Chapter 1: A Surprise Winter Wonderland

I never anticipated waking up to snow. The forecast predicted a snowy Friday, but I dismissed it. This winter had already disappointed my children; they longed for snow days, but all they received were ice and wind.

Just days before, the weather had been a pleasant 60 degrees. Two weeks earlier, Punxsutawney Phil made his yearly appearance, and I couldn't recall if he saw his shadow. Regardless, I was convinced that spring was just around the corner.

Yet, spring seemed to have missed the memo, and I was startled to find large snowflakes drifting down from the sky. My children were ecstatic, while I was filled with dread.

I quickly grabbed my phone to call my son's hematology clinic, located nearly an hour away downtown. I worried that navigating through the falling snow would be challenging. Driving downtown was already daunting under ideal conditions.

As I waited for someone to answer, I hoped the office might be closed. Ten minutes later, my hopes were dashed when a receptionist picked up.

"Hi, I'm anxious about driving in the snow. Have there been any cancellations? I could bring my son in later or on Monday if there's availability."

"We're fully booked," the receptionist replied. "The next opening is in April. Would you prefer that?"

Disheartened, I explained that my son couldn't afford to wait two months for his appointment. "We'll stick with the original time slot," I said, hoping we could reach the city safely.

In the St. Louis area, residents refer to downtown simply as "the city." Having lived in a nearby county for years, I couldn't recall what locals call St. Louis. I grew up in St. Louis County, yet now it feels like a distant memory. I only return for medical appointments, sports events, and the occasional trip to the zoo.

Today, I had to return to my hometown. I couldn't neglect my son's health due to my fear of snow. The roads appeared manageable; if I drove carefully, we could reach the city. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

I considered myself a competent driver. My last accident occurred two decades ago. There was no reason I couldn't handle the drive to St. Louis with my son. I used to travel all over the country with my kids, and I reminded myself of those experiences as I fought back panic about the upcoming drive.

Negative thoughts attempted to overshadow my optimism as I sat cross-legged on my bed, reflecting on the journey. I hated feeling this way. I was exhausted from battling my driving anxiety.

How did I end up here? Why does driving terrify me now when it once brought me joy? This couldn't be the same mind that once encouraged me to explore the country with my family.

I've always had a fear of heights, which is why I refuse to fly. Consequently, my reliable Kia has taken my family to breathtaking places, from the snowy Rocky Mountains in Tennessee to the pristine beaches of Panama City, Florida. We cherished our road trips, singing our favorite songs and playing games like I Spy as we traversed state lines.

Those journeys were unforgettable. Now, I find myself praying before a short drive to Walmart, even though it's just a mile away. I'm grateful my physical therapist's office is conveniently located nearby, but I dread visiting other specialists who are further away.

Nonetheless, I'm making strides. When panic strikes, it can be easy to forget that I'm improving. I no longer shout positive affirmations throughout the drive to rewire my anxious mind; sometimes, I prefer to listen to music or simply enjoy the silence.

I'm no longer gripped by fear at traffic lights, but I still experience a hint of dizziness when waiting too long. Rush hour and rainy conditions terrify me, yet I manage to push through. I may arrive at my destination in tears or drenched in sweat from anxiety, but I still get there.

I can face challenges. I know this, even when my mind tries to deceive me. I must continue confronting fears until my mind realizes that these once-simple tasks are safe. As one of my healthcare providers often reminds me, "The only way out is through," echoing a sentiment inspired by poet Robert Frost.

Avoiding triggers won't eliminate anxiety. You can't hide from your issues or fears forever if you wish to improve your life. I'm not one to give up easily, so I accept this truth.

I want to drive long distances again, and the only way to achieve that is by getting behind the wheel. If this sounds obvious, perhaps your anxiety isn't as severe as mine. I hope for your sake that it isn't.

Anxiety is bothersome, but OCD — which I also struggle with — is a true time thief. A few weeks ago, I watched a YouTube video that highlighted this about OCD, and it resonated with me deeply. Unfortunately, I can't recall the creator's name to give credit.

While anxiety makes entering the car difficult, my OCD complicates remaining in it. My OCD has me obsessively researching statistics and potential hazards. When I'm interested — or worried — about a subject, I can lose hours, sometimes even days, in research until a new fixation takes hold.

It's exhausting, honestly. I can be quite a nuisance to myself. I'm surprised I even managed to schedule my son's hematology appointment amid my endless cycle of doomscrolling and obsessively scouring library books for information that won't aid my mental health.

But I did, and now it was time to ensure he reached his appointment — no matter the weather. Here’s where I wish I could say I confidently walked to my car and drove to St. Louis without any issues, but I don't want to mislead you. Let me share what actually unfolded.

Snowflakes were falling, as I mentioned earlier before detailing my mental health struggles. A light dusting covered my porch and driveway, but it was enough to unsettle me. I cautiously walked to my vehicle, my arm linked through my son's, instructing him to buckle up.

"The weather isn't great, but we'll get there safely. I'm not worried," I reassured him, even though I was lying when he asked about rescheduling. Children shouldn't bear the weight of adult worries.

I turned on my headlights and slowly drove out of our trailer park. The roads were mostly clear, and I felt a sense of relief. If my tires slipped, I wouldn't have to worry about colliding with other vehicles.

"Good morning, spirit team — God, Jesus, angels, ancestors, guardians, and guides," I began, followed by my usual protection prayer. I recited my typical verses, adding extra lines for good measure. Today, I wasn't taking any chances.

"I think your prayers work. We're always safe even when other people get in accidents near us. And you're such a good driver," my son said from the back seat.

I smiled and kept driving. We had a lengthy journey ahead, but I was determined to reach our destination safely. My son believed we would, and so did I.

Anxiety whispered doubts as I approached a red light, but I employed the box-breathing technique I'd learned from a mental health professional until the light turned green. Just 45 more minutes, and we’d arrive at the hospital.

I merged onto the highway, careful not to get too close to other cars. This drive was stressful, yet easier than I'd anticipated. I was actually driving in the snow!

Exit signs flashed by as I sped down the interstate, my windshield wipers working overtime. I was genuinely doing this. When I first left home, I had doubted my ability to drive in the snow, but here I was, defying my fears. Confidence replaced doubt as I continued along the multilane highway.

Then the snow intensified. I anxiously watched the flakes swirl around my car, obscuring my view of the road. Sensing my unease, my son reminisced about a trip from years ago.

"Mom, remember that time we were driving to Florida, and it rained so hard?" he asked. I nodded, grateful he hadn’t picked up on my panic.

I recalled that storm, the worst rain I'd ever faced. Trapped on an unfamiliar highway with my three kids, I watched as cars hydroplaned into ditches around us. My kids screamed in the backseat, convinced we were doomed.

I was just as terrified, but I wouldn’t share that with them. I felt it safer to keep moving forward rather than risk stopping. The only way out is through.

I crept along the highway, barely reaching 5 mph as torrential rain pounded our van. We crawled along for what felt like hours, though it was likely only 30 minutes. I couldn’t afford to check the clock; my focus remained on the scant visibility ahead.

I gripped the steering wheel, my palms sore, as I navigated the treacherous highway. We drove until the storm finally passed, and I pulled over at a rest area, embracing my children tightly as we cried tears of relief. That had been the scariest drive of my life, far worse than this brief winter journey.

"If you made it through that rain, you can tackle anything. That's why you're such a good driver now, even in the snow," my son concluded, offering the pep talk I desperately needed.

He was right. Driving in the snow was a walk in the park compared to that harrowing Florida downpour. I mulled over this thought for the next 20 minutes as I confidently drove down the highway, unbothered by the softly falling flakes on my car.

I was a competent driver then, and I am a competent driver now. Anxiety can’t strip that away from me anymore. As my son wisely puts it, anxiety is merely the conspiracy theories my mind spins about myself. I don’t have to succumb to the lies my brain tells me.

I can handle thunderstorms, regardless of whether I’m behind the wheel. I’m a safe driver when the sun shines and when the skies are gloomy. I can navigate the fog — both literally and metaphorically. Whether it's day or night, rain or shine, I can buckle my seatbelt and reach my destination.

I can drive in the snow again.

Chapter 2: Facing My Fears

In this video, "HOW TO DRIVE REAR-WHEEL DRIVE CARS IN THE SNOW! SCARY", the creator shares essential tips for maneuvering rear-wheel-drive vehicles during winter weather, emphasizing safety and control.

Chapter 3: Techniques for Safe Driving on Slippery Roads

The video "How to Drive in Snow on Hilly Roads - Traction Control Does Not Always Help" provides insights into driving safely on hilly, snowy terrain and explains the limitations of traction control systems, ensuring drivers remain informed and prepared.