Roadside Epiphany

When I moved out of the city, I needed to drive to get anywhere safely. At the age of 35 I finally got my license.

It’s a 15 minute drive to get into the nearest town on a clear day. Getting into town means driving down winding and hilly backroads.

What I learned quickly was that rural roads especially during challenging weather conditions (hello climate crisis, we see you!) require you to pay attention and be present, to yourself, the land, what’s coming, what’s happening in front of you, behind you, beside you, everything, everywhere all at once. You catch my drift (pun intended).

During my latest snow/slush driving adventure (getting to and from town today) I had the thought,

what if we all put in the same amount of care towards our own inner conditions as we do to road conditions?

We have been taught to believe that “mental health” only becomes relevant when something is going wrong, when there’s a challenge, a crisis, a diagnosis, a label or symptom.

That’s as ridiculous as believing driving only matters when you crash, have a flat tire or need an oil change.

Mental health is not a category only reserved for certain people.

Our mental health is a spectrum, a shifting ecology and a landscape every single one of us navigates every single day.

Just like road conditions; our inner world changes too.

Some days - clear-sky highways.

Some days - gentle backroads with birdsong and great coffee.

Some days - freezing rain and we’re just trying to get home safely.

Some days - visibility drops and we can’t see more than a few feet ahead.

Some days - we get stuck in the snow and need someone to help us out.

Some days - we need to slow down because the conditions require us to.

A mental health challenge is simply one kind of weather pattern.

Not the only one, not the defining one, not the whole story.

What I have learned as a new driver is this:

Your speed, choices, caution and confidence must change depending on the road conditions.

You can’t take a sharp turn on black ice the same way you do in the summer when the roads are clear.

You can’t rely on cruise control or lane assist in a snowstorm.

You can’t rush through fog; you have to let it tell you how slow to go.

You can’t white-knuckle the wheel worried that a deer might appear, you have to stay present, attuned and relaxed.

When it comes to our inner lives, the same wisdom applies.

We can’t treat every day like a sunny day, if it isn’t.

We can’t expect the same productivity, the same emotional bandwidth, the same energy output, regardless of what our internal weather is doing.

We can’t navigate heartbreak the same way we navigate hope.

We can’t ignore the foggy days and pretend we’re supposed to see everything clearly.

A holistic approach to mental health asks us:

To adapt and not judge.

To notice and not force.

To understand the road and not blame the driver (yourself).

This is the part our current mental health”care” system forgets. People aren’t machines. We aren’t meant to function the same way all of the time regardless of circumstance.

Our inner conditions deserve the same respect, responsiveness, and care that we naturally give to the roads we drive.

If we took care of our minds the way we prioritize staying alive on the road, we would:

Slow down when things feel overwhelming.

Turn on our “high beams” when visibility is low (seeking support, grounding practices, community connection).

Pull over and rest before pushing ourselves past our limits.

Cancel the trip when conditions are actually unsafe for us.

Take the scenic route (the long and slow way) when our nervous system needs softness.

Check in with ourselves. The same way we check weather reports, our gas tank and road conditions before leaving the house.

Plan ahead and use a map with compassion and care.

We would stop blaming ourselves for conditions we didn’t choose.

We would recognize that we’re all learning to drive through something.

Everyone you love wakes up with their own unique inner forecast.

Everyone in your life has days where their emotional road conditions require patience, support, or a different route entirely.

Caring for others becomes much more intuitive when we remember this.

Instead of expecting people to “just get over it,”

we begin to ask,

What is the weather like inside you today? And how can I meet you there compassionately?

Instead of assuming someone is being dramatic,

we begin to see that maybe they’re driving through a storm we can’t see.

Instead of expecting consistency in all seasons,

we learn to walk with each other through winter, through thaw, through unexpected fog.

This is the kind of holistic mental health care that actually heals because it is rooted in attunement, responsiveness, and the understanding that being human is an ever-changing road.

I’m still not the most comfortable winter driver.

I still talk myself through difficult stretches.

I still grip the wheel a little tighter on icy nights.

But I’m also proud that I’m out here doing it.

Learning.

Adapting.

Developing a new skill.

Just like we all are.

Being mentally well doesn’t mean that you will never hit another patch of bad weather, it means you know how to respond when you do.

Being well, requires harmony and coherence between soul, heart, body and mind. It requires that you learn your own rhythms, patterns, limits and strengths.

It’s about trusting that even when visibility drops, you can keep moving slowly, intentionally, gently and compassionately.

Most importantly, it’s about remembering that no matter the conditions, you’re not driving alone.