull into a nearby neighborhood and switch to the passenger seat. I felt embarrassed, but angry at the same time. He should have given me more direction before letting me take the wheel. I like being prepared for things, especially when a single wrong turn could mean the end of life as I know it. The videos we watched in driver’s training that showed careless drivers falling off the Big Sur terrified me, but they didn’t teach me anything about how to operate a vehicle. Driving should be taught in real school. That way, people like me would excel in driving as we do in reading, writing, and arithmetic.
My first time driving alone was scary. I set out on my journey to high school dance team practice, a short seven-minute route that consisted of two left-hand turns, two traffic lights, and a right-hand turn into the school parking lot. I played the music very quietly because my parents warned me about distracted driving. I’d later find out that blasting the music and singing along was one of the only ways to calm my nerves while on the road. I called my parents to let them know I had arrived safely at my destination. Driving wasn’t as nerve-wrecking as I thought it would be.
Then, two weeks later, I was pulled over. Luckily, the cop only gave me a warning, probably because I was a new driver with a clean record and we were three innocent girls listening to The Spice Girls. I had flashbacks to the warning the evil road test lady gave me: “You’re a terrible driver. Most accidents occur because of new drivers.” I didn’t tell my parents what had happened because I was afraid they wouldn’t let me drive again for a while. Even though driving wasn’t my hobby of choice, I was the only one in my friend group with a license, so it was either I drove or the parents drove. You tell me which option a teenager would pick.
The first few weeks of being a licensed driver, I would forget to turn off my lights or turn the key all the way in the ignition; my car moved, but my staring wheel wouldn’t turn. Ever since, I became obsessively aware of every smell, sound, sight, or feel in my car. The slightest smell of gasoline sends me into a panicked frenzy that there is a gas leak until I’m assured that it’s probably because I just filled up the gas tank. Exhaust coming from underneath the car means my car must be on fire. Weird noises indicate that the bumper or a headlight is about to fall off. People flash their bright lights at me to signal that something is wrong with my car when really their lights just appear to be flashing because they are driving over a bumpy part of the road. I convince myself that the ordinary is anything but and allow myself to piece together an imaginary scenario that I am in danger.
I frequently do this in all aspects of life—worrying about everything that has gone wrong, can go wrong, and will go wrong. Driving makes it worse—not only do I go through my usual ruminations of why my weekly crush didn’t text me back, what I will do when I graduate, or how I will get everything done perfectly and on time, I worry about what the loud noises are, why I smell smoke and gasoline, and whether or not I can turn left at a red light on a one-way road. I often second-guess myself which is why I like having other people in the car with me. “Am I allowed to make a turn here?” “Should I go around this car?” “What’s the quickest (and safest) route home?” “Will I make it another few blocks before filling up my gas tank when it’s on empty?” When no one is there to reassure me, I’m left over-thinking things which causes me to freak out.
Getting lost is just as distressing. I’m okay with driving in familiar locations where I know my way around and can give other people directions by telling them to turn left at the Starbuck’s or drive past the third McDonald’s. But when I don’t know where I’m going and have never taken a certain route before, I feel like I’ll fall off the face of the earth with one wrong turn. This causes me to stick strictly to familiar routes and leave the challenging drives for more experienced drivers.
Experience isn’t the only thing I lack when it comes to driving; my lack of driving confidence is my biggest obstruction. I feel weak, powerless, and unsure of myself while driving. I thought being behind the wheel would be rewarding, like losing my training wheels for the first time. But it is the complete opposite.
I worry because driving is a necessity. Yes, there’s public transportation and the option of walking, biking, or riding with friends, but these options are not the most reliable or practical. I know that someday when I have a family of my own, I will have to take the role as chauffeur, and as hard as it is for me to except this, I will not always be able to avoid freeways.
I’m done depending on people for rides and waiting until it’s convenient for them to get me where I need to be. I want to be in control of my own destination. I’ve missed out on visiting friends from other schools and spending relaxing weekends at home just because I was too scared to drive on the freeway. I avoid driving alone on freeways much like I avoid getting my wisdom teeth consultation. I’m afraid of the “what ifs” and worst case scenarios. I’ve driven on freeways a handful of times, but always with other people in the car so they can help me navigate. Being alone and making every decision by myself is too much for me. I don’t like feeling trapped by my thoughts or the congestion of the road.
The summer before my senior year of college, I set out on a mission to make the hour-and-ten minute freeway drive from Shelby Township to Ann Arbor all alone. I was going to have my car with me up at college for the first time so I wanted to be comfortable driving on the freeway. My parents wrote down the easiest route for me and I practiced driving on the freeway with other people in the car. It was now or never. I was starting to feel like a complete failure due to my inability to drive alone on freeways. I had been a licensed driver since the age of 16, but, in a way, I felt like I had never fully learned how to drive. Skills wise, I was a good driver, but my mind told me otherwise. Most people I knew had successfully driven on freeways the first year they had their licenses. They had probably parallel parked and backed into parking spots too. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t achieved the typical driving milestones. I was determined to drive alone on the freeway that summer before my senior year of college and then something happened that stalled my progress and brought me back to feeling like I only had a driver’s permit.
During my commute home from work last July, I decided to meet my mom for lunch. It was only my third day of work and I was still relying on my iPhone map to navigate home without getting lost. I called my mom and asked for directions to her work. She told me what route to take, but I was already in the wrong lane. Instead of driving a little out of my way and switching lanes when it was safe, I proceeded to stop right in the middle of a busy road. I then attempted to switch two lanes to the left so I could do a Michigan turn and get back on the right track. Within seconds, I heard cars honking—and I knew they were honking at me. Panic set in as I nervously wondered what to do. I just wanted to get where I needed to be, in one piece. Eventually a car stopped and let me over. If it wouldn’t have been for that kind soul, who knows what would have happened. I was shaking and crying the rest of the way to meet my mom because of the traumatic experience. I thought this was a one-time negative driving incident that would soon disappear from my memory. But oh was I wrong.
A couple weeks later, I became nauseous and out-of-breath while driving. Soon I couldn’t feel my hands or feet and my eyes started twitching. I had no idea what was happening to me and I started freaking out more and more by the second. I was having a panic attack. For the next month, I got this same out-of-control, dreadful feeling every time I tried to drive. I had conditioned myself to panic each time I passed a particular landmark. Driving made me feel completely helpless, nervous, and jittery. My goal to drive alone on the freeway suddenly seemed so far out of reach. I knew I needed to get over my fear of driving, but before I could tackle the freeway, I had to relearn the basics. My family members helped me overcome this pitfall by driving me to appointments and work, and eventually giving me the courage to get behind the wheel again. But I was back to square one when it came to freeway driving. How was I ever going to be a normal functioning adult?
By the time school started back, I was adjusted to driving again in a way I was comfortable with—short distances and on recognizable roads. Learning how to drive around campus came with a few unexpected challenges: parallel parking, parking structures, and cops. I didn’t want to pay $100 each month for a parking spot so I opted for street parking, not realizing that I, a girl who hadn’t parallel parked since her failed road test, would have to maneuver in between two parked cars without hitting the curb or the cars. It was a terrifying realization. I started small by parallel parking in spaces big enough to fit semi trucks. Then I tried the more challenging parking spots. It was a breeze when other people navigated for me. “Turn the wheel all the way to the left. Ok now back up a little. A little more. Now stop. Turn your wheel all the way to the right. Pull forward an inch. Straighten it out and you’re done! Oh my gosh, you just parallel parked. I have to text your sister!” said my friend Karli. When others aren’t in the car with me, I get out and look behind me to make sure I have enough space. If it’s true that objects in mirror are closer than they appear, I don’t want to take any chances.
Parallel parking became easier after a few months of trial-and-error, but roadside spots weren’t very easy to find. This caused me to face another one of my driving fears: parking structures. The winding aisles and closely packed cars exacerbate my claustrophobia. I feel like I’m being suffocated by the concrete walls. When I was 14, we were in a parking structure that was being renovated and I thought for sure I would get stuck and there would be no way out. Parking structures are off limits for me just like freeway driving. However, while driving around campus this September, I realized I had a choice to make: parallel parking or parking structures. After driving around for 20 minutes on the way to class one day without any luck of finding a parking spot, I drove through the gates of a parking structure. It was as if I was entering the temple of doom. I progressed through the winding aisles until discovering a row of empty spots on the top floor. I parked. I survived.
Driving was surprisingly not too stressful. I had conquered parallel parking and parking structures and was ready to tackle my biggest fear of solo freeway driving. Nothing was going to get in my way. Then one October morning on the way to work, I saw the terrifying flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. With shaking hands, I pulled into a nearby parking lot and reached for my license and registration. I thought of the only other time I was pulled over and wondered why this was happening to me. “Great, now I will never drive on a freeway,” I thought. The cop approached my car and asked me if I knew how fast I had been going. “Uh, I don’t know. This is my first time having a car up here. I’m not really sure what the speed limit is,” I said, unable to control my shaking hands. The familiar awful panicky feeling returned in the pit of my stomach. “You were going 40mph near the train tracks and the speed limit is 25mph. I’m only going to give you a ticket for five over.” How nice of him, not. I sat in my car for a half-an-hour trying to calm myself down. One more thing to add to my list of driving concerns: speeding tickets.
As soon as I heard the words, “do something you’re afraid of and write about the experience,” I knew what I had to do: drive home alone for Thanksgiving break. Sunday, November 18, 2012 was the day I would overcome my biggest fear. I figured there would be the least amount of traffic on a Sunday afternoon and I wasn’t about to make things any harder than they had to be. I prepared for this drive as if I was preparing for a week-long hike in the mountains: evaluating the best route with friends and family, stocking up on food and beverages in case I got dizzy, making sure my gas tank was full enough, wearing the proper shoes, and most importantly of all, remembering to put the new Taylor Swift CD into my car CD player.
“Should I take the Main Street route or US-23S to I-94E?” I asked my roommate Sarah.
“Definitely don’t take I-94E, you’d be going way out of your way,” Sarah said. I took I-94E; it was the route I had taken with others in the car so I thought maybe I would recognize the exits and feel more in control. Aside from Sarah, my sister, my brother, and my friend Karli, no one else knew about the adventure I was about to embark on. I wanted to surprise my parents, and the rest of the world. My high school friends never understood just how serious my fear of driving was; they thought I was being overly dramatic when I said I couldn’t come visit them at school because I had nobody to drive with. I felt ashamed. Maybe now they would realize what a big deal driving had been all of these years. I was determined to drive alone on a freeway and nothing could stop me, not even my own fear.
I left Ann Arbor around 11:30am and drove through campus to get to Washtenaw Avenue. I saw the US-23S sign and neared the entrance ramp with slight hesitation. Once I got on the ramp, I knew there was no turning back. The hardest part, merging, would soon be over. For the first four years of being a licensed driver, I thought you had to turn all the way around and look out your back window before merging or switching lanes. Now I know you just have to look out your side back window to check your blind spot. If only I had known that earlier, I might have made the first solo freeway drive a long time ago. I switched to the fast lane and celebrated a little bit inside. I was driving alone on a freeway—just me, my car, and Taylor Swift. Whenever I started panicking about a weird feeling, smell, or sight, I turned the music louder and sang at the top of my lungs.
About a half hour into my ride, I started getting the familiar and irritating feeling of shaking and numbness in my hands. I panicked. “Don’t freak out Erica. Everything is going to be alright. Pull over if you have to,” I thought. The next exit was a mile away. While praying I would make it without having a full-fledged panic attack, I contemplated stopping on the shoulder. However, I didn’t know where the hazard lights were. Stupid driver’s training! I exited the freeway at Ecorse road and pulled into a neighborhood to calm myself down. This consisted of drinking my Gatorade, taking a few bites of my Pop-Tart and walking around the car, all while breathing slowly in and out as I had been trained. I knew I had to relax myself or my physical symptoms would get worse. I texted Sarah: “I had to pull over, my hands went numb.” After a ten-minute pause, I was ready to continue on my voyage. Luckily, I had my iPhone map to guide me to the nearest freeway entrance. I merged again and life went on. As I switched over to I-75N, I knew I was halfway home. I felt hindered for having to stop in the beginning of my journey, but it helped me realize that it’s okay to take breaks. I am not going to get lost or fall off the face of the earth. Life will continue after the traffic and roadblocks.
A little while later, I started getting the weird sensation in my hands again, but I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to stop in the middle of Detroit. I kept driving and I gave myself little goals to accomplish as if I was an out-of-breath runner pushing myself to go further. “Ten more miles till your exit, you can do it!” These personal pep talks were much more helpful than my personal cycles of worry and despair. I was acting out in real life the message that I had read in so many self help books: positive thoughts lead to positive feelings. Maybe if I stopped thinking of freeway driving as a fear, it wouldn’t be so bad. I was driving along and singing when I realized my lane was ending: “8-Mile exit only.” I knew 8-Mile was unsafe and I did not want to get stuck driving around there. My first instinct was to quickly switch lanes without even checking to see if the lane was clear. Fortunately, I had enough sense to glance behind me and merge in between cars without veering off track. A few more miles and I was home free.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I exited the freeway. I, Erica Avesian, drove alone on a freeway, and aside from a few minor setbacks, everything went smoothly. There were no crashes, fires, or accidents; no honking horns, screaming sirens, or flashing lights. For the first time in my life, I associated driving with independence and success. If I could conquer that fear, I can conquer anything.
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