Whose hands are on the steering wheel? From fate to agency

Many of us spend a fair amount of time in the car, whether commuting, travelling or heading out for the day. This got me thinking about how much we invest in our cars. We insure, service and occasionally upgrade them. Yet I wonder whether we invest the same energy in the vehicle we use to navigate our psychological lives.

We might have a modern car on the drive, fitted with the latest technology, while psychologically we are still travelling with a sat-nav and set of instructions installed many years ago.

So whose hands are actually on the steering wheel?

Cars in our dreams

Cars regularly appear in dreams. In my work as an analytical psychotherapist, I have heard dreams in which people cannot find their car, crash it or sit in the passenger seat while somebody else drives.

I am reminded of one piece of long-term analytic work in which cars appeared repeatedly. In one dream the car seemed to have been upgraded. In another, the vehicle found itself near the sea and initially appeared to be in danger, before the dreamer discovered another engine that let it travel across the water. What first looked like disaster became the discovery of another capacity.

Of course, dreams do not have fixed meanings, but cars can still offer a useful image for thinking about how we move through and navigate life. We might ask: am I driving, or has somebody else taken the wheel?

The invisible driver

You might be wondering what all this has to do with psychotherapy. Well, if you can bear with the analogy a little longer, I think it illustrates something I regularly encounter in my work: we can believe we are consciously making decisions while, unbeknownst to us, some much older part of ourselves has its hands firmly on the wheel.

Psychoanalytic thinking asks how early experiences of trauma, frustration, separation, fear, envy and loss create internal templates through which we later experience ourselves and others. These templates do not feel old or unconscious; they simply feel like reality. We might think of this as driving along a modern road with a very old sat-nav. Its instructions may once have helped us survive, but the road has changed and so have we.

Many of these templates develop before we have words for what is happening to us. Although an adult may appear to be sitting in the driver's seat, the hands gripping the wheel can psychologically belong to a younger, frightened, wounded or traumatised part of ourselves. We should not simply view this younger part as a problem to get rid of. Usually it took hold of the wheel because something needed protecting.

Life can then become organised around safety: staying on familiar roads, gripping tightly to certainty or avoiding the road altogether. The problem is that what once protected us can eventually imprison us. Yesterday's psychological solution can become today's unconscious instruction.

Servicing the inner vehicle

Perhaps psychotherapy can be viewed as a rather unusual kind of vehicle service. We begin to look under the bonnet, become curious about noises we previously ignored and ask where particular instructions came from. More importantly, we notice whose hands reach for the wheel when the road becomes difficult.

Sometimes, even with a sat-nav, we can find ourselves lost. It can then be wise to stop and ask for directions. We might think of the therapist as a passenger alongside us for a while, helping us notice the roads and turns we repeatedly take. Importantly, the therapist does not take over the wheel. The journey remains ours.

We might use the term witness consciousness to describe taking an observing position towards our own mind. Without this internal breathing space, we can become over-identified with old patterns. Putting it simply, we begin to have a relationship with the pattern rather than simply becoming the pattern. What we do not work out, we often act out or sadly live out.

A car develops by being driven

There is another part of the analogy that I think is important: a car develops by being driven. Life inevitably involves disappointment, failure, loss, conflict and difficult terrain. If our psychological vehicle feels fragile, even a small bump can feel catastrophic. However, psychological strength also develops through discovering that difficulties can be survived and repairs made.

Loss can be mourned, disappointment can be experienced, and relationships can survive rupture. We might say that the terrain itself helps develop the vehicle. This takes me back to the dream of the car entering the water: what initially appeared catastrophic became the discovery that the vehicle could navigate unfamiliar terrain.

For some of us, however, fear can make it difficult to take the car for a spin. Keeping it safely locked in the garage might protect it from the bumps in the road, but it also limits the possibility of discovering what the vehicle can cope with.

When the more integrated self takes the wheel

As we become more able to tolerate difficult feelings and understand what is happening inside us, a more integrated sense of ourselves can gradually take hold of the steering wheel. The younger, frightened or traumatised aspects have not disappeared. They may still shout from the passenger seat, but they no longer have to determine every destination.

I also think there is a shift from being a victim of unconscious forces to becoming a more active participant in our lives. This is not about blame, but becoming more interested in what we do next. I describe this as moving from worrier to warrior, developing our psychological muscles, and moving from suffering object to initiating subject. Although the metaphors differ, they all describe a growing capacity to face what is difficult and take a more active position.

Something else changes as we become more secure in our own driving seat: how we relate to other cars. If I am dissatisfied with my car, somebody else's colour, model or larger engine can feel threatening. However, when I appreciate my own vehicle, its abilities, the journeys it has survived and the terrain it can navigate. I do not have to devalue yours. The more we appreciate our own qualities, the more open we can become to the qualities of others. The road begins to feel less like a competition and more like something we share.

From being driven to having choice

One difficult reality of psychotherapy is that insight does not automatically bring change. From the perspective of a younger protective or traumatised part, giving up the steering wheel may feel dangerous because holding tightly to it may once have felt essential for survival. The task is therefore not to throw the child out of the car or wrestle the wheel away, but to make a seat swap possible. A more integrated sense of ourselves needs to contain anxiety and uncertainty, while the younger, frightened parts need to feel recognised and understood.

Change may then happen in small ways. An old feeling becomes activated, and the sat-nav tells us to take the familiar road, but this time something inside us notices. Perhaps we can say: I know this road. I understand why part of me wants to go down there, but I don't have to take that turning today. Within that small amount of space lies the possibility of choice.

For me, this is something of what psychological agency means. It is not complete control or reaching a point where our unconscious no longer influences us. Rather, it is becoming better able to recognise what is driving us and to take a more active part in choosing our direction. Maybe it is worth asking ourselves: Whose hands are on the steering wheel? What is this part of me trying to protect me from? And is this still the road I want to take?

The road will remain unpredictable, and younger, frightened parts of ourselves will reach for the wheel from time to time. The difference is that we may now notice this more readily and gradually take our place back in the driving seat. We are no longer simply being driven by old maps and unconscious templates. We move from fate to agency.