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I left my husband, Jon, asnooze in bed this morning. It’s been a long week, and this is a weekend we have Trinity. Shared custody with her father means that she divides her time. When I heard her stirring I rolled out of bed, got dressed, and went down to see if my teenager wanted some mother/daughter bonding time or had her own agenda for the morning. She wanted to stay home and continue watching her anime on her computer while I made a breakfast run to Panera. Then I had a choice, I could take our SUV, or the Baby. The Baby is my Chip Foose Stallion, 2007. I love the car, and it’s the only car that when I look at it’s rear end I think almost the same thoughts as when I see a man with a nice ass. This was the car that helped me understand that vehicles can be sexy. I relearned how to drive a stick shift for this car, but I don’t drive it much. I make excuses, that my head is into the book, and I’d rather veg to music while I drive and not have to concentrate to the level the Baby demands. That’s even true, part of the time, when I’m in absentminded artist mode you don’t want me driving a high performance car. But the truth is that I’m a little afraid of the Baby. I’m afraid of cars in general, actually. I know why; my mother died in a car crash when I was six. I’ve never trusted cars since, not really. They are treacherous beasts, and the other drivers are not to be trusted. If I’d lived in a different country, or a bigger city, I might have been able to build a life without a main car, but this is America and I was raised in the country, you have to have a car. So I did, and I loved being able to drive at sixteen, because my grandmother couldn’t drive and after my mother died we had to depend on relatives to take us anywhere, for anything. It was very isolating, and kept me out of a lot of after school activities, so when I was old enough my grandmother and I were thrilled that I could drive. We were independent again for groceries, shopping, whatever, but I never really got over my unease about cars.

Which brings us back to this morning, and a choice of things to drive to get breakfast for my family. I reached automatically for the keys to the SUV, because I could listen to music and it takes less concentration to drive it – all true, but that wasn’t the reason. I felt that little tickle of fear in my gut. I don’t know why I’m nervous about driving the Baby, or when it started to bother me, I just know that it does, and I know like all fear it grows if you feed it. Every time I gave into it, and drove the other car, instead, the fear gained strength, and I lost. I know that about myself. I know that I have a host of phobias all from real life trauma, and I know the only way to not be crippled emotionally by them is to keep facing them, to wear them down with my own courage. It sounds so stupid that I’m afraid to drive my own car, but I am. I don’t need to understand why my unease surrounding my mother’s death has attached to my beautiful Mustang, I only need to accept that it has, and that is my battlefield for this fear. I drove the Baby this morning, and it took more courage than was pretty, to do it. I was nervous starting that growling engine up, nervous backing out of the garage, nervous easing her onto the main street, nervous driving into traffic, but I did it. I did it, and somewhere in that drive the fear fell away, and I began to remember why I wanted this car, why the sound of the engine fills me with an almost physical rush of pleasure, how proud I was when I was able to drive her through a drive-up for food without killing the engine a half dozen times. I remembered driving her when I prayed that stoplights would stay green so I didn’t have to come to a complete halt, and risk killing the engine as I shifted gears, and used all those pedals. I remembered Jon and our friend, Charles, taking me out to a large parking lot and taking turns teaching me how to drive. My shifting was so rough that it made both of them motion sick and they tag-teamed so that each of them could rest in between sessions. I was so happy when I realized I could drive my own car, well. I bought her with Jon driving her off the lot, because I couldn’t drive her yet. This car was a beautiful challenge to me from the very beginning. I’m still not sure what possessed to buy her. Maybe it was just time; I don’t know.

I picked up breakfast, and drove back home, feeling as bright and upbeat as the sunny, summer day. If I had allowed myself to drive the other car, knowing that it was fear that drove the choice, I wouldn’t have been feeling so happy. For me, at least, if I’m afraid of something I have to face it. I have accepted that for me, any time I give into a fear, let it stop me from enjoying my life, that I feel diminished. I know that I’ve lost against the only person I really measure myself against, me. I’ve disappointed me, and in the end I’m the face in the mirror. I’m the one that knows why I do things, I can pretend for others, but when I’m afraid of something I have to go for it. I have to work through it, or I get stuck. The fear doesn’t just affect that one thing, or one part of my life, it begins to spread, so that it’s easier to back down to the next issues, and the next. Fear, and bravery do the same thing; they snowball. Fear leads to fear; courage leads to courage – whichever choice I make it’s easier to make the same choice next time. It’s initially uncomfortable to ignore a fear and act as if you’re not afraid, but I find in the long run it’s better. I’d trade a few uncomfortable moments for that uplift of spirit and mind and heart that comes with knowing I didn’t let it beat me.

I had breakfast with Trinity, and then we sat on the couch and talked, and watched an episode of Law and Order: SVU, which was about a young model her own age being assaulted and killed. The show talked about anorexia, and other body image issues. We were able to talk about it, and do that mother/daughter bonding that you don’t always get to do with your teenager. I value the moments when she still wants to be my little girl, and then the next moment we’re talking about serious things, grownup things, and I guess that’s what being a teenager is, you’re not a little kid, but you can be, and your’e not a grownup, but you can be – both, neither, so confusing. We had fun, and have something that I never had with my grandmother, we not only love each other, but we “get” each other. There’s a companionableness and comfort, a togetherness, that I never had with anyone in my family growing up. It’s nice to finally understand why some of my friends said their mom’s were their best friends. Trinity and I would have a nice morning if I’d driven the other car, she wouldn’t have known my decision making process, unless I told her, but I would have known. I would have known that I gave into my fear, and that the mother sitting beside her hadn’t done her best that morning, but had chickened out. I would have known, and really, in the end, it’s all about me knowing. You can hide the truth, hide your fears, from others, but you always know. I’ve fought this fear since my mother died. I kept thinking I’ll get over it, I won’t be phobic, and it has gotten better, now it’s narrowed down to my strength of will and the Baby, and occasionally when others drive fast, or certain things happen in traffic, it can still really overwhelm me. I did go to a phobia expert, and was told that phobias that have no real cause are much easier to treat in traditional ways, but phobias brought on by real trauma are harder. The mind and body knows that the fear is not groundless, but very real. So, the only way to fight back against it, is to face it, again, and again, and again. Every time I face it, it gets easier next time, every time I back down, it gets harder. Simple really, and incredibly challenging. It used to wear me down to fight against al the things I was afraid of, but now it’s just a part of me. Courage is like a muscle, the more you use it, the stronger it grows. Being brave against the phobias has helped me be brave in other areas of my life, because I know that I faced the fear I’ve had since I was six, the fear that took my mother away from me, when I’ve faced that, business negotiations, or personal interactions, are nothing in comparison. Having said that, trust me I have my moments of social panic – of what the hell do I do now, but that’s okay. If I insist on pushing myself further outside my comfort zones then I’m going to have those moments. It’s the price I pay for not falling back into my fears. Forward, movement, it’s part of who I have become, and hey, it’s worked pretty good, so far. Life being what it is, and what it’s taught me, I am willing to believe that someday I’ll come up against that immoveable issue that I can’t push past, or run through, but until that day, forward, ho!