It's Never About the Driveway
What if the little thing that pushed you over the edge wasn't really the problem? In this week's Sanctuary Journal, I share the story behind one ordinary moment that revealed a deeper truth about overwhelm, self-trust, and learning to hear my own voice again.
Lisa Buhman
7/14/20264 min read
It's Never About the Driveway
What's In This Article
The Driveway
Coming Back
The Static
A Sanctuary Reminder
The Driveway
A few weeks ago, my husband and I were standing at the top of the driveway talking. The dogs and I had walked up, but he had driven the pickup.
As we wrapped up our conversation, he smiled and asked, "Do you want to ride down with me?"
On almost any other day, I would have climbed right in.
We would have puttered down the driveway together, talked about the trees or the dogs, or maybe just enjoyed the quiet. It would have been one of those simple little moments that make up a life together.
But that day, it felt like he had asked me to do something impossible.
I looked at him like he was completely out of his mind.
Without saying much, I called the dogs and started walking down the driveway by myself, leaving him standing there looking utterly bewildered.
Looking back now, I can only imagine what he was thinking.
What just happened?
The truth is...
It wasn't about the driveway.
It wasn't about him.
It wasn't even about riding in the pickup.
By the time the driveway felt impossible, I wasn't reacting to one simple question.
I was reacting to the accumulation of all the little moments I'd stopped listening to myself throughout the day.
By then, I had already said yes to too many things.
I'd listened to too many conversations.
My own thoughts had been screaming at me...
Bouncing off so much static that I couldn't hear them anymore.
The driveway became the first thing that arrived after I'd quietly reached a limit I didn't even realize I was approaching.
Over the years, I've noticed something about myself.
Before I get angry...
I get quiet.
Before I get quiet...
I become irritable.
Those are the signs I've learned to pay attention to now.
Usually, they aren't telling me someone else has done something wrong
They're telling me the static got too loud
For years I thought there was something wrong with me.
After all, people were just talking.
The television was on.
The dogs were barking.
Cars went by.
The wind rustled through the trees.
Nothing unusual.
Except I realized I wasn't just hearing the sounds around me.
I was trying to hear everyone.
I've always been someone who listens carefully.
In fact, it takes me a little longer to hear what people are really saying because I almost pause inside myself.
I quiet my own thoughts so I can hear theirs.
I never realized how exhausting that was.
By the end of the day, all of those voices...
The conversations.
The television.
The barking dogs.
The traffic.
The wind.
My own unfinished thoughts.
They don't disappear.
They become static.
It feels like standing in the middle of a blizzard made of sharp, off-white thoughts.
There isn't enough room to breathe.
That's when my thoughts begin to change.
Just get to the point
I want some time alone
What makes them think I care?
And almost as quickly...
Why would I think that?
Of course, I care
That's the part that used to confuse me.
I thought something must be wrong with me
How could I care so deeply about people?
Then in the very next moment
I want everyone t o stop talking.
Now I get it.
It isn't that I don't care.
It's that I can't hear myself anymore.
That's when I know I need to step away.
Not because I don't care.
But because I need a few quiet minutes where my thoughts belong to me again.
The Static
Coming back
I've learned that when I finally listen, it doesn't usually take as long as I think it will.
Sometimes it's fifteen minutes.
Sometimes it's longer.
Sometimes I fall asleep with my Kindle in my hand.
When I'm ready to come back out of the bedroom, I know something has changed.
The air feels lighter.
It's easier to take a full breath.
I feel lighter too.
Even the dogs seem to know.
Before, they're watching me out of the corner of their eyes.
Afterward, they relax.
Things, in general, just fit better again.
That doesn't mean I've mastered it.
Sometimes I don't notice the static until it's already loud.
Sometimes I get caught up in helping.
Sometimes I convince myself, "I'll be fine."
If I'm honest, I'm probably the worst at believing I can just keep going.
So I've started paying attention to smaller signs.
If my answers are getting shorter...
I'm getting tired.
If my patience is getting thinner...
The static is building.
I've also learned that the little things matter.
If I make sure the television is off at night, I last longer the next day. (My husband likes the TV on, so we've learned it's all about balance.)
And when I'm taking better care of myself, I don't need nearly as much time alone.
Maybe that's what listening to ourselves looks like.
Not waiting until the driveway feels impossible.
Not waiting until we're overwhelmed.
Just noticing the quiet signals before they have to become loud ones.
Sanctuary Reminder
The static doesn't mean something is wrong with you.
Sometimes it simply means you've gone too long without hearing your own voice.
Give yourself permission to step away.
Take a breath.
Read a chapter.
Sit in the quiet.
Because when the static settles...
The air feels lighter.
Your thoughts become your own again.
And somehow...
Things just fit better.
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