It is hard to fight the darkness when you must close your eyes to sleep.

As I lie here tonight, sleep eludes me, and my heart aches. Like so many survivors of abuse, I have often been told to simply forget the past and look toward the future. I wish it were that simple. If only the darkness would cooperate.

I woke suddenly, drenched in sweat, heart racing, and felt a wave of frustration with myself. If only I had control over what appears when I close my eyes. It is a cruel reality for victims—that the trauma continues to resurface in dreams long after the events have passed.

In tonight’s dream, I was driving a car unlike any I have driven before. My late sister Amy sat in the passenger seat, radiant and happy. Then, without warning, another car ran us off the road. We spun violently on a gravel path, dust swirling around us. When the chaos stopped, I saw the man who had abused us staring directly at me from his vehicle. I turned to Amy and saw blood on her head. That was when I woke.

The bittersweet gift of dreaming is seeing the face of someone you loved and lost. I cherish every glimpse of Amy. Yet I wish I could be spared the images of her in pain. That is one vision I would rather never see again.

Those who have not lived through abuse may find it difficult to understand. In one moment you can feel safe, loved, and grounded—only to be pulled back, without warning, into the terror of that helpless child. You don’t want to feel that way. It simply happens. Then you must gather yourself, breathe, and gently pull your mind back into the present.

I can already tell I won’t be sleeping again tonight.

Outside, a storm is raging. Amy used to have us lay our heads on her stomach during thunderstorms. She believed it made us feel safer. Even when I was grown, she asked me to do it once more. I think it comforted her as much as it did me. I would give anything to hold her right now. She would be so gentle and sweet about it. She rarely spoke of her own pain. Instead, she carried it quietly in her large, beautiful brown eyes, which always held a trace of sadness.

You never truly know the pain someone else is carrying behind their eyes. The last person who spoke to my sister was cruel to her. He later apologized to me after her death, and I forgave him. I didn’t want him to carry unnecessary guilt—he had no idea how fragile she was. We can never fully know another person’s circumstances. The way we treat someone can either help lift them from the darkness or push them deeper into it. It is so much easier to rise when someone is reaching down to help.