# Why I don't Drive As I navigate my way through self-diagnosis, I have often found myself wondering about what is the largest obstacle I haven't been able to overcome due to being autistic. I keep coming up with the same answer: Driving. Since getting my learner's permit at 15 and going on that first drive with my mom in the passenger seat, driving has always been the most anxiety-inducing, emotionally-upsetting, shutdown-triggering thing I ever tried to do. As a teen and in my 20's, every time I got behind the wheel of a car, I was immediately overwhelmed with sensory input. - The texture of the steering wheel feels like sandpaper, even though it's smooth leather, the seat is suddenly scratchy and uncomfortable...every spring pushes on my body in the worst spots. - I hear everything in the vehicle. My siblings just breathing in the back seat, the jingle of the keys as they swing from the ignition, the vents, the engine, my mom's voice reassuring me that I'll do fine...but things outside the vehicle are barely registerable. - Any smell is immediately overwhelming, whether it's a McDonald's wrapper or the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. - And then the vision...this part is so hard to describe. It's like every place my eyes land becomes a snapshot photograph...completely disconnected from anything around it. If I look away from the road, I forget where it is in relation to everything else because my brain has already taken a bunch of other snapshots and they're not lining up to create a big picture, they're just stacking on top of each other. By the way, I haven't been behind the wheel of a car in over 10 years and I still vividly remember all those details because it happened every. single. time. I was told I'd get used to it. That through logging my hours, I'd become less anxious and more confident, but I never did. There was one time, and only one time I ever felt somewhat comfortable behind the wheel. It was my 16th birthday celebration and my grampa had decided that he was going to let me drive his blue 1971 Chevelle. A show car that he worked on himself. I loved that car and when he told me he wanted to take me driving, I was instantly afraid I'd crash it. He convinced me to get in by saying we'd only take country roads and we would just drive toward the next town over and back again. With him in the passenger seat, off we went. While I still experienced the sensory overload, it was to a lesser extent because he kept my attention focused as we took the short road out of town. Once on the country road, I felt a little more relaxed. All I had to do was drive straight. There were no turns, intersections, etc. Distractions were at a minimum and he kept his voice calm and reassuring at every moment, telling me what I would do before I needed to do it. By the time we got back home, I wondered if I actually could learn to drive and overcome the anxiety. However, the next time I attempted to drive, it all came back in full force. Sometimes I wonder if my grampa knew what I needed somehow. He passed away a little over a year after that drive. My uncle inherited the car. When he wanted to sell it years later, part of me wanted to buy it...for my husband to drive, of course...so I asked for photos of it. What I saw in those photos on my phone made me shout "Oh my god!" and immediately burst into tears...the uncontrollable kind that took away my ability to speak. It had been left to rot in a field for nearly a decade and it was no longer the beautiful car I remembered from my youth. The memory of that drive had been tarnished in an instant. The memory of my grampa had been tarnished as well. I couldn't believe what my uncle had allowed to happen. Over five years later, I'm still angry about it. But, five years later, I still can't drive. I will probably never get behind the wheel of a car again, but I'm okay with that now. I've come to terms with it now that I know I'm autistic. I've realized that my shame over not being able to drive has been a waste of my energy and I can let it go. It's not something to be ashamed of. I don't have to make up excuses anymore. I'm autistic and I can't drive because my brain simply is not wired for that activity. It would be dangerous for me to even push myself through that, so I'm not going to.