"Not being able to drive anymore is a huge life adjustment," explains Lana Hallowes.
As I close the fridge door a little too forcibly, I let out a sigh. We're out of milk again. But I’m feeling something much deeper than annoyance.
And it really, really stings.
Let me explain.
I'm grieving my driving loss
Recently, my driver's licence was revoked. I have a medical condition which has caused me to become legally blind (among other disabilities).
As such, a little thing like running out of milk is a harsh reminder of my new reality—I can no longer drive. I can't, for instance, jump in the car and drive to the shops to fetch milk.
I've lost that ability.
And it hurts, almost like a heartbreak.
A hard pill to swallow
I'm also a mum of two young kids, who need me to take them to soccer practice, friend's houses, and everywhere else.
For me, losing my licence has felt like an enormous personal loss. One that I am grieving now.
The truth is, being able to drive yourself is about more than just getting from A to B. It is so, so much more.
It's independence, freedom, spontaneity, convenience, and alone time—the joy of being out and about by yourself.
Self-autonomy that comes with driving—going where you want when you want.
It's a tough pill to swallow, when you no longer can—even if it does make good sense to you that you've stopped driving.
I've experienced all the stages of grief as I've struggled to accept my driving loss.
I've gone through:
- Denial - telling myself I can still drive and everyone else is wrong.
- Anger - realising that I really can't and hating this truth.
- Bargaining - I thought I might be able to get a ‘restricted driver’s licence’, which means I could only drive locally, but then I came to my senses and realised I couldn’t.
- Depression - not wanting to leave the house if I can't drive myself and just feeling low. So very low. Then, eventually, the last stage.
- Acceptance - Although, still, I wouldn’t say I like that I can't drive anymore, I am accepting of this now. As a result, I can to move forward with my life and be happy again.
Here's how I got there.
5 things that are helping me to accept my driving loss
Acceptance has not been a choice for me, but rather a process through which I've developed my own self-help strategies.
Here are five.
1. A daily mantra
"Driving is not a right; it is a privilege."
These words have helped me understand that I can't be entitled about driving and think, "Oh, I always have, so I will." It's not my right, nor is it anyone else's.
If I think of driving as a privilege, though, one that I once had but no longer do because I'm unsafe, then I have perspective. I can rise above my feelings and be wise about this.
2. Solving my own transport
Another thing that's helping me feel free is taking charge of my own transport solutions.
For example, sometimes, I need an independent support worker to accompany me to a medical appointment. I can book this myself on Mable. Mable Last Minute is also an option for me when I need transport support in a hurry.
Learning the public transport system and timetables is another way I'm sorting out my own transport needs, although my other disabilities, including bad balance, can make this a challenge.
I am improving at asking friends and family for a ride. People feel good when they can help, so I am choosing to focus on this rather than being 'bothersome' - which my friends will tell me I'm not.
3. Becoming a planner
Not being able to drive myself places is a huge life adjustment. I've had to become more organised in general.
For example, I use my phone calendar to schedule appointments, social engagements, events and my kids' activities. Then, straight after, I sort out my transportation. So I either book a support worker or check for a bus to where I need to go. Alternatively, if I know someone who is going to the same thing, I ask them for a lift.
Being a planner is helping me to embrace my new, non-driving independence. I figure it out, and as a result, I get out!
4. Doing more of what I can do
I can't pick up my kids from school in the car anymore, but I can meet them at the top of our street when they walk home.
These days, I can't shop on my own, but I can shop with a support worker. I can also shop online and have it delivered.
Doing more of what I can do makes me feel more capable and empowered.
5. Being kind to myself
Even though I am doing much better with not driving, I still experience low-mood days. This is understandable. I've experienced a loss, and my life has changed immensely. As such, I am trying to be kind to myself.
I'm also talking to the people I love about this. I need to vent, I need the release, and I also need their understanding.
It's OK to grieve my driving loss. It's really important that I do. That way, I can process it and get to a place of acceptance.
And for me, acceptance is the way forward.
Discover how you can book your own transport support on Mable.
Lana Hallowes is a freelance writer and mum of two boys, who are growing up much faster than she’d like. She loves writing for Mable and is an advocate for inclusion, being hearing impaired herself and living in a neurodiverse household.
