Why Is My Mental Health So Tied Up With Having a Car?
Today I started writing a Facebook post — just a little commentary on the need for a vehicle in Kansas City. Halfway through, I realized it was too much for Facebook and worthy of something more. And honestly, that realization was part of what drew me to the topic in the first place.
I was sitting alone at home, without a car. On paper, the day had potential. I could write. I could paint. I could exercise. I had the house to myself and zero obligations. But instead of feeling motivated and inspired, I felt dejected and depressed. There was no chance I was going to pull out my paints or sit down at my desk. I had a fleeting thought that I could "go somewhere inspiring" — a rooftop with a view, a coffee shop, a park — and then I remembered. No car.
Let me back up.
For about six months now, we've been juggling one car between multiple people. Last fall, my husband's car broke down and stayed that way for months. In January, we had about a two-week reprieve after finally getting the Kia Soul fixed. Then one Friday night, while driving to pick up my daughter Ella, I said out loud to myself: "We just need zero car issues until this thing is paid off in six months." Literally five minutes later, my check engine light came on. My coworker says God hates me. I'm starting to think she has a point. The repair estimate? $4,000.
And in the middle of all of this, my dog was diagnosed with cancer and died within about five weeks. Grief, plus another financial hit.
I want to be clear — this isn't meant to be a "poor pitiful me" post. The hard stuff is just the backdrop for what I actually want to talk about: Why do we need a car?
The obvious answer is practical. We live in Kansas City. A car is how you get to work, to school, to your kid's practices and games, to the gym, to the grocery store, to church — and if you're like me, to your second and third jobs too. It's a genuine necessity, and when that necessity becomes unreliable, the stress is immense.
But there's something beyond the practical. There's freedom tied up in having a vehicle. The freedom to run to the store on a whim. To grab your paints and spend an afternoon in the park. To go to a yoga class because you feel like it. To blast your music and sing at the top of your lungs on the way to work. To lose yourself in an audiobook during a commute. Small things, maybe — but they add up to something that feels essential.
And when that freedom disappears? When even the basic necessities become logistical puzzles?
It gets heavier. And heavier. And heavier.
My son is in grad school, and now his car is having problems too. Between classes, he can't work enough hours to cover car expenses. My daughter is about to graduate from college and was recently in a wreck, so she's been without her car as well — though thankfully she was able to rent one through her part-time job at a reasonable rate. For a stretch of a few weeks, three of us — all of us extremely busy, all of us working incredibly hard — were sharing one car.
And I think that's what's really getting to me. I am working so hard to take care of my family. Why does it have to be this hard? We have a decent income. We're not poor. We're solidly middle class. But when large expenses hit one after another, what are you supposed to do?
I need a car. I need to be able to get where I need to go without having to solve a complex puzzle every single day. And apparently, more than I realized, I need that for my mental health too.
