And you wirrah, wirrah, wirrah. Because everyone knows you can’t. You can’t conquer that, you can’t move it, you can’t do it.
I remember in the first pass of therapy, the first time I practiced tapping, and breaking down this memory, this memory that stands laced together with this mental barrier I have with driving, and it was way back in the beginning when I was sixteen and trying to learn and driving the wrong way on a one-way street. A road that my mother assumed, probably because she’d been driving in that quirky, little town forever. A town I would eventually become so deeply enmeshed in that I too would wonder at not knowing that particular street went out and around and past the Safeway and the other went the opposite direction. But back then, I didn’t know, and she flipped. And it was my first real panic and my first real sensation of leaving my body during a panic and my first real idea that this whole driving thing was not for me if I could think I was safe and okay and not be aware of something as critical as knowing the road changed direction. And being able, in that therapy session, to tap my way to a calm place where obviously, I was just learning, obviously her reaction was overblown, and obviously, nothing that happened so many years ago could demand that you live without the freedom of personal transportation until the day you die. That maybe you could be trusted to get in a car, and if you could do that, maybe you could get behind the wheel, and then maybe you could start it and maybe, you could back up, maybe drive around the block, maybe down the street, and maybe, eventually, just drive, having learnt the rules well enough.
Maybe we didn’t just have to accept the things our childhood decided.
And of course, because we’re dealing with a medium like belief, it takes a lot of whacks at that pinata to get any real candy out of it. So even now, a few years later still, I find myself tense up at being needed to drive. Tonight, I had to drive and even hyped up on soda pop and sugar and stressed because of things that don’t make sense, I could do it. I wish I could brand this into my skin some how. Get a hat with a wire attached and stick a note on the wire so it hangs down in front of my eyes and says YOU DID IT BEFORE NOW DO IT AGAIN.
Exposure therapy will get me over this so long as I get the therapeutic exposures. So long as I sit in the car, turn it on, breathe and do it. Every time I don’t, I think the heat lightning is Ragnarok. It loses proportion, and gains its own life force.
Squashing bugs, that’s my business. Fighting back. Preventative maintenance. Beginning at this point and looking forward.