Thinking you killed someone every time you drive is gut-wrenching. What’s a girl to do? Stop driving, that’s what.
Little did I know that the avoidance of driving was a compulsion that kept my hit-and-run OCD holding strong. And I must admit, I knew what I should have been doing– Exposure and Response Prevention therapy. There’s a reason haunted houses are called haunted houses. Starting ERP may as well be entering a haunted house. And not for the person who enters willingly.
Treatment involves driving. I couldn’t drive. I didn’t want to drive. Every bump, every crevice, every pedestrian, everything led to thinking I killed someone. Why would I willingly get behind a wheel?
Fast forward to me volunteering at a workshop at the International OCD Foundation’s annual OCD conference where I told my story to a room full of strangers. I sat with a psychologist who assigned me homework: create an imaginary script of my worst-case, Stephen King scenario and listen to it on a loop daily for 45 minutes. He said I’d be driving by the end of the summer. Yeah, we’ll see.
But I had committed to the homework in front of an audience of 100 people. Whether they knew it or not, their presence helped hold me accountable.
A psychologist from Texas approached me afterwards with the thick, southern accent that I love. “Just drive an inch,” he drawled.
An inch. An inch I could do. An inch was reasonable. I’ve never been so excited about a unit of measurement.
His drawl stayed with me all the way back to my hometown.
I started doing my daily Stephen King homework. Over and over I listened to myself saying that I accidentally killed someone, that I was going to jail, that I’d never be able to get over this. I’ll spare you the nitty-gritty. Some days, anxiety would spike. Some days, I’d listen to it with my cats on my lap and wonder whether their comforting purrs would be considered cheating. Other days I’d zone out and want to go to sleep. Eventually I got so fed up with having to sit there for 45 minutes, that I decided it was time to drive that inch. Take that, Stephen King!
My husband welcomed his impromptu role as my exposure coach as he drove us to an empty parking lot. I got out of the car and headed towards the driver’s seat. A seat I hadn’t sat behind in months.
It felt foreign to be behind the wheel. Driving doesn’t feel natural to me. Shouldn’t we all just be riding horses?
The engine was on. I just had to shift it into drive. Drive that inch. Remember the drawl.
And I did. I drove that inch. The inch led to two. The two led to three. Before I knew it, I drove a complete lap around the parking lot. At a snail’s pace, mind you, but I was driving.
We practiced daily around that parking lot until I felt like it was time to venture onto a backstreet and into, you guessed it, another empty parking lot. Then the day came where I found myself merging onto one of the main roads. My husband would purposely keep his head down and focus on his phone, “I can’t tell if you hit anyone, I’m not paying attention!” I wasn’t supposed to check. I wasn’t supposed to replay situations in my head. And I didn’t, despite every cell in my body wanting to rebel. The anxiety really did subside. This treatment thing was legit.
This could only mean one thing. It was time to drive solo. Return to being the lone ranger.
I didn’t want to. The rebellion thing was happening again. And riding a horse just wasn’t feasible.
Two steps forward and one step back is a cliché for a reason. I had days where I didn’t want to drive anymore. I’ve felt discouraged. It’s felt pointless. I wanted out of the haunted house. But I kept getting behind the wheel. It hasn’t gotten progressively easier like it did when my husband was in the car with me. But I’m on a scarier floor of the haunted house. There are masked actors with chainsaws on this floor. I have to remember that they are masked, that their chainsaws are props. And until the day I find the light switch, I’ll keep driving that inch.
Melanie also makes informative videos about OCD. Visit her youtube channel here.
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As Melanie’s husband and exposure coach, I couldn’t be more proud of my wife. She has taken huge steps and giant leaps in her treatment progress in so little time. Because of Dr. Baer, that Texan stranger and a room full of other supporters who encouraged her to volunteer, Melanie found the strength and accountability she needed to really take action. I know it’s struggle for her everyday, but she’s got the support of friends, family and loved ones to always lean back on! …And if it weren’t for Fantasy Football, what else would I do while being that so called “exposure coach”.
So very proud of you! Keep it up!
A year and a half later and I received an email that there were comments awaiting approval! This is such a nice treat to find from you. Your support means everything to me.
This was incredibly uplifting, thanks so much!
Always a pleasure!
What a wonderful little article. It helped me understand what people with OCD go through. I had no idea.
I’m glad my posts have been helpful for you 🙂
I got chills reading this- this is me to a T. I’m at my wit’s end with my OCD. I’ve managed to overcome all of my other forms of OCD, at least to the point where they don’t interfere with my life. But about two years ago, a switch flipped, and I’ve been terrified to drive ever since. One day I stopped driving to work and started taking the bus, thinking it would take a little stress out of my day. I wish I had never done it: now, when I actually HAVE to drive, it is preceded by days (weeks?) of gut-wrenching anxiety. I’ve worked with an ERP/CBT therapist, and I KNOW the only way to overcome it is to do my exposures…but who wants to willingly bring on the anxiety and panic that is associated with driving? I used to pride myself on being so independent. I was the one everyone turned to for help. I could give you a ride to the airport or pick your dry cleaning up if you couldn’t get there. I loved that people could rely on me. Now, all I feel is shame in place of that pride. I make up excuses to tell almost everyone except those closest to me, and I’m so ashamed to tell them that I’m too scared to drive. I don’t go on trips if it means I’ll have to drive. Perhaps worst of all, I gave up my lifelong passion (horses) because trips to the barn involved too much potential for pedestrians popping up out of nowhere.
Any tips on how you took that first step (or recommendations for people who don’t have a spouse/partner to encourage them!) would be much appreciated. Thank you so much for sharing.
Oh gosh now I relate to YOU! I’ve had a setback and find myself feeling so similarly to where you’re at.
I’m back to driving with my husband as the passenger and we are working towards getting higher up on my hierarchy.
I am curious if you have asked your therapist and/or family/friends to be the passenger as a support while you drive an inch or two. For me, having support was so pivotal.
If this isn’t an option, not sure if perhaps you can start smaller by sitting in the car alone and turning it on but not driving. Or perhaps trying imaginable script writing since you can do that step independently.
Good luck on your journey!!