Notes from recovery: my first time behind the wheel after a near death car crash

Cultivating an intrinsic desire for personal freedom

Hello my friend!

I’m so glad you’re here.

I struggled to decide what personal story from my recovery I wanted to share next. A student currently enrolled in my spiritual development class, xo Spirit, shared a loud sign she received from Spirit—a license plate was following her that said DRIVE. It had significant personal meaning to her. It deeply resonated with me too.

This story, about my first drive after a near death car crash, was sitting in my drafts, waiting to be published.

I laughed to myself and thought, I hear you Spirit. I’ll share that next and get out of my own way.

I hope this personal story holds wisdom for you too.

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I’ll never forget the first time I drove my car after breaking my spine, without permission or anyone else thinking it was a good idea.

I had a knowing that I had to get behind the wheel as soon as possible to avoid the fear of driving that is so common after a near death car crash.

Before leaving the rehabilitation facility I was admitted to after the hospital, barely able to use a walker to walk, I asked my doctor, “When can I drive?”.

With a gentle smile, praising my drive to move forward, he said I couldn’t drive while I was still on muscle relaxers around the clock, so “let’s revisit this at your next appointment.”

I didn’t like being told to wait. Patience is not my virtue.

This is the same doctor who told me, “You’re going to have a story to tell that will inspire so many”. My Gemini best friend echoed this sentiment when he came to visit me in the rehab facility—both saw beyond what I could see. Trauma puts blinders on you—your vision becomes a pinhole of awareness, fixated on survival.

From the perspective of sitting in a wheelchair with a broken spine, I couldn’t see beyond my next milestone marker—walking independently.

I’m so grateful I had others holding the torch of possibility until I was ready for them to pass it to me. Having others who see your light before you do is a cheat code. Community care is a catalyst for transformation.

I left the conversation with my rehab doctor convicted: get off these fucking muscle relaxers, get behind the wheel and regain my autonomy ASAP.

When I was checked into the facility, having been transported in the middle of the night in an ambulance from the nearby hospital, my initial goal was to be able to “wipe my own ass”. So upon check out, being behind the wheel felt like a logical next step.

I weaned myself off muscle relaxers in 10 days.

I had a whole method. This all came from my inner knowing—nobody was telling me to do this but myself.

I would see how far I could go without needing a pill.

I would record the time between doses.

Watching the time increase was a dopamine hit.

I was rooting hard for myself.

I would find my new breaking point and then break it.

This method has served me well my entire recovery.

I still wasn’t even able to walk my own dog, make meals for myself, or take a shower and make my bed in the same day. Yet, somehow, I thought it was time for me to drive.

It’s the seemingly illogical desires that bloomed from within my inner being that continue to raise the bar for my recovery.

Again, nobody was pushing me except myself. I can’t state this enough. This was an intrinsic desire for personal freedom. This is a driving force that can turn mountains to mist.

I trusted myself enough to know that I could make it around the block and back. I got in the car and what used to be so familiar felt like a whole new way of being. My neurologist says that everything you do after a major trauma is your first time doing it.

As I turned the car on, I was reminded of the bigness of its power. When you’ve almost died in a car accident, your perception of cars is forever shifted—you know their power and you know the importance of respecting that power.

I pulled into the street and stopped at the stop sign one house away.

With a weary neck, my eyes slowly scanned left and right.

I turned the blinker to the right.

I turned the wheel to follow.

My upper back screamed.

Muscles meeting metal in my spine.

My nerves sent signals of pain and panic.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I made my way around the corner. A perfect rectangle. My first freedom ride.

I parked the car, turned the engine off and started crying hysterically.

I did it.

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Thank you for being here. I hope this story inspires you to face life’s challenges head on, led by the wisdom of your inner-knowing. May you see that you are far more supported than you know.

xo, Melissa

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