The night that changed the way I think about driving didn’t seem like anything special at first. My soccer team had just played one of our last games of the season, and even though we lost, everyone was in that “end of season” mood where you just want to be together. A few of us went to my friend’s house to hang out, watch a movie, and basically pretend we didn’t have homework or tests waiting for us. One of my teammates—someone I’ve always looked up to—volunteered to be the designated driver. She was the kind of girl who checked the weather before every practice and packed extra snacks “just in case.” Everyone trusted her immediately.

Later in the night, while people were joking around and taking pictures, I saw her take a small nip bottle out of her sweatshirt pocket and drink it quickly. She saw me staring and laughed, saying, “Relax. It’s barely anything. I feel totally fine.” And honestly, she did seem fine. She wasn’t acting weird or stumbling or anything like that. If I hadn’t seen her drink it, I might not have even noticed.

When she grabbed her keys and told everyone it was time to head home, something inside me felt wrong. Even though I’m only sixteen and still learning a lot about driving, I knew enough to understand that “I feel fine” isn’t the same as being fine. My heart started pounding because I knew I had to say something, and I also knew it would be uncomfortable. It’s hard to tell someone you trust that they’re making a bad decision—especially in front of a group.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling. So I told her, as calmly as I could, that I wasn’t getting in the car if she drove. A couple of friends looked at me like I was overreacting, but I stayed firm. At first, my teammate rolled her eyes and said I was being dramatic, but after a minute of arguing, she sighed and handed over her keys. We ended up calling parents for rides home, and even though everyone was annoyed in the moment, the situation stuck with me long after.

That night completely changed the way I understand impaired driving. I used to think impairment meant someone was obviously messed up—slurring, wobbling, acting totally off. But now I know impairment can be subtle. It can look totally normal. It can sound like, “I’m fine,” even when someone’s judgment or reaction time is already affected. Impaired driving isn’t about how someone feels—it’s about how their brain functions, whether they notice it or not.

A lot of teens misunderstand this, even after taking driver’s ed, because they think a small amount of alcohol, or a couple hits of weed, or being a little tired won’t change anything. And the truth is, the effects aren’t always dramatic. Sometimes impairment is just a slower reaction time, or not seeing a car in the next lane quickly enough, or missing a stop sign because your attention slips for one second. But one second can be everything when you’re driving.

In the town that I live, I’ve noticed a lot of different types of impairment among teens. Drinking at parties is pretty normal. Weed is practically everywhere, especially in vape form, which makes it harder to detect. People use Zyns constantly, even during school, and while nicotine itself doesn’t make someone intoxicated, the way people get distracted looking for a Zyn or dealing with cravings can still affect their focus. And honestly, one of the biggest impairments I see is texting. So many kids treat their phone like it’s glued to their hand. Another huge issue is fatigue—everyone I know is exhausted from school, sports, work, or all three. Being that tired absolutely affects driving, even if people don’t want to admit it.

The situation with my soccer teammate made all of this feel real in a way lessons alone never did. It showed me that impaired driving isn’t always obvious or dramatic. It might even come from someone responsible, someone you trust, someone who doesn’t think they’re doing anything wrong. That experience made me more cautious—not just about other people’s driving, but about my own decisions too. It made me promise myself that I won’t drive if I’m tired, upset, distracted, or pressured. It also gave me courage to speak up in the future, even if it means being “the annoying one.”

Driver’s ed and traffic school can definitely help change attitudes about impaired driving, but the lessons work best when they feel real. Charts and statistics are fine, but the videos showing how alcohol slows reaction time, or the stories from real people who were in crashes, hit much harder. Programs that show real-life consequences—not just rules—stick with teens longer. When you see how quickly something can go wrong, you understand why the rules matter.

Personally, I think my role in preventing impaired driving is to use what I know, speak up when things feel wrong, and set an example. Even small choices—calling for a ride, refusing to get in a car, taking someone’s keys, suggesting another plan—can protect people. What happened that night after the soccer game showed me how one moment of courage can make a huge difference. And I never want to regret being silent when I could’ve kept someone safe.