Name: Brielle Cude
From: Plantersville, TX
Votes: 0
When I think about impaired driving, I don’t just think about alcohol or drugs—I think about the moments when judgment is clouded, even slightly, and a person decides to take a risk they already know is wrong. To me, impaired driving means operating a vehicle while anything—whether a substance, distraction, or even fatigue—diminishes one’s ability to think clearly and react safely. It is often misunderstood because people tend to measure impairment in extremes: “I’m not that drunk,” or “I’ve only been up for a few hours.” Even drivers who have completed education or training sometimes forget that impairment doesn’t have to be dramatic to be dangerous. It can happen quietly, with one poor decision that snowballs into lasting consequences.
When I was eighteen, I made one of those poor decisions. My sister had been drinking, and I had too—just enough to feel its effects but not enough to feel “drunk.” We weren’t going far, only a few streets away, and that made it easier to justify getting in the passenger seat. Even in the moment, I knew it wasn’t the right choice. My conscience felt heavy with guilt, and every second of that short drive felt longer than it should have. Nothing bad happened that night, but that’s what scared me most afterward. The fact that we got away with it made me realize how close we had come to becoming another statistic. Impaired driving isn’t just about accidents that happen—it’s about the potential that exists in every reckless moment.
That experience changed the way I viewed decision-making behind the wheel. I made a promise to myself that I would never again get in a car with someone who had been drinking or using any drug. But more than that, it made me aware of how easily good people can make dangerous choices, especially when the situation feels “minor.” It’s not always a dramatic scene of someone stumbling out of a bar—it’s sometimes a sibling, a friend, or even yourself, convincing each other that “it’s just a few blocks.” That false sense of control is one of the most dangerous forms of impairment there is.
A few months later, I experienced the other side of the story. A friend of mine texted me late one night from a restaurant, saying he didn’t feel safe driving himself home. He had been drinking and didn’t trust his own judgment. Without hesitation, I got in my car and drove to pick him up. I remember the way he looked when I arrived—embarrassed, relieved, and exhausted. It struck me that the small, simple choice to ask for help had probably saved his life. That night made me realize that preventing impaired driving isn’t only about personal responsibility; it’s also about creating an environment where people feel comfortable making the right call. Sometimes all it takes is one person willing to show up.
The 2-hour ITTD (Impact Texas Teen Drivers) course I took as part of the process of getting my driver’s license reinforced these lessons in a way I’ll never forget. The course shared real stories from people whose lives had been permanently changed by distracted or impaired driving—stories that made me realize how preventable so many tragedies are. The videos weren’t exaggerated; they were honest, showing how a single text, a moment of drowsiness, or one drink too many could destroy lives. That course connected statistics to human stories, making them impossible to ignore. It didn’t just teach rules—it reshaped my attitude toward responsibility. I came to understand that driving isn’t just a skill; it’s a privilege that demands respect.
In today’s world, the most common impairments go beyond alcohol and drugs. Fatigue and distractions, particularly texting, have become just as dangerous. Modern life moves at a fast pace, and drivers often feel pressure to multitask or push through exhaustion. But reaction time, decision-making, and awareness all deteriorate under those conditions, much like intoxication. Texting while driving, for example, creates a mental and visual impairment that mimics the delayed response time of someone under the influence of alcohol. Fatigue dulls the senses and slows reflexes. These forms of impairment may not carry the same stigma as drunk driving, but they can be equally fatal.
Driver’s education and traffic safety courses play a crucial role in addressing these misunderstandings. They don’t just teach the mechanics of driving—they teach the mindset of responsibility. Effective programs like ITTD go beyond checklists and regulations; they use storytelling and real-life examples to make lessons emotionally resonant. They help new drivers see that safety isn’t about memorizing laws—it’s about internalizing respect for human life. The best education programs challenge the false confidence many drivers have and replace it with humility and caution.
Personally, I believe that preventing impaired driving starts with consistent, honest conversations. I try to lead by example, whether that means volunteering to be the designated driver, offering rides to friends who’ve been drinking, or simply speaking up when someone seems too tired or distracted to drive safely. My experiences have made me realize that leadership behind the wheel doesn’t always mean being in control—it often means knowing when to say “no” and when to take the keys away from someone else.
Impaired driving is preventable, but prevention requires more than knowledge—it requires accountability, compassion, and courage. I learned from my mistakes and the choices I made to protect others. Every time I get behind the wheel, I remember that my actions affect not just me, but everyone on the road. Driver’s education gave me the tools to drive safely, but experience gave me the wisdom to understand why it matters. Together, those lessons have shaped the way I think about responsibility—and the way I live it.
