I've got a licence but am afraid to drive. Am I even a grown-up?

This is a First Person column by Ummni Khan, who lives in Victoria. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, see the FAQ. 

Getting your driver's licence is often considered a rite of passage. A gateway to adulthood and freedom. Unfortunately, I stalled at the threshold.    

Of course, there are many reasons why one might not drive. Not everyone has access or can afford a car. And some people can't drive because of a disability.  

But none of this applies to me. I'm a middle-aged, middle-class, non-disabled woman with a Prius in my garage. Technically speaking, I could hit the road anytime. But in reality, I only hop into the hybrid when my husband drives me around.  

I've tried to figure out why I don't drive.   

My first theory is toddler trauma. When I was a child, I survived a car crash. I still have the scar from all the stitches after radio wires ripped through my thigh. I wonder if perhaps the accident left some traumatic scars on my subconscious. 

But that's not a great explanation. I have no anxiety about being in a car. It's getting behind the wheel I dread.  

My next excuse is that I grew up mostly in Manhattan and my family didn't have a car.  So I tell myself that driving was not normalized when I was a kid. But that's also unconvincing.  

At 16, we immigrated to Toronto and my mom bought a car. Unfortunately, the driving lessons I signed up for went nowhere. I'd mix up the windshield wipers for the turn signal. If people honked at me for some minor mistake, I felt wounded weeks later. My learner's permit lapsed before I ever tried the road test.   

For the next few decades, I lived in bigger cities like Montreal and Toronto. Almost no one I knew had a car, so it was easy to ignore my inability to drive. 

It only became an issue during the occasional road trips in rentals. Since I couldn't share the driving, I tried to compensate in other ways. I'd offer to pay for gas, switch out the CDs or navigate the journey using big folding paper maps. 

But after my husband and I moved to Ottawa, the pressure to drive intensified. Almost everyone I know here owns a car. And while Ottawa's public transportation system works well for the city core, day trips to visit the countryside or friends in nearby towns are often impossible by bus.  

Then there's the general weight of non-reciprocity as a permanent passenger. My obliging husband often gives me a ride, joking that he's happy to chauffeur me to my "play dates." But teasing aside, not driving does actually feel like I'm in a permanent state of childhood.  

LISTEN | How does Ummni Khan's husband really feel about driving her around?

Now or Never2:09I've got a license but am afraid to drive

Ummni Khan has had a licence for years, but is afraid to drive. Her husband Brian has been her supportive chauffeur until now. How does he really feel about driving her around? Check out this clip from Now or Never.

It also makes me feel like a bad feminist. Shouldn't I as a liberated woman be able to drive myself around?

So, in my 40s, I decided to try again to achieve this basic milestone of young adulthood. I signed up for another driving course. Yes, I was many decades older than my peers and my driving instructor. But I persevered and completed all components.  

For the initial written test, I passed with flying colours. I'm good at theory.

What's more surprising was that I passed the road tests on the first try. Honestly, I was sure I would be the first person to accidentally kill the examiner, myself and a half-block of pedestrians. Perhaps the testers figured that a female gen-X driver was unlikely to be reckless. Whatever the reason, getting a full licence was more gratifying than getting my doctoral degree.   

But I haven't driven since. Even with the provincial government's blessing, I still don't feel competent to maneuver the unwieldy hunk of dangerous metal in my driveway. Instead, the idea of pressing the gas pedal feels like prodding a wild horse. I won't be in control. It's going to buck and I'll be flung into oblivion.  

That I now have a full licence makes my continued non-driving even more mortifying. It seems like a petulant refusal to grow up.  

Thankfully, the internet has offered some consolation. Apparently, I have vehophobia, defined as "an intense and excessive fear of driving." This diagnosis has been recognized as a legit anxiety in a peer-reviewed paper, giving me a ready excuse for my ride-mooching.  

But I also know it's possible to overcome phobias, so my new plan, now that we've moved to B.C., is to use exposure therapy and get back on the proverbial horse. (I wish it was a literal horse. That seems less scary). 

But whether it works or not, I've made a promise to myself. I commit to putting the brakes on self-criticism. 

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