Sometimes Growth Looks Like Taking the Wheel

There was a time when I would never have planned a trip without knowing every detail.

Every stop.

Every turn.

Every backup plan.

The thought of driving in a city I didn't know filled me with anxiety. I'm a country girl. Busy highways, unfamiliar roads, heavy traffic—they were enough to convince me that someone else should always drive.

So that's exactly what I did.

Until this vacation.

My daughter rented the car, handed me the keys, smiled, and simply said,

"You're driving."

There wasn't much room to argue.

I was nervous.

Really nervous.

But I did it.

As we made our way through the airport, I noticed something else.

I watched my daughter confidently navigate everything. She knew exactly where to go, what to do, and what came next.

I couldn't help but smile.

She has always struggled with the unknown. Anxiety has challenged both of us in different ways over the years. But this time she was calm, confident, and prepared.

I was so proud of her.

For so many years, I had been the one leading the way.

This time, I watched her become someone I could lean on.

Then came Chicago traffic.

My niece tried to help by telling me to set my GPS to avoid highways and tolls.

Apparently... I didn't do it correctly.

Before I knew it, I was on the highway.

I even got lost.

The old version of me probably would have panicked. My heart would have raced. I would have apologized over and over, convinced I had ruined the trip.

Instead, I laughed.

I looked at everyone in the car and said,

"I guess we're sightseeing today."

We rerouted.

We found our way.

And we kept going.

As I looked around, I noticed something else.

This trip felt different.

Many of our trips in the past were stressful. Even when we were on vacation, I was always on high alert. My mind never seemed to reset. I was constantly thinking about what could go wrong, trying to protect everyone, making sure every detail was taken care of.

I was there physically, but emotionally I was carrying so much that I couldn't fully enjoy the moment.

This time was different.

There was laughter.

There was peace.

No one seemed rushed or overwhelmed.

We were simply enjoying being together.

I watched my children smiling, laughing, and making memories. I realized I wasn't exhausted from carrying the weight of everything. Instead of worrying about what might happen next, I found myself saying something I hadn't said enough before.

"Yes."

"Let's do it."

They made the plans, and instead of overthinking every detail, I smiled and said,

"Let's go."

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't just surviving the trip.

I was living it.

Then another realization quietly found me.

For as long as I can remember, whenever we traveled, there was always another family member with us.

It was never just the three of us.

Part of me believed I needed someone else there. Someone who could help if something went wrong. Someone who could protect us.

The truth is, I never fully trusted myself to do it alone.

Not because I didn't love my children enough.

But because fear had convinced me that I wasn't enough.

This trip changed that.

As we navigated the airport, picked up the rental car, found our way through unfamiliar roads, got lost, laughed, rerouted, and kept going, I realized something I had never allowed myself to believe.

We can do this.

The three of us.

We don't need someone else to make us feel safe.

We have become our own little team.

That realization brought me more peace than I can put into words.

Somewhere during this trip, something changed inside me.
I realized I am capable of doing things I once believed were beyond me.

It was here, in Chicago, that the idea for my video blog was born. I wanted people to see the journey, not just read about it.

I wanted to capture the moments that remind us growth often happens when we step outside our comfort zones.

I left this city believing in myself more than I ever had before.

I still have fears.

But I no longer let fear define me.

Growth doesn't happen because fear disappears.

It happens because one day you decide fear is no longer driving your life.

Being here in Chicago with my children and my nieces, exploring a bigger city, laughing together, and creating new memories reminded me of something I had almost forgotten.

I've always loved taking them on adventures.

Whether it was somewhere close to home or somewhere completely new, I wanted them to experience life, to make memories, and to know that they were loved.

Now that they're older, they still talk about those moments.

They remember the places we went, the things we did, the laughter we shared, and the time we spent together.

Listening to them brings tears to my eyes because I realize something I never stopped to appreciate.

I created those memories.

Even while carrying my own trauma.

Even during seasons when I was exhausted.

Even when life felt heavy.

I still found a way to give them joy.

As I reflected on this trip, I realized something that touched my heart.

Growing up, many of my own childhood memories are blurred by trauma.

I don't remember every happy moment the way I wish I could.

Maybe that's one of the reasons I became so determined to give my children something different.

I wanted them to remember their childhood with love.

With laughter.

With adventures.

With moments that reminded them life could still be beautiful.

I wanted them to have memories they could smile about years later.

During this trip, my niece said something that made me stop.

She smiled and said,

"Every time I eat Hot Cheetos with cheese, I think of you, Tía."

Then she added,

"That was life. No worries. No problems. Just Hot Cheetos with cheese."

I laughed.

But then my eyes filled with tears.

Because I realized she wasn't talking about the food.

She was talking about the feeling.

She remembered feeling safe.

She remembered laughing.

She remembered being a kid.

And in that moment, I realized something I had never truly given myself credit for.

Even though my own childhood carried pain...

I helped create joy in theirs.

Trauma may have shaped parts of my story, but it did not have the final word.

Love did.

Looking around at my children and my nieces this weekend, watching them laugh together, tease one another, and create new memories, I realized something that filled my heart with peace.

Maybe I did more than survive.

Maybe I broke the cycle in ways I never noticed.

I used to think breaking the cycle meant avoiding the mistakes that hurt me.

Now I see it was also choosing to fill my children's lives with memories of laughter, adventure, safety, and love.

Not because I had a perfect life.

But because I refused to let my pain become theirs.

Maybe that's the greatest gift we can leave the people we love.

Not a perfect life.

But memories that make them smile years later over something as simple as Hot Cheetos with cheese.

And perhaps that's what healing really looks like.

Not because fear completely disappears.

Not because every road is familiar.

But because one day you look around and realize...

You aren't just surviving anymore.

You're living.

And so are the people you love.

Maybe taking the wheel in your life looks different than it did in mine.

Whatever it is, I hope you trust yourself enough to take that first step.

You may discover, just as I did, that you're capable of far more than you ever imagined.

What has "taking the wheel" looked like in your own life? I'd love to hear your story.