Dread. It sounds like it should be an emotion reserved for something harrowing you must confront, something in the near future that sets the nerves abuzz and instills a deep sense of apprehension and fear in your heart. That trip you booked to finally see the Great Wall of China or the picturesque Hawaiian islands might be marred by a nagging dread of boarding the plane to actually fly to your destination of choice. Undergoing a surgical procedure, confronting a loved one about a wrong behavior, giving a speech in front of a sizable audience or breaking off a relationship with someone toxic are all reasonable things to inspire dread in a person’s mind. Unfortunately, for me, I tend to dread the most seemingly trivial and mundane tasks.
I must take a road test before my permit expires once again. This is my third time possessing a permit. The first time, I went driving exactly once, nearly hit the only other car in the parking lot outside of us, and never went out again. The second time, I had driving lessons but on my final day of lessons I took a turn a little too quickly, and the instructor had to intervene. I pulled over into a parking lot and cried, rattled and embarrassed by my mistake. It was difficult to convince me to go back out after that, and once more my permit lapsed.
Not having my license has limited me in a great number of ways. I got around it enough in California because we lived in walkable areas. I was able to take the kids out to stores and sometimes even appointments, without a car. Numerous delivery services worked for groceries and other items I may need, so I only bemoaned it in as much as I couldn’t take the kids to meet up with children their age, like the homeschool group I followed would post about.
Now we live in a much more secluded area, and nothing is walkable from here. It has been isolating. When the pandemic began, I was all the more aware of just how isolated we were. Getting involved in anything was a challenge because I had to run it by my husband first, since he would have to take me. The children often relied on the generosity of my in-laws to get them to extracurriculars they otherwise would not have been a part of. Still, it was not enough to overcome the dread that gnawed at me about driving.
Nearly everyone whom I have shared my concerns about driving with has promptly regaled me with a tale of some wreck they’ve been involved in. (Please, don’t do that to someone who is terrified to get behind the wheel!) Naturally, those little anecdotes stuck better than any consolations they also tried to offer me.
On my third attempt at getting a license, I acquired my permit and was surprised to discover that because of the pandemic they had a different system in place. I needed to get 60 hours of driving logged, then return no sooner than autumn, and all I had to do was pass them my log, and proof of insurance, and I was good to go. This finally motivated me. Without the absolute dread of taking and potentially failing the road test (I dreaded the permit test too, though I had never failed it, because I hate tests and the possibility of failure), I tackled the monster of fear and got behind the wheel of our minivan.
I faithfully plugged along on that driver’s log for months, making sure I truly earned my hours. I had so many setbacks because of my seeming plethora of chronic illnesses and conditions, but I was so very determined to conquer my fear and to gain a bit of independence. I thought, perhaps I could make some friends if I was able to go out more, or my children could have more exciting happenings rather than waiting for the week-ends, when I may or may not be burnt out.
Finally, we accrued the hours and eagerly went to the DMV to trade in my log. We had tried to schedule an appointment, but the appointments are several weeks out. Figuring it was a simple transaction, my husband and I showed up at the DMV to see if they could squeeze us in. While in line, though, a woman came out and said to anyone waiting in line, “We’re not taking any more walk-ins.” Disappointed, we turned and left.
I felt miserable, so we waited another day before trying again. The idea of going back was filling me with dread and I couldn’t ascertain why, other than I tend to get that clawing, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach anytime the government is involved (or doctors). We got up early, for us, in order to arrive before the DMV even opened. There was already a line ahead of us, waiting for the doors to open. When the same woman we had seen the other day came out, she asked who among us had an appointment. Maybe two stepped forward. The rest of us were hopeful walk-ins. We waited in line and I watched anxiously as the woman at the window helped each person ahead of us.
She seemed like she was nice enough, and that put me at ease. When people are snooty, and/or there are unexpected situations, I am thrown way off my axis of mental and emotional stability. I could just see over the window’s ledge when we got to the front of the line, which made me feel so small. The lady asked us why we were there, and then asked for the documents. My husband gently tossed them down, because that’s how he passes things, and the woman immediately snaps, “Do you have to pass them to me like that?” Immediately, my stomach squeezed, my nerves buzzed louder, and I felt dizzy. Confused, my husband looked at me, “What did she say?” I repeated it softly to him, and he looked all the more confused. I patted his arm and reassured him I knew he wasn’t trying to be rude.
“How old are you,” the woman asked. Taken aback by her question, I blurted out my age and entirely deflated when she started passing the sheet back. “We don’t take these anymore for anyone over sixteen,” she said. I was exhausted, I had so much hope hinged on this being a simple matter, and then she had been snippy, there had been an unexpected turn of events and now confrontation, as my husband demanded to know when this came into play. Apparently, they had changed the rules the month just before the earliest time I could even come back with my driving log.
I was crying at this point, while my husband tried to get answers, obviously frustrated by the switcheroo the powers-that-be had pulled, without leaving room for retroactive acceptance of people already in the program. See, I would have done things much differently if I had known it was done away with already. For one thing, I wouldn’t have left scheduling my road test two months out from my permit expiring for a third time.
In addition to my fear of utter failure, I have time breathing down my neck, and now that dread that I will have to face that woman again, or someone equally as unpleasant. My nerves will already be buzzing. I don’t need someone who will rattle me further. So, I am dreading it all. I feel sick to my stomach anytime I even think about it. And I don’t want to take the permit test again either, because that makes me incredibly anxious too.
Dread. “Harry was finding it hard to think about the future at all, he felt as if his whole life had been leading up to, and would finish with, the first task…” (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling). In this instance, Harry Potter is about to face something truly worthy of dread. It’s a task that could result in death. So, it very well could be his very last. However, I get hung up on things like road tests, or doctor appointments, or phone calls, and it’s like I am trapped in my fear. It stops me from moving forward. I become convinced that there is nothing beyond the task I must confront and cannot hope or even look-forward to the future because of it.
It has always been a battle, but I find it choking me with greater ferocity as of late. Perhaps, I am fooling myself and it has always been this bad, but it truly feels more frequent, or maybe the intensity of it is worse. I nearly made myself ill over a family trip we had scheduled last November, because my fear outweighed any joy or hope for the future. I could not stomach confronting it. There was dread gnawing at my insides once more. No dragons, no imminent death, nothing but my fear consuming me from within.
I did seek out some guidance from people I trust and with greater knowledge than me, and I am on a path to hopefully uproot the harmful patterns of thinking that have got me into this mess. Living so long with anxiety and depression, I can tell you I am exhausted but I want to surrender it to God. I want to actually let Him keep hold of it all, not keep yanking it back, so I can curl up in my fears like it’s some twisted comfort blanket. I want to get to a place where I don’t let the nasty people I encounter rob me of my joy. I want to live without dread eating me up over every little or big thing, real or imagined. I want to know what it’s like to truly give God my worries and live like He’s got them.
I don’t know entirely what that’s like, but I do know enough to say it would make facing the coming months so much better.
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