In July 2018, 4 tests and 7 years of disrupted lessons later, I passed my driving test.

Driving is, without doubt, the most stressful thing I have ever committed myself to. Yes, I do mean that. For me, in this body, with my struggles, driving is more stressful than, dare I say it, even pregnancy and my God, I’d never do any woman the disservice of making out that that is easy, disability or none.

Pregnancy at least had an end in sight, a beautiful gift of a child to reward me at its end.

Driving was meant to be a skill I could hold in my head, a set of actions I could learn to repeat instinctively and with purpose.

But, driving as an action drains me. Physically, I cannot drive for longer than 45 minutes. It will never be a case of “Just rest a bit & carry on” because once my physical energy is spent, my muscles worn and its memory depleted, it cannot be regained that day unless I stay still, ideally under a blanket or a bath.

Emotionally, driving has wrecked me. 5 years the law says I have been safe out on the roads with all those impatient but equally licensed others. 65 approximate months and I can say with confidence I haven’t even driven a car 65 times. The burden of needing to concentrate continuously and read and react to others absolutely empties my brain.

I’m pretty convinced I’m developing a driving phobia. Lockdown didn’t help at all, because I wasn’t allowed to drive anywhere anyway, but I simply leaned into the excuse, the avoidance.

The irony being that Kev actually qualified as a driving instructor in 2014. So we thought I’d be fine, because he’d be on hand. But it is absolutely true when they tell you not to learn to drive with those you love. Kev is an excellent teacher, but I reject it completely when he tries because I feel alone. In the sense that I have to learn to do this for myself and I cannot be a student to the person who knows the most about me and loves me the most. I also realise how counterproductive this whole feeling is, because I rationally know I could not be in safer hands.

But the stress, the fear of driving has me on edge constantly, sometimes even before I get in the car. Our new car is pretty big given that it needed to accommodate 5 of us regularly and the accumulated baggage that young children require. I am dyspraxic (I have no idea if this is related to cerebral palsy or just an additional misfortune) and I have no spatial awareness and really poor hand-eye co-ordination. Having to battle these at the same time as the muscle fatigue and slow reaction times, I struggle to remember how I could possibly have gotten through the test in the first place.

I am frustrated that it is clear I learnt to pass a driving test and not, in fact, to actuall drive. That’s why I need Kev. I know I passed a test, but if you asked me about manouevres, my brain would be empty. I could get there. We have a lot of assistive tech on our new car which will be really helpful, but I’m too scared to take my attention from the road for a second, to flick on cruise control, to check the parking assist. I need to. I’ll never be able to park without it because I just can’t comprehend which way a reversing car is going to travel. I have tried to talk it out to the point of tears more times than my mind is prepared to let me remember.

For this year, I was determined to drive. I spent thousands of pounds and years of time to earn that licence. But my God, I don’t want to be in tears every time I get in the car, not when its whole purpose is to make life easier for me and the girls. Because, right now, it doesn’t. With my fitness goals, I truly don’t understand why anyone would put themselves under the stress of driving when they can just enjoy the health benefits of walking. After all, I can walk and that in itself is a blessing.

In my fear, I am becoming more and more convinced this is something that will remain beyond me. After all, if I come to rely on the assistive tech, I’ll never know how to “drive” for myself, will I? I can’t actually reason out why that even matters, after all I wouldn’t berate a paraplegic, would I? I would celebrate success with them and to be honest, at this point, being able to get to the end of my street without sobbing would be great.

Driving, to me, is a heavy responsibility. People die in car crashes for God’s sake.

I don’t know why that looms large either to be honest. The worst I have ever done is scraped paint off a car. Several times, the worst of which being because of an uninsured car parked on a junction. This one infuriates me because it shouldn’t have been there. But I’ve never actually been in a crash of any description. I am far too cautious not to be able to find the brakes.

But I dream of car crashes all the time. Turns out they’re not literal interpretations. Car crashes signify a power struggle. That sounds about right, a power struggle between the car and me.

I have been in such states recently that Kev has agreed to drive everywhere until I say otherwise. When he gave me that escape, I wondered if I would ever say so again.

But the one thing I do know about myself is that I don’t give up. After all, who puts up with driving lessons start-stopping for seven years?! And Kev keeps telling me that I absolutely can drive, it is the fear that is in the way. I am in my own way. I want to believe he’s wrong because that would be easier on me but I know he wouldn’t lie because not only is he an excellent driver, he’s a qualified teacher at it. It would go againt his principles.

So this morning, I’ve looked up medication, therapy, hypnosis. I don’t think I necessarily need all of these. But I can take small steps right? So, today, I’m going to drive half-a-mile to take Squidge to her therapy appointment. And if it doesn’t go well, i.e. without tears, then I’m off out for Rescue Remedy. Then we’ll have another swing, maybe a mile to the supermarket?

Small. Steady. With kindness. Because after all, I’m not a failure til I give up, am I?