In June 2023, my husband surprised me with a car I’d never even dreamed of—a brand-new 2023 Audi Q7, with less than ten miles on it. Climbing into that car felt surreal, like a step into another world, especially coming from my 2019 Honda Accord. That Honda, my “Bentley,” had always felt like luxury to me. With its lane-keeping assist, adaptive cruise control, and CarPlay, it had everything I needed to feel a little fancy while I drove. I had every intention of keeping it until my son, TJ—who’s ten now—left for college.
I’ve always taken pride in my cars, keeping them polished to perfection. With the Audi, it was no different, even if my detailing budget doubled to keep “Snow” pristine. It didn’t matter; the driving experience was worth every penny. This car had features I never knew I’d enjoy, making every drive feel like an adventure. But then, gradually, things started to shift.
At first, it was just a glance here, a stare there. I brushed it off as my imagination, but the lingering looks began to feed insecurities I’d buried deep. I couldn’t shake this nagging thought: I’m just a teacher—do I really need a luxury SUV? That feeling only grew when I saw my beautiful new car vandalized outside my apartment, sensors poked out from the bumper. The car began to feel less like mine—or even ours—and more like a symbol of something I didn’t deserve.
Then October 3rd happened. I was in a three-car accident, one I wasn’t even at fault for, that totaled my Audi. In a matter of moments, it was all gone—three herniated discs in my neck, and the car I’d barely had a chance to get to know. Just three months, one payment made, and now the Audi was history.
Today, I drive a 2012 Nissan Altima I call “Hematite.” No frills, no fancy features, just a reliable car with a little over 40,000 miles when we bought it. After the accident, I struggled with PTSD, constantly looking over my shoulder, bracing myself for another crash. A newer car, ironically, would’ve only heightened my anxiety. Hematite is humble, but I’m grateful to have her.
The Audi taught me more than I realized at the time. It was about learning to trust myself again, to drive without relying on all those cameras and sensors, even that impressive bird’s-eye view feature. It taught me to find gratitude in simplicity and to face the insecurities that once made me feel like I didn’t deserve more. Now, I’m learning to be kinder to myself and trust that I am worthy—whether it’s in a Honda, an Audi, or my trusty Hematite.
This rewrite adds a bit more depth to the emotional journey and makes the experience feel more reflective and cohesive. Let me know what you think or if you’d like to adjust any parts!
