This week our amazing soon-to-be-16-year-old foster daughter got behind the wheel of a car for the first time. It took 9 months to encourage her into it. We don’t want to force her into driving, we just want her to know how to drive and to be comfortable behind the wheel. Over the last 13 months that she’s lived with us, we have had a lot of dialogue about being independent and learning new skills so that she’s never stuck.

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Insert my rose colored glasses, once again. I thought this would be easy because it was for me. I feel like when I was 16, I just got in the car and went without problem (well, my driving instructor did have to use his passenger side break pedal once when I was driving a little aggressive in class. But it was unnecessary. Scouts honor.) Growing up I had dirt bikes, mopeds, golf carts, go-carts, boats, scooters, and bikes to scoot around in. I had wanted to have a driver’s license since I was 5 years old. So by the time driving school came around for me, I was ready and confident. And I had great role models – some of them very strong, powerful, independent women. That helped.

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Like every mindful parent, I took my girl to an empty parking lot to practice driving the SUV. I’m not going to lie, it was bad. It was scary. I’d rather experience food poisoning on a rusty fair ride run by a questionable roadie than do that again.  Jesus, take the wheel! Between the sudden stops and accelerations, wheel jerks and near misses, it had me a complete ball of nerves. And then before I knew the offer had come from my mouth, she was driving us both on a city road on the way to drive school. She did better on the road and I was glad to see her confidence rising {as horns were honking, heads were shaking and fingers were flying past us, while she drove 15 mph on a 35mph road}.

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And then 2 things hit me. KARMA. And a panic attack. I am an a$$hole on the road and this is another dose of empathy. It took all the essential oils, deep breathing, calm music, and 2 hours to recover from that one! But here’s the deal – she’s worth it. She’s never had good role models or people to encourage her to learn new things or chase her dreams. So every panic attack, every white-knuckle-door-handle-grip, every time I grab the steering wheel and say “Great Job!” (in my best Kindergarten voice and even though I want to cry like I’m a passenger on a plane trying to land in a tornado), it is worth it. Because someday she’s going to look back at the risks she’s been able to take and know that we are here for her.