Some days, starting over looks like falling in love again. Other days? It looks like putting down the car keys for good.
It’s been over a year since I stopped driving, and believe me, I didn’t come to that decision lightly. I’ve always been the kind of person who loves the freedom to get up and go—windows down, music loud, and no destination needed. But hyperadrenergic POTS had other plans.
For those unfamiliar, POTS stands for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. My particular version—hyperadrenergic—basically sends my nervous system into panic mode when I stand up. My heart races, my blood pressure goes haywire, and I start to feel like I’m stuck in a broken elevator between “dizzy” and “about to faint.”
That’s not exactly the ideal condition for operating a motor vehicle.
At first, I thought I could manage it. I cut back on long drives. Then short drives. Eventually, the anxiety started creeping in just thinking about getting behind the wheel. My body and mind were both screaming: “This isn’t safe anymore.” So, I listened. I stopped driving.
And let me tell you—letting go of that independence felt like a mini heartbreak.
Driving isn’t just about going places. It’s about doing things on your time. It’s about being able to run to the store when you forget the milk or hit the road just to clear your head. Without it, I felt stuck. Trapped. A little lost.
But that’s the thing about starting over—it doesn’t always feel good at first.
I had to learn to ask for help. I had to accept that my body has limitations, and that doesn’t make me weak—it makes me human. Oscar, my amazing partner, never hesitated to step in. He’s become my driver, my cheerleader, and sometimes even my personal Uber (minus the awkward small talk).
I’ve traded in the freedom of driving for something else: the freedom of knowing I’m taking care of myself.
And slowly, the grief of letting go has made space for something new.
Now, I enjoy the stillness. I spend more time in my garden. I sit under the gazebo and let the sunshine hit my face. I plan things a little more carefully, and I live a little more gently.
This part of my “starting over” journey wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It came quietly. But it was just as powerful as any big life change.
Because sometimes, starting over means knowing when to stop.
And in that stillness, I found a different kind of freedom.
With love,
Aunty Christine 💛
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