"Which side of the road do we drive on in this country?"
"Are you this sarcastic with all your students?" I asked my dear mother.
"Normally I just say 'Bonjour!'"
I do like to use that one on my driver friends. I also enjoy "If it was a boat, I would've fallen in", when someone parks too far from the kerb. (When I reminded my mum of these wisecracks recently, she responded "I'm hilarious! [cry laugh face emoji]".)
I can't claim to have inherited all of her wit, but I've certainly inherited more of her humour than I have her driving ability. Most people are rightfully amused when they learn that I, at age 30, have a driving instructor mum, and cannot legally drive. It's not a 'cobbler's children have bare feet’ scenario – and having a police officer dad hasn't given me a penchant for committing crimes – she has personally given me around 10 years of (admittedly very sporadic) lessons. It's because I am afraid of driving.
Having anxiety can be like having two (or more) friends constantly bickering in your brain. One of them might be trying to tell you that life is dangerous and overwhelming, while the other is trying to reassure you that everything is fine, and that there's no value of worrying about things that will probably never happen.
Read the rest of this article online at Time To Change.