Finding Freedom in Repair
The Journey to Autonomy: Healing Through Engine Repair
I’ve had car trouble this week—my fuel pump is burning gas like crazy, and it’s definitely time for a fix.
This always takes me back to memories from my marriage when car issues brought a whole other level of chaos. Anytime something was wrong with the car, my ex-husband would spiral, spending hours in the garage, swearing, hitting things, and throwing tools. It was a spectacle that left me tense, shielding our young children from his outbursts. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I found myself normalizing his behavior.
When we moved closer to family in Ontario, he promised to handle the car problems with his brother and father, claiming they had all the tools and expertise. But when car trouble hit, days turned into months, then half a year, and my vehicle sat untouched in the driveway. Meanwhile, he took the working car to his job, leaving me stranded at home with the kids, who I was homeschooling. His refusal to let anyone else fix it felt like a form of control. God forbid I spoke up or my parents offered to pay a mechanic. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I felt like a bystander in my own life.
When I finally found the courage to leave, my truck, once a burden, became a symbol of independence. It needed work, but I didn’t dread it anymore. I took it to a mechanic, who would have it fixed in a day or week, and each repair brought me a renewed sense of empowerment. I was no longer at the mercy of someone else’s anger or inaction. I didn’t mind paying for the work; every penny was worth it as each fix symbolized my break from unnecessary chaos.
Now, every time I turn the key, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come. Repairing my vehicle is about more than just fixing metal and wheels; it’s about mending a part of myself that was neglected and taking back my rights to mobility. Embracing my autonomy has a cost, but it’s a price I gladly pay, each repair a testament to my freedom. - Yes, my mechanics love me and I`m lucky they are honest.
When people ask why I left my marriage, it stirs a quiet storm within me. Their questions come laced with judgment, as though my reasons need to fit their molds. But the truth is woven into every mile I’ve driven since then, every repair that marks my journey. If they truly want to know, let them find it in the words I share, where my story unfolds piece by piece, in this my new blog, Thread of Life - The Building of My Personal Autobiography
