The Sacred Art of Sitting in My Car

Tiny resets for overwhelmed humans

When my twins were babies, I was exhausted in a way I don’t think I’d ever experienced before or since.

One of my boys had significant health issues as a baby, and we were at hospital appointments all the time. There was worry and constant vigilance. The other was a truly terrible sleeper. He woke numerous times each night and seemed personally offended by the idea of taking a daytime nap.

I could never get their sleep patterns lined up in the day. By the time I had one baby settled, the other was awake again. I felt totally exhausted all the time.

So sometimes I would put the boys in the car and drive.

Not because I wanted to go anywhere, but because the motion of the car would send them both off to sleep. And once they were asleep, I could park up somewhere quiet or beautiful and just stop.

Sometimes I would take a drink and snacks. Sometimes I would recline the seat and close my eyes for a short sleep.

Looking back now, I think those parked-up car moments were some of the only rest I got at that time.

One day I was planning to stop by at my parents’ house, give the boys lunch there, and then go for one of my usual “drive until they fall asleep” outings. But somehow, during the five-minute drive to my parents’ house, both boys fell asleep in the back of the car before we even arrived.

I simply could not face waking them up.

So instead of going in, I parked outside my parents’ house with the engine running for the air conditioning and reclined my seat “just for a minute.”

My dad later told me that he noticed from his office window a small group of concerned passers-by gathering around my car.

Apparently, I looked either unconscious or dead.

I vaguely remember waking with a start as somebody knocked on the window. I wound the window down to find a very concerned lady asking gently, “Are you all right, love?”

And I burst into tears and replied:

“No. I’m just really tired.”

It makes me laugh now, imagining what those poor people saw as they looked into my car at an exhausted mum, probably dribbling slightly in the driver’s seat, with the babies flat out in the back too.

But honestly, I think there was something really deeply human about it.

Sometimes, exhausted people create strange little refuges.

These days, life looks very different, but I still notice myself doing similar things.

One of the tiny acts of kindness I offer myself now is sitting in my car for ten or fifteen minutes after I’ve been out to do an errand, before the next responsibility kicks in.

I treated myself to a fabulous steering wheel tray, and it now sits permanently in the car ready for whenever I need it. I can pop my coffee on it, or a magazine, or even my artwork, and I can just take a break.

Sometimes the parked car becomes the refuge.

It’s not forever.
It’s not lengthy.
It’s not dramatic.

Just long enough to breathe.

I’m beginning to realise that these little pauses matter so much.

I used to think that rest had to be earned.

I thought I had to finish everything first. Meet everyone’s needs. Reply to the messages. Do the jobs. Push through and cope well.

Then perhaps, once I had proved myself, I might deserve a rest.

But life and faith are showing me something completely different.

There’s a word used in faith circles called Sabbath. It comes from the Hebrew word Shabbat, which means to stop, to cease or to rest.

You don’t do this because everything is finished. Not because all the work is done. But because human beings weren’t designed to function like machines.

Human beings are meant to rest.

I think sometimes we imagine that rest has to look peaceful, spiritual, and organised. Candles lit. A journal is open. A serene location.

But sometimes rest looks like sitting in a parked car with a takeaway coffee and a podcast because you cannot cope with one more demand for another ten minutes.

And I suspect God understands this second kind of rest, too.

There’s a quote from Anne Lamott that I really love:

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you. — Anne Lamott

I think many of us are trying to run on empty.

We push through exhaustion, override our bodies, ignore our limits and keep performing capably.

And then we wonder why we feel anxious, overwhelmed, irritable or numb.

What I’m not talking about here is luxury spa days or expensive wellness routines. I’m talking about ordinary tiny resets.

A quiet coffee before going back into the noise.
A sit on a garden bench for five minutes.
Taking the long route home.
Listening to one more song before getting out of the car.
Closing your eyes for a moment in the middle of a difficult day.

Small pauses that remind our nervous systems:

You are human.
You are allowed to stop.
You do not have to earn every breath you take.

And perhaps an ordinary moment in a parked car can be sacred too.

I suspect I’m not the only person who’s ever sat in a parked car for “just five minutes.” I’d love to hear about the small, ordinary things that help you reset, too.