Grief, Trauma & Car Accidents
Recently, both my son’s and my partner’s cars were hit while parked in front of our house.
This wasn’t the first time. In fact, it was the fourth or fifth.
And naturally, people ask, “Why do you keep parking on the street?”
The answer is simple. Our garage was built in the early 1900s—back when cars were smaller, narrower, and far less common. Today, we are a household of four adults with four vehicles, and a driveway that only accommodates two.
So we do what many people do. We make it work.
But something began to shift in me after this last time.
Not in a dramatic, obvious way. It was quieter than that.
A subtle tightening in my body when I heard a car pass too quickly.
A pause before looking out the window in the morning.
A low, persistent awareness that something could happen again.
And underneath it all, a quiet question:
Is this grief?
I think people often perceive a car accident as an isolated event—something that happens, gets resolved, and is eventually put behind us. But the body doesn’t always experience it that way. Even when no one is physically harmed, the nervous system registers disruption. It registers unpredictability. It registers a threat.
And sometimes, it keeps registering long after the accident itself has passed.
Research suggests that 1 in 6 individuals involved in a car accident will experience lingering psychological effects ranging from anxiety and distress to symptoms consistent with trauma and grief. These responses may stem from a sense of unease, the financial strain of repairs, or a loss of trust in one’s environment. These are not overreactions. They are adaptive responses to experiences that disrupted safety.
For some, the aftermath of a car accident includes what we clinically recognize as post-traumatic stress:
Flashbacks or intrusive memories
Nightmares
Hypervigilance
Avoidance of driving or certain locations
For others, it shows up more quietly.
In my own family, I’ve seen it in my son—not as something overt, but as a subtle shift:
Anxiety while riding in a car
Irritability or fatigue
Difficulty concentrating
A sense of being “on edge” without a clear reason
And because it isn’t always named, it often goes unsupported or unrecognized.
But it is real.
In grief, the body and mind are often in tension.
The body holds the experience—tightness, vigilance, activation.
The mind tries to organize it—It’s over. You’re okay. Move on.
But when these two are not aligned, suffering can persist beneath the surface.
Emotional distress can slow physical recovery.
Physical disruption can deepen emotional strain.
And without attending to both, everything may look “fine” from the outside—while internally, something remains unsettled. In my own situation, I can look at each accident separately. And when I do, each one feels manageable. Explainable. Fixable.
But over time, when viewed as a whole, something begins to erode. Not just my patience—but a sense of steadiness. A sense of predictability. A sense of not being able to exhale fully.
And to me, this is how many forms of grief and trauma enter our lives.
Not always through a single catastrophic moment—but through repeated disruptions that slowly reshape how safe the world feels. So, if you’ve experienced a car accident, or even repeated near-misses, and something still feels unsettled inside of you, you are not imagining it. Even if it has been weeks, months, or years, there is nothing wrong with you. Your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do: protect you. But protection can sometimes become isolation.
And isolation is often where suffering deepens.
In my practice, we understand that not all grief comes from death.
Sometimes it comes from the moment life no longer feels the same:
The loss of safety
The loss of ease
The loss of comfort
The loss of who you were before
And all losses deserve care.
If any of this resonates with you, I invite you to take a gentle next step. You can schedule a free introductory session or simply reach out with a question. You don’t have to have the right words. You just have to be willing to not do this alone, because no griever ever should.
