Therapist in the Seat, Panic in the Streets: A Therapist’s Honest Look at Fear, Control, and the Road to Inner Calm

It starts before I even get into the car. My mind runs through possibilities. What if a tire blows out? What if the engine fails in the middle of an intersection? What if my brakes go out? What if someone swerves into my lane, and I can’t get out of the way?

These aren’t just anxious thoughts. They’re parts of me. They show up with urgency and intensity because they believe they’re keeping me alive and safe.

IFS (Internal Family Systems) taught me to recognize that we all have many parts inside us, like a little inner family. Let me tell you, my “inner driving crew” has some strong personalities.

There’s the hypervigilant part, constantly scanning for danger, gripping the wheel like it’s holding me to Earth. There’s the control freak part, unwilling to let someone else drive, because that feels like asking for an accident to happen. There’s the inner critic who is telling me to pull myself together and stop worrying so much. Underneath all my protective parts, there’s a softer, quieter part, an exiled young girl, curled in on herself. She feels there’s too much happening at once, too many chances for everything to fall apart in a split second. She feels so helpless and so small she could disappear between the cracks in the seat. She doesn’t trust the other drivers on the road, but she also doesn’t trust me. The little girl holds on to every memory in which no one came, no one comforted her. In her world, help never arrives, and when she needs someone the most, she was and will be alone.

And here’s the thing: these parts of mine don’t just bring thoughts, they also bring physical sensations. When my protective parts take over, I feel it in my body: the sweaty palms, the racing heart, the tight jaw, the jittery legs. That’s not just anxiety; it’s all my parts reacting to danger to keep the vulnerable little girl alive and alert. They remember every moment of danger, real or perceived. They remember the shaking, the bracing, the frozen moments of “what if?” from the past. Therefore, when something feels remotely similar, they send the same signals. They do believe they are overreacting, and they are desperately trying to protect me with the only tools they’ve ever known.

Before I understood IFS, I used to fight these parts. I’d get annoyed at myself: “Why are you being so dramatic?” “Just drive. Nothing’s going to happen.” But it never worked. It only made the fear louder because these parts weren’t being heard. They were being pushed aside like screaming toddlers ignored in the backseat.

Now, when those fears come up, I do something different. I pause. I breathe. I check in. I might say (silently, but sincerely): “Hey, I know you’re scared. You’ve seen some things. You’ve been through a lot. You’re doing your best to protect me. I’ve got us now.”

That moment of kindness, of not shaming or rushing, changes everything. When I stop trying to shut them up and start trying to understand them, my parts soften. They don’t vanish, but they settle. They stop screaming and start listening. Just like real kids, they calm down when they know they’re safe and someone is paying attention and tending to them. 

I’m a therapist, but I’m also a person with fears, trauma, and protective parts that can go into overdrive. I know what it’s like to feel that surge when the world suddenly seems uncertain or unsafe.

That’s why I love IFS. It doesn’t pathologize our fear. It doesn’t rush us to “get over it.” It invites us to get curious, to relate instead of resist. It reminds us that healing doesn’t come from silencing our parts but from welcoming them from within.

We all have fears, maybe not about driving, but about love, parenting, success, failure, or simply being seen. IFS gives us a gentle roadmap to explore those fears, not by fighting them, but by understanding why they’re there in the first place.

Whether your fear shows up on the road or somewhere else entirely, IFS can help you move through life with more ease, more self-trust, and a lot less yelling from the backseat.

You don’t have to kick your fear out of the car. You just don’t have to let it drive.

Written By: Jessica Sahoury, MA, LMFTA