Maintenance required: Why I stopped fixing people’s RVs and started fixing myself

After a decade of servicing vehicles, Amber Whitson has shifted from wrenching to writing her story

I have always been a big believer in “find something that works and stick with it.” But sometimes, what we think is working only looks like it’s working—until things change and we realize it was never sustainable in the first place.

Maybe it’s a toxic relationship. Maybe it’s a role we keep playing in our families or friend groups long after it stops serving us. We’ve all held onto something too long, telling ourselves it was fine—until it wasn’t. Such was the case for me with being a mobile mechanic. 

It started about 10 years ago, when my boyfriend and I started fixing our neighbors’ RVs. Whether they were inoperable or just needed a tune-up, we would get the job done. 

I had been wrenching—off and on—for about 15 years, and even had some formal training. One of the things that they teach you when going to school to be a mechanic is to essentially overcharge people. Granted, they don’t consider it to be overcharging. But, as someone who has been living at or below the poverty line for my entire life, I could not conscionably charge people the rates that most other mechanics do.

So my boyfriend and I became the local, affordable mechanics. He was willing to work on pretty much anyone’s vehicle. Whereas I had only one requirement: I would only work on good people’s vehicles. If someone was a bad person (if they preyed upon others, were abusive, etcetera), as far as I was concerned, they could stay stuck by the side of the road until they were a better person. Then, maybe I would work on their vehicle. 

As RV dwellers, we knew that emergencies could happen at any time and that most people who live in vehicles don’t have any sort of roadside assistance subscription. So, we were on-call 24/7.

We didn’t have a ton of “customers” (although, I certainly never considered anyone to be a customer). But, we were never out of work, that’s for sure. 

Then, in January of 2023, my boyfriend died unexpectedly of a fentanyl overdose. From that point on, I was doing the work of two people. 

It’s worth mentioning that I absolutely love wrenching. Until I discovered my mechanical capabilities when I was 18, the only marketable talent that I knew I had was playing guitar and singing. And, I had been raised to be well aware that the average person could not reliably expect to make a living off of music. 

The guy who taught me how to work on cars taught me a whole range of basic mechanical knowledge. From the 4-stroke cycle or to how to use zip-ties and hose clamps, he taught me everything from battery polarity, how to tell the condition of an engine by looking at the spark plugs, and so much more. I loved every second of it. 

I was eager to learn, and I put what I learned to use. He used to say, “Don’t ever let people know that you know how to work on cars…Because, then, they’ll want you to do it.” I remember wondering how that could possibly be a bad thing. To be honest, I still don’t feel the same way he did. But that could be due to how selective I was about who I would work for. 

I am not always in the best of health—mentally or physically. I do not keep what most people would consider to be “normal” hours (I usually sleep from about 5 to 10AM), and living on the streets can sometimes mean that I have to leap into action to move my RV to prevent it from receiving a citation. It’s for these reasons—and many more—that I cannot hold down a “normal” job. There were times when I would plan on making it back to someone’s RV to finish a job that I started, only to not make it back for several days. But, not once did anyone make me feel like I was failing them. And, for that, I am ever so grateful. 

But despite my love for working on vehicles and the wonderful people whose vehicles I worked on, it was just too hard on me.

My decision to go on hiatus was made after a particularly difficult night during which we only needed to move two RVs back a few feet each. The towing vehicle kept repeatedly stalling. Then, as I was jacking up one of the RVs to take it off the jack stand, the jack slipped off the wooden block it was on—which could have easily killed me.

There was just so much stress resulting from that one operation. That night, I found myself chanting out loud: “I’m tired of being the only me.” Then it turned into something heavier: “I can’t do this anymore.” And just like that, it hit me. I really couldn’t.

So, I quit.

I had to stop doing what I loved, what I thought I would be doing—happily—for the rest of my life. 

I sat down and composed what basically amounted to a letter of resignation, and sent it out to the people whom I thought should see it. I was so relieved to find that everyone was very understanding and supportive of my decision.

In the following week, I accomplished tasks in a day or two that I had been trying so hard to accomplish for years. I never realized just how much of my mental and physical energy I spent on my job, even when I wasn’t physically working on a vehicle.

If you had told me at the beginning of the year that—less than five months later—I would cease to do what I had been happily doing—getting people’s vehicles back on the road—for almost a decade, I would have never believed you.

But here I am, not wearing coveralls, sitting in the driver’s seat of my van, writing this.

I never would have realized it, but I have other things that I want to do before I am too old to do them. So, that’s exactly what I am going to be doing. I’m devoting my time to working on my own vehicles (which I have been neglecting for far too long), writing, activism, and participating in local politics. Being everyone’s mechanic was fulfilling for many years, but to put it simply, it’s time for a change.

Change can be intimidating and uncomfortable, but we shouldn’t allow intimidation to rule our existence.

I encourage you to try stepping outside of what you have known to be your comfort zone. You just might find that your comfort zone has actually shifted slightly to a place that is even more comfortable than before.