Most mornings, I’m behind the wheel by 6:45 AM, backing out of my driveway with a freshman neighbor in the passenger seat. I drive her to school every day, and while that might seem small, it gives me purpose and routine — something I value as a neurodivergent teen with both ADHD and autism. Having someone count on me keeps me grounded, and being behind the wheel reinforces how seriously I take the responsibility of driving. 

I didn’t get a license just to get myself places — I got it knowing it came with a deeper awareness of others around me.

I haven’t just learned to drive — I’ve learned to lead, because when someone’s life is in your passenger seat, you drive with your whole heart and brain.

That mindset started long before I was ever in the driver’s seat. As a passenger, I was already tuned into how people drove. I noticed things my peers and even adults didn’t — swerving lanes, rolling stops, drivers with no patience, people glued to their phones. I was always aware of what was happening on the road and where the risks were, even before I could name what I was seeing. Now that I understand more about how my brain works, I realize that my neurodivergence is a strength — I don’t just ride along, I observe. And when I became a driver, that instinct only grew stronger.

Driver’s education gave language to the instincts I’d already developed — it named the dangers I had been noticing for years, and reinforced why awareness matters so much in preventing impaired driving.

I’ve never directly witnessed someone driving under the influence, but I’ve seen people drive as if they’re the only ones on the road. That mindset — reckless, selfish, impulsive — is dangerous. And it’s personal for my family.

My mom’s best friend, Amber, lost her mother to a drunk driver just two weeks before her wedding. Her mom, Nancy, was hit head-on in the dark by a man with seven DUIs in the state of Texas. He walked away unscathed. Nancy didn’t. Amber didn’t get to dance with her mom at her wedding. I’ve heard that story since I was little. It never felt like a faraway statistic — it felt like a direct reminder of how one person’s selfish choice can break an entire family. I carry that story with me every time I get in the car.

Because I’m so observant and because I care so deeply about the people around me, I take that responsibility seriously. Driving isn’t just transportation — it’s leadership. If I have people in my car, I’m in charge of their safety. If I see something unsafe, I speak up. That started before I ever had a license — and now that I’m the one holding the keys, I understand it on a whole new level.

I’m also a competitive jump rope athlete on the Heartbeats Jump Rope Team, and the discipline from that world shapes who I am. I’ve competed all over the country since I was nine years old, and in 2021, I jumped the entire three-mile route of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City. It was exhilarating and exhausting — but it taught me stamina, focus, and how to perform under pressure. My team recently won Grand Nationals for our Double Dutch routine in Sioux Falls, South Dakota this past summer, competing against the best teams in the country. That required split-second timing, communication, and awareness of others — all things I use every time I drive.

Some people see ADHD and autism as obstacles, but I see them as tools. I plan ahead, rehearse routes in my head, leave early, and I notice who’s merging late or tailgating. I understand patterns, tension, and risk. When I drive, I’m not zoning out — I’m reading the road like a map and the drivers around me like characters in a story: who’s unpredictable, who’s cautious, who might make a mistake that changes everything.

If I ever saw someone trying to drive drunk — or even drive distracted — I wouldn’t stay quiet. I’d take keys, call a ride, step in. Because if I don’t, who will? And if not me, someone like my mom’s best friend could be the next one grieving a loss that didn’t have to happen.

Being a good driver isn’t about how fast you can go or how smooth you look doing it. It’s about emotional intelligence, responsibility, and awareness — three things I try to bring with me every day I get behind the wheel.

I may be young, but I already know: every choice on the road matters — and as a teenage girl with autism and ADHD, I drive like lives depend on it.