The air is cold, the sun low, and my car right where I left it. I open the door, sit down, slide in the key, and take a few deep breaths.
I gently move my foot to press the pedal. The engine hums. The soft and even sound slowly calms the clutter in my head. The low vibration under my foot settles into my legs and soothes something inside me. It doesn’t feel like that anxious dopamine hit I get from endless scrolling or playing chess for hours. It feels productive, calm, and controlled — more like the energy that comes after a deep night’s sleep.
“So, where should we go today?” I ask myself.
I then pick a random destination — sometimes a nursery to buy some plants, sometimes a park for a stroll, or just one of my favorite routes to loop around.
My ADHD brain loves motion. When it gets restless and madly asks for stimulation, I head out to drive. It gives me better control over my racing thoughts, helps me quit the inner noise, and holds me gently, without feeling like a rule or need. It makes my body feel safe and my brain go quiet.
The first 10 minutes are quiet. No music yet. Just the soft hum of the engine and the steady movement of the car. I roll the windows a bit lower to let in the gentle whoosh of air. It brushes against my face and carries in the rhythm of passing tires, muffled horns, maybe a bird or 2. These are the sounds that slowly stimulate my brain, not in a chaotic way, but in a way that’s grounding. Pleasant. It pulls me into the present... just enough to keep overthinking from kicking in.
My fingers move slightly on the wheel, catching the curve of the road and creating a subtle sensation that my body loves. I shift my gaze through the side mirrors, then back to the road, then to the steering wheel. It’s a rhythm I don’t have to think about, but keeps my attention right where it should be.
My foot lifts, taps the brake, switches back to the gas. I can feel the weight of the car responding. Speeding up, slowing down. Exactly when I ask it to. That control over speed does something to my nervous system: it settles it. There’s a flow to it that I don’t have to fight. It’s simple, satisfying, and never too much.
Every small input I make gets a real-time response. And the craving for stimulation gets met without chaos. It’s regulation without 10 tabs open. Without guilt. Without struggle.
It’s a signal to my body: we’re in control. We’re moving, but we’re safe.
It brings in hope, positivity, and purpose — I’m going somewhere, I’m achieving something, I’m not irritated.I can do it without feeling overwhelmed. It feels nurturing, as if I’m watering my brain and body.
Somewhere around the 10th minute, as the traffic noise thickens and feels like too many layers of sound pressing in, I roll up the windows and start the music. I tap a playlist with soft melodies. I don’t need the lyrics that demand attention, just melodies that won’t compete with my thoughts. Some days, I don’t even play music. Because at times, it’s the absence of noise that helps me breathe deeper and stay grounded.
I usually drive for 30 to 40 minutes, enough for my brain to settle into a rhythm, but not so long that I get restless or overstimulated.
Driving gives me a sense of alignment that’s controlled, conscious, and quietly productive. It’s one of the few times I’m not fidgeting, when my mind isn’t racing. With my eyes on the road and my hands steady on the wheel, I stay in the moment, moving at a pace that feels both free and safe.
On the days when my mind feels scattered and my eyes blur out everything, I know what to do. I reach for the keys because I know the soft motion of the wheel will settle me. The roads don’t ask questions. They don’t talk back. And they don’t let my mind overthink. I know these are the moments when I feel calm, safe, and in control.
When I finally pull into the driveway and turn off the engine, I don’t step out right away. The car goes quiet, but I stay still. I acknowledge the drive. Let my body feel the calm that comes after movement, focus, and doing something right without overthinking it.
I don’t open the door. I sit there and let the silence settle around me. I take one breath. Then another. Then a 3rd.
This is how I pause. This is how I come down gently and reset.
BIO: Iram Ghafoor is a writer, trainer, speaker, and content marketer. When she’s not writing, she designs smart content strategies for businesses to become more visible on Google.
