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For most teenagers, getting their learner's permit and learning to drive a car is their passage into adulthood. Though there may be fear in the teen's first attempts at maneuvering through traffic, with practice, they usually gain confidence in their ability to drive. Before long they are the proud owners of a driver's license, and that small piece of paper opens up a whole world of freedom, as they venture into the world of independent driving. But for some people the act of learning to drive can turn into a lifelong trauma, as it was for me. For many years I was classified as a driving phobic. (A phobia is defined as a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, place or activity. It is characterized by various physical symptoms such as: trembling and shaking, shortness of breath, chest pain, choking sensations, sweating, nausea, and a myriad of other symptoms. There is usually an overwhelming fear of losing control, going crazy or dying.)

I didn't start out as a driving phobic. At the age of sixteen, I was like any other teenager anxious to get my driver's license and excited about driving the family car. I wanted my mom to be the person who would teach me to drive, but Daddy was determined he would be in charge of my driving education. I knew from the beginning this arrangement was going to cause trouble as my father and I were like oil and water; we just didn't mix well together.

Daddy was an impatient man, with very little sensitivity when it came to speaking his mind. He never considered his words might be hurtful or unkind, but he just said what he wanted to say, and if you were hurt, that was your problem - not his! It wasn't just what Daddy said which caused me to cower in the corner and cringe at his words; it was how he delivered his stinging barbs. He'd scream and hurl cuss words along with his insults, and it didn't matter to him whether we were alone or in a crowded restaurant, he always made his point in a most vile way.

I was a sensitive teenager, filled with very low self-esteem and lived my life telling myself how dumb and incapable I was. (In my mind I called myself stupid and ignorant, words which Daddy used to call me. I had internalized his hurtful words until I believed those things about myself.)

Sitting in our car on my first day of training, with my father sitting next to me, I felt an overwhelming sense of doom. I said a silent prayer that I would survive my first day behind the wheel. I was petrified he was going to scream at

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