Mom let me drive the truck today – alone.

Sure, this seems like an insignificant activity for most.  I understand.  However, I’m not most.  That should be evidently obvious to everyone and anyone, but if you’re new – let me explain.

–  The last time I drove this truck  -my Tacoma, no matter what anyone says – I lacked the strength to change gears.  The automatic gear shift is on the right side of the steering column and, for the life of me, I struggled (or could not in some cases) take the truck out of park.

–  Being just slightly higher than cars, the back of my legs were so weak that I could not lift them from the ground into the truck without physically lifting them with my arms.  Think of someone who’s paralyzed from the waist down.  (Being said, I could still walk, but could not go from the ground to a standing position without a table or something being near-by.  If that wasn’t available, panic attacks swiftly followed.  Weak legs and wounded shoulder did not stop me from going to the gym, however.)

– Most importantly – driving the truck meant that mom trusted me.  It was more than strongly suggested that the family felt my 3 month eating disorder incarceration was not enough.  Despite the physical advancements, I still was not ‘well.’

Underlying theme, at least for me, is that they thought I’d harm myself.  I would go for multi-hour walks.  Head for a gym.  Run away.

Just, in short, that trust was absent.

I had lost, in addition to physical strength and mental stability, the trust of those who mean the most dear to me – my family.

So, yeah, driving to Wal-Mart -solo – for a birthday bag, cherry tomatoes, and shredded carrots was huge.

Physically and mentally, I handled it fine.  In fact, I didn’t even swear at the jerk who cut me off at a light.   Panic attacks where refreshingly absent.

However, even more, I didn’t run away.  I still have the keys.  I could leave now – go to an all night gym – head out of state.

But I’m not.

That’s trust, right?