The first time I watched my sister scroll through her phone while driving us down the freeway, my hands folded in silent prayer because I honestly wasn’t sure we would make it home.

To me, that moment is what “impaired driving” really looks like—not just someone swerving after too many drinks, but anyone whose mind, eyes, or hands are pulled away from the road. Impaired driving is often misunderstood because many people limit it to alcohol or illegal drugs; they think, “I’m not drunk, so I’m fine.” Even some drivers who have completed driver’s education or traffic school fall into this trap. They may have passed the written test and watched the videos, but they still underestimate how dangerous it is to drive while tired, emotional, or distracted by a phone, music, or friends in the car. The term “impaired” sounds technical, but in reality, it’s very simple: if anything is taking away from your full ability to drive safely, you are impaired.

In today’s world, some of the most common forms of impairment go far beyond alcohol. Alcohol is still a major cause of crashes, of course, because it slows reaction time and makes people believe they are “okay to drive” when they absolutely are not. Drugs can blur vision, cause drowsiness, and change perception. But what I see just as often is distraction: texting, checking notifications, changing songs, or taking pictures. A phone might seem harmless, but looking at a screen for even a few seconds can mean missing a red light, drifting into another lane, or not seeing a pedestrian. Fatigue is another threat. When someone is exhausted, their reaction time slows, their attention wanders, and they can literally fall asleep at the wheel. All of these types of impairment lead to the same outcome: unsafe behavior, risky decisions, and a much higher chance of causing a crash that could change lives forever.

Riding with my sister is what made all of this real for me. I remember sitting in the passenger seat while she drove, her phone lighting up with messages. She would pick it up to read or respond, even when we were going fast. I didn’t know how to confront her, so I did the only thing I knew how to do in that moment: I prayed. I silently asked God to protect us, to protect the people on the road around us, and to keep her from making a mistake that she wouldn’t be able to take back. Every time we arrived safely, I felt grateful—but also more aware of how close we might have come to something terrible. Those rides with her shaped me more than any video or statistic could. They planted a deep conviction in me that when I drive, my phone stays out of my hands, no matter how tempting it is.

My driver’s education course strengthened that conviction. My instructor didn’t treat impaired driving like just another chapter we needed to memorize for the test; he spoke about it with real emotion. He told us stories about families who had lost children because of one careless decision. He talked about people who had to live the rest of their lives knowing they had killed someone because they chose to drive after drinking or because they looked down at a text. Hearing him speak so honestly made me uncomfortable in the best possible way. It made impaired driving feel personal. Instead of thinking, “That would never be me,” I started thinking about all the everyday choices that could put me or someone else at risk.

That is what I believe makes driver’s education and traffic school so powerful when they are done well. These courses can do more than teach rules and road signs; they can reshape attitudes and habits. When students see realistic crash simulations, listen to survivors, or hear from families affected by impaired driving, it becomes harder to shrug off the dangers. Real stories create emotional impact and help young drivers see the faces behind the statistics. Role-playing scenarios in class, talking through what to do if a friend wants to drive impaired, or practicing how to say “no” or offer a ride can also prepare students for real situations they will face. Effective programs don’t just tell students what not to do; they give them tools and confidence to make better choices and to stand up for safety in their own lives.

One change I would love to see in driver’s education is bringing in more people who have been directly affected by impaired driving—crash survivors, family members who lost someone, or even former impaired drivers who now talk about their regret. Hearing someone speak in person about how one decision altered everything can leave a lasting impression that no textbook can match. If students could look into the eyes of someone who has lived through that kind of pain, they might think twice before picking up a phone at a stoplight or letting a tired friend drive.

Personally, I feel a responsibility to use what I have learned and experienced to help prevent impaired driving. I may not be an expert, but I can control my own behavior. I can choose to put my phone on “Do Not Disturb” when I drive and let my friends know I won’t answer texts until I’m safely parked. I can refuse to get in a car with someone who has been drinking or using drugs, and I can offer to call a ride or drive them myself if I am safe to do so. When I am with friends who start to reach for their phones while driving, I can speak up, even if it feels awkward. Sometimes, just saying, “I’ll text for you” or “I don’t feel safe when you’re on your phone” can remind them what’s at stake.

My knowledge and training can also influence others simply by example. Cousins, or friends, will notice if I always buckle up, keep my phone away, and refuse to drive when I’m overly tired or upset. If I become a parent one day, the habits I build now will be the ones I pass on to my children. Even sharing my own story—how scared I felt riding with my sister, how I prayed each time, and how those experiences changed me—might reach someone who is quietly feeling the same way but doesn’t know how to speak up.

Impaired driving is not just about breaking the law; it is about valuing life—your own and that of every person around you. Through personal experiences, like the fear I felt sitting next to my distracted sister, and through powerful lessons in driver’s education, I have come to see that every small decision behind the wheel matters. Driver’s education and traffic safety courses have the potential to turn information into conviction and rules into responsibility. With that awareness, I am committed to being the kind of driver who doesn’t just avoid impairment but also encourages others to make safer choices. If even one conversation, one example, or one moment of courage can prevent a tragedy, then the lessons I have learned will truly have protected lives.