Driving with Anxiety: The Fine Line Between Caution and Confidence

The number one cause of death for teenagers in America is motor vehicle accidents. This statistic had been drilled into my mind a million times by teachers, coaches, and family members. Yet, despite their ‘well-meaning reassurances’ about the likelihood of my death, they couldn’t understand why I was drowning in anxiety the moment I stepped into that driving school parking lot. At only 14 years old, everyone expected me to be excited about getting behind the wheel, but instead, I was an anxiety-ridden mess.

In the classroom, it was straightforward; I absorbed the rules of the road with relative ease. But the real test awaited me outside, where reality collided with my racing thoughts. I stood there, watching as my assigned partner, who seemed unfazed, take the wheel. The instructor, casually downing a comically smelly salmon from a Tupperware while scrolling through Facebook, didn’t help. It felt like a bad joke—how could he focus on social media while our lives were in the balance?

As I waited my turn, my heart raced from the back seat. I looked over at the other student, effortlessly navigating the course, while I struggled to breathe, envisioning all the worst-case scenarios. A pang on jealousy filling me. He was already three lessons ahead of me, though I did not know that at the time, and I was painfully aware of how out of my depth I felt. The rain poured from above, and my stomach twisted in knots. I imagined skidding on the slick asphalt or failing to make a turn, resulting in a crash that would fulfill every anxiety I’d ever had.

When it was finally my turn, I climbed into the driver’s seat, my hands clammy on the steering wheel. The instructor’s relaxed demeanor only intensified my internal chaos. I could feel my palms sweating, my heart thudding against my chest. I was breathing, but breathing these deep breaths only someone on the verge of a panic attack has.

When I switched to the driver’s seat, and my partner sat in the back, I suddenly felt a weight pressing down on me. My mind raced through every terrifying statistic I’d ever heard, every accident that flashed on the news, and stupid things I’d seen a peer do. My issue has always been over-caution. My parents have never once told me to be careful in my life. From a small child on the playground to a teen who has been anything but rambunctious, I have always been careful. It was this anxiety that gripped me now. The world outside felt like a blur, and the simple act of pressing the gas pedal morphed into a monumental decision. My vision narrowed; I could barely focus on the road ahead.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, panic constricted my throat. Every sound seemed amplified—the engine’s growl, the rain’s patter, the instructor’s idle comments felt like looming shadows, echoing my fears. I was aware that my anxiety was getting in the way of safe driving, but no amount of deep breathing could shake the overwhelming sense of dread that engulfed me. I was in tears when we parked the car and finished the drive, but it was also then when I got out of my head and reflected, it really was not that bad. We did not die, I followed all the traffic rules taught in class, I actually did a good job. It was the anxiety that was fogging my brain. Driving was the thing that allowed me to find the balance between healthy caution and debilitating fear. After only three years of driving, I have been lucky enough that neither I nor anyone that I care about has been seriously hurt in a car crash. The only reason for that is because we take driving for what it is serious. I can breathe easy when driving to school. I can even merge onto the highway without a second thought, a task my younger self wouldn’t have dreamed of.

Last year in the depth of a Michigan winter, I left for school earlier than they had plowed the roads. The roads that were encrusted with nearly 3 inches of impacted snow and ice, before the sun came up I drove down the road. Losing traction of my tires and sliding closer and closer to a ditch. However, I had learned to manage my panic, and through a combination of pumping my breaks and precise turning, I avoided the ditch. I had the opportunity to default back to my old self, but I didn’t. I’ve learned my lesson, and I have no intention of unlearning it.