The first time distracted driving changed my life, I was too young to understand what was truly happening. It was 2021, and I was still in middle school. My mind back then was focused on normal kid things: what to pack for lunch, what outfit to wear the next day, and harmless little concerns. That afternoon, my older sister agreed to take me to Kroger because I wanted to try a sandwich recipe I found online. We were laughing in the car, talking about food, and just enjoying a simple moment together. Nothing felt dangerous or unusual. But in the span of a few seconds, the entire day flipped upside down. As we were pulling into the store area, she opened Snapchat to reply to a friend. To both of us, it seemed harmless. Everyone around us did the same thing. Before I even processed what was happening, another car hit us on the right side. The impact was so strong it threw my body sideways, and everything around me spun. My sister screamed my name, and the car felt like it was folding in on itself. I ended up needing crutches for weeks. It was the first time I learned that something as small as glancing at a phone can change your life instantly.

I didn’t know then that years later I would face distracted driving again, only this time I would be the driver. The summer of 2025 was a turning point in my life. I was working three jobs, taking night classes, and saving every dollar because I was determined to buy my first car. When I finally bought my used Toyota Camry, I felt proud. That car meant independence. It meant responsibility. It represented every tired morning and late night I spent grinding. But the same summer that pushed me forward also drained me completely. I barely slept, and my mind was constantly running on empty. One night after a long shift, I drove home thinking I could handle the exhaustion. I kept telling myself I was okay enough to make it. I didn’t even realize how tired I was until the moment everything went black. I fell asleep behind the wheel without warning. The next thing I remember is a police officer knocking on my window, waking me up. Other drivers had called 911 because they saw my car drifting on the road. Waking up to flashing lights and strangers knocking on my window scared me to my core. It made me realize that driving tired is its own form of impairment. You can be completely sober and still be a danger if your mind isn’t fully awake.

But nothing compared to what happened a few months later. That night, I wasn’t tired; I was heartbroken, overwhelmed, and emotionally out of control. I had just left a game night where something deeply upsetting happened. I got into my car shaking and crying, and instead of grounding myself, I grabbed my phone and started texting my best friend, trying to explain everything. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t notice how fast I was going or how little attention I was paying to the road. My vision was blurred by tears, and my mind was clouded by emotion. The road curved ahead, but I didn’t. By the time I looked up, it was too late. I hit the curb so hard that the car felt like it bounced off the ground. In that moment, I came frighteningly close to hitting a tree. The crash destroyed my tires, wheels, axle, and both the front and back of my car. I stood outside at one in the morning crying and shaking while calling the police, staring at the car I had worked so hard to earn. My back hurt, my legs were bruised, and my heart felt shattered because I knew the accident didn’t have to happen. It happened because I let my emotions drive instead of my mind.

These three experiences—the accident with my sister, falling asleep at the wheel, and the crash caused by my emotions—changed the way I view impaired driving completely. Growing up, I thought impaired driving meant drinking or doing drugs. But the truth is, impairment happens whenever you are not fully present mentally, physically, or emotionally. It includes distraction, exhaustion, stress, anger, sadness, crying, overthinking, and anything else that pulls your focus away from the road. These forms of impairment are often ignored, especially by young drivers who assume they are the exception or that nothing bad will happen to them.

Driver’s education teaches the mechanics of driving: how to operate a vehicle, how to follow signs, how to merge and signal, but it does not always teach the emotional and mental side of driving. It does not teach you how to recognize when you should not be driving at all. No one prepares young drivers for days when they are overwhelmed, grieving, anxious, or mentally drained. Yet these moments are just as dangerous as texting or drinking. I believe driver’s ed should include real-life conversations about emotional awareness, mental health, fatigue, and handling stress before getting behind the wheel. Hearing real stories from real young people would make a huge difference because sometimes the most powerful lessons come from personal experience rather than textbooks.

Now, I play my own role in preventing impaired driving by being honest with myself and others. I do not drive when I am extremely tired anymore. I do not drive when I am emotional or overwhelmed. I put my phone away before starting the car. And I will always speak up if I’m in the car with someone who is not driving safely. I learned the hard way that staying silent can be deadly.

Distracted and impaired driving have followed me from childhood to early adulthood. They have caused physical injuries, emotional pain, and financial loss. But they have also taught me the value of responsibility every time I sit behind the wheel. Every driver has a choice, and every decision matters. If sharing my story makes even one person think twice before picking up their phone, driving tired, or getting behind the wheel while emotional, then everything I went through becomes meaningful.