A driver’s licence… ooh… ehm… great!? This may be your response.

For many people, learning how to drive a car is just a normal step in the process of becoming an adult. It might be exciting at first because it promises more freedom and opportunities. But soon enough driving and having a greater radius of movement becomes like breathing, like second nature.

Not so for me.

I learned how to drive when I was 17. That year of my life was challenging. I was depressed, though I didn’t really call it that way. My first chronic illness had just come knocking and messing with my body. A few days after passing my practical driving test, a friend of mine took his own life. And I was left by my first love a few months after.

I don’t know whether my overall state at that time had affected my developing relationship with driving. Or whether it had been impacted by the fact that my driving instructor was a sexist making me feel very conscious of my gender and all the stereotypes that come with it throughout my practical lessons. Or maybe it all would have developed just the same in more favourable circumstances. Guess, I’ll never know.

In any case, I remember the moment my instructor told me that I just passed my driving test. I should have been happy, I should have been proud. Instead, I felt like a fraud and an eerie uneasy feeling took residence inside me: “I am not ready! Can’t they see I am not feeling as if I got this?”

“Do you want to drive us back to the school?”, my instructor asked me. “Your preliminary license is taking effect right now so you might as well take the wheel.”

“No thanks”, I mumbled.

Here I was, released onto the streets as a capable young driver. Scared at the thought of driving anywhere on my own. What the hell was wrong with me?

The truth was the thought of driving made me anxious. More so – downright panicky.

And it got worse in the weeks, and months, and years to come. I did all I could to avoid having to drive. Finding excuses. Making appointments only when and where I could reach them via public transport, or a ride by someone else.

When driving was unavoidable, I would be stressed for days leading up to the event. It was like a dark cloud flying towards me, a feeling of doom I could not escape.

I remember one day I was on the driver’s seat, accompanied by my mom as a passenger, going for some kind of errand in the nearest town. I was waiting at the traffic lights on a 3-lane road. My level of panic in this moment was off the charts. Had you asked me how my name was spelled or under which foot of mine the brake pedal was, I would not have been able to tell you. Total blackout. It took all my mental strength not to give in to my instincts and run away, abandoning the car in the middle of the street.

Experiencing how panic could take a hold of me like this and turn me into an unreliable, non-functioning bundle of nerves left me trusting myself even less. My fear of driving became the fear of my fear. It was a vicious circle I knew I could not escape unless I did the very thing it kept me from: Practicing driving. Regularly.

Every time I backed away from an opportunity to practice defeated me even more. I felt sh*t about myself. Stupid, incapable, immature, embarrassed.

Before you think that this kitschy end of the story is the end of the story: No, dear. 

I went through many setbacks and months without any driving and many more happy breakthroughs since. Still today, my anxiety is still taking the passenger seat. It is part of me for some reason unknown to me. But it does not control me anymore.

And today is the first time e.v.e.r. that I talk about this publicly. Just like suppressing a fear consumes precious mental resources, thereby giving it even more power, hiding something weakens us. It leaves us feeling like frauds, cowards… But why do we let it?

One thing I learned on my personal authenticity journey – and through the impactful stories of our WHYLD Podcast guests – is that freedom lies on the other side of vulnerability. If there is nothing left to hide, there is nothing left for others to discover and exploit. Though the latter is not what most people would do, anyway.

It is much more likely that you choosing to be seen with all your strengths and weaknesses will result in support, in respect, in connection, in gratitude.

I am telling you this story of mine as it documents my own shift towards truthfulness and authenticity.

I no longer want to hide aspects of myself because they are all precious and they all have a reason to exist. Likely a value to give to others.

Whatever you are embarrassed about, whatever you keep from others, I want you to know how much damage this can do to your sense of self-respect.

When you choose the truth, you choose to love yourself – and render all your fears ineffective.

Try it out, I dare you.