Driving with Autism is Awkard AF

Why didn't anyone tell me?

Shannon Ashley
Nov 6 · 7 min read

o, I’m a driver now. Last week, I took my road test and was issued my very first driver’s license at 37 years old. You might say that I’m a late bloomer, not unlike a lot of other women on the spectrum, I suppose.

What’s interesting to me about all of this is that I didn’t realize I had any true anxiety about driving until the possibility of driving became a real thing. That’s when I noticed I wanted to make any and every excuse to avoid practicing. Even though I knew it would make my life so much better in the long run.

Stranger still is the fact that it took me this long to understand that I have autism-related anxiety about virtually every new skill.


hen you get diagnosed with autism in adulthood, there’s very little fanfare. No welcoming committee. No parades. No handbook. Not even a cupcake or a name tag that says, “Hi, I’m atypical.” There’s just this internal lightbulb that flicks on as you realize that maybe you aren’t so crazy after all.

After that, you’re still on your own. When other people seem to think you’re a little bit strange, you wonder if it would make sense to tell them why. Sometimes, it’s a good idea, and sometimes it seems to only make things worse. People have a lot of preconceived notions about what being on the spectrum means. The outcome depends upon what they think it means and how accurate their ideas are.

I go through phases where I look up everything about autism just to figure out if my struggles are related to my diagnosis. When I began to grasp the full extent of my driving anxiety, I looked up “autism and driving issues.” I realized I wasn’t alone in my overwhelm and the feeling that there are far too many moving pieces for me to feel comfortable behind the wheel.

In fact, I was able to hire a private instructor from a driving school that advertised experience in teaching new drivers with autism. That’s how much of a thing it really is.

The good news, of course, is that I got my license, and it’s getting easier. It’s slowly getting easier.

But as I write this I’m still battling a gnawing pit in my stomach because I know that a.) I’m not done driving for the day, and b.) I will have to drive again tomorrow.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Nobody warned me that the freedom of driving wouldn’t bring immediate relief.

This isn’t something that’s talked about much beyond the autism community. I already know that I am awkward. Sometimes, I can’t even think about anything else. But for whatever shortsighted reason, I expected my debilitating anxiety to be behind me once I got my license.

I was wrong.

As it turns out, driving is now a daily reminder of all the different ways I can be so awkward and self-conscious.

On Monday, I learned all about unexpected awkwardness as a new driver. After dropping my daughter off at school, I went to the grocery store. I thought I found the perfect parking space, but realized the angle made it difficult to judge if I was out too far. After re-parking for a good ten minutes, I finally walked into the store and grabbed a cart, but panicked a bit because I couldn’t find my phone.

Forgoing the grocery list on my phone, which I presumably left in the car, I finished shopping and wheeled the cart through the parking lot. A grocery store employee stopped me and offered to load up my car and take the cart back.

"No, thank you," I responded. When he insisted, I relented. He took the cart and I promptly tripped over a wheelstop. Of course.

When we got to my car, the employee couldn't help but notice my "NEW DRIVER" magnets from Amazon. It's a purchase I have both loved and hated, though I can't help feeling a bit like a weirdo when people remark, "Oh wow, you're a new driver!"

Image via Amazon

I sat back in the driver’s seat of the parking lot at Publix, I looked down at the console to retrieve my phone. Oh shit. It wasn’t there. I checked the floor and my purse another 20 times. I got out of my car to check for a broken phone on the ground. Where the fuck could it be?

I probably got in and out of my car another 15 times. Silently, I berated myself for never buying insurance on my smart phones. Finally, I walked around to the front passenger side and opened the door. Big nope.

I contemplated if I could have lost the phone in my cart and considered chatting with customer service. Finally, I looked deep down into the map pocket of the passenger side door.

Bingo.

How my phone ever made its way from the center console down into the passenger door map pocket is one mystery I’ll never know. But I suppose it perfectly illustrates my extreme awkwardness.

I managed to drive home from the grocery store without any further mishaps. Walked in my door, took off my Tieks and put on my slippers. Cleaned up the kitchen. Suddenly, I realized that I still had groceries in the back of my car. Good grief.

Later in the day, I stopped at Target and promptly forgot where I parked.

This is my life now, I thought. Better get used to it.

After picking my daughter up from school, we went to Panera. I am nothing if not determined to make driving feel less weird, so I keep adding new stops to my day.

Somehow, my awkardness about finding a not scary parking space resulted in a terrible parking job. I took up 2 spots. After trying to fix it twice, I finally said screw it and we headed into the restaurant. If anybody had complaints about my shitty parking, they could surely look at the “new driver” magnets.

Of course, in Panera, all I could think about was my awful parking job. And whether or not I could get home without trouble.

Thankfully, I did.

Yesterday, I missed a turn because I forgot to turn on Google Maps, and I second guessed my own sense of direction. When I finally got Maps up and running, I continued to miss turns because I was so unfamiliar with the neighborhood. Normally, I map out my route and read over every step three times.

Luckily, I got my daughter to school with 2 minutes to spare. And this morning, I missed the same damn turn but righted myself much more quickly.

Baby steps.

Since getting my driver's license, I seem to have a permanent tummy ache.

I feel so stupid about it too. Every time the knot in my stomach starts to dissipate while I drive, I get excited to think my anxiety is finally taking flight. But that anxiety promptly returns to the pit of my stomach when I get home.

Or, when I wake up.

Driving is now this new responsibility that looms over my head in everything I do. I’m still trying to process it, manage it, and enjoy the freedom. I’m leaning hard into self-care and trying to look on the brightside that I have this new freedom.

Unfortunately, the anxiety is impacting my writing. Like most folks on the spectrum, anxiety is a real focus killer for me. I want to write, and I’ve got plenty of lovely, inspiring story ideas, but I’m not at all in the right headspace to finish those stories that matter most to me.

Yesterday, I tried to ease my mind and body by getting a two-hour massage. I also ordered a weighted blanket from Etsy, and now I’m working on giving myself permission to adjust slowly. My anxiety has bled into everything, including my work, and apparently, I just need to get through it one day at a time.

Why didn’t anyone tell me this would be so… weird?

Nobody ever told me how horribly awkward I would feel as a driver. Everybody told me the same thing that they’re supposed to say. That it will get better. That everybody gets nervous behind the wheel in the beginning. When they’re new.

After a while, I kinda wish that somebody had told me what driving would really be like for someone with autism. I wish I’d had some kind of conversation about it in real life. Instead, I found myself at the mercy of Google and trying to sort this confusion out on my own.

And, my god, I feel so dumb about it sometimes.

For now, it looks like this anxiety isn’t lifting anytime soon. Which means I’m slowly building up habits just to get through each day. Sometimes, that means letting my writing slip. And being extra gentle on myself as I get through this transition.

One day I’ll feel like myself again. Awkward or not, at least I can sit in the driver’s seat now.

Let’s just say that I’m a late bloomer. That means there’s bound to be some sort of sunshine and better days ahead.

But it’s gonna take a lot more time.


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Shannon Ashley

Written by

Single mama, fulltime writer, exvangelical. It's not about being flawless, it's about being honest. Top Writer. shannon.ashley.medium@gmail.com

Honestly Yours

Here's the landing pad for my new and self-published stories without another home.

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