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So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye

Back in late September 2021, the world was still a bit crazy with Covid-19. In that craziness, I jumped from passenger to driver. And what a ride it’s been.

Nearly four years later, more than 7,000 rides, and more than $210,000 in revenue, I’m hanging up my Shebah hat.

In that four years, I’ve worn the widow hat a little easier, and I found a new hat—the autistic hat. And it’s that autistic hat that now means hanging up the Shebah hat.


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When strengths overstay their welcome

There’s a 20th-century business principle that essentially says: a strength, over-used, becomes a weakness.

That’s exactly what happened to me.

My care, dedication, compassion, reliability—everything that made my weeks so reliable and structured with regular passengers—was the same strength that became my weakness. In theory, yes, my time was mine to decide, my schedule mine to decide. But in the face of passenger needs, and the scarcity mindset that runs through the gig economy, my time was no longer mine at all. It was dictated on passenger terms.

Scarcity is a tricky thing. The gig economy runs on it. If I say no today, will I be asked tomorrow? If I don’t take this booking, will someone else slide in and take the work? Add in an autistic brain—one that craves rhythm, predictability, structure—and you get the perfect trap. The schedule looks like regulation, but the regulation isn’t yours anymore. It belongs to everyone else.


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The shape of exhaustion

Here’s what that looked like in practice: a booking at 7.10am, then 8.30am, 9.20am, 12pm, 3.15pm, 5pm, 6.55pm, 8pm, and 8.30pm. Fourteen hours away from home. Packed breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Water, coffee, snacks. And when I finally got my autistic self home? Exhaustion in a way only other neurodivergent people really understand.

I love my passengers—don’t get me wrong. Seeing the same people every day, every week, every fortnight, every holiday trip to and from the airport. The interstate regulars who sometimes even planned their flights around my availability. It was a special rhythm. And for me, getting to know my autistic self, that rhythm was part of my regulation.

But when I had trouble finding messages from friends in amongst all the messages from passengers? The flags were hard to ignore.


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The straw that broke the back

And then came the new driver and passenger app. Not the cause of my leaving, but the straw that broke the camel’s back. A shift in systems that tipped an already precarious balance.


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Mon répit

So here I am, reclaiming my time.

The dream now? A 4–5 hour window in the middle of the day, in the style of the French “pause.” Mon répit.

Because yes, I was making my revenue targets—but not in a productive way. I want productivity with dignity, not exhaustion.


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The close

What it all means is that I’ll still be driving—just not in Shebah colours. Two other services now carry me, and with them, the space to shape my days differently.

Goodbye, Shebah hat. You taught me a lot, you carried me through grief, and you gave me thousands of rides and stories. But it’s time.

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.