Describe a decision you made in the past that helped you learn or grow.

As a child, I grew up in a big family. There were nine of us, and I was the seventh child. The atmosphere in my home was a mix of fun and fear. My daddy was abusive and violent to my mom and siblings, which left a scar of fear in my life that always haunted me at night.

When he came home, the corner became my place of solitude and safety. As a child, you don’t always understand what you see and experience, and what’s even worse is as an adult, you don’t always have clear memories of your childhood.

I remember being terrified of the dark and always slept with the light on well into adulthood. I burnt out the bulbs on many televisions as an adult. As a child, I had the moonlight when I had nothing else to light up the night. I never understood where this fear of the dark came from, but it was paralyzing.

Many nights, lying in bed with the window open and the light from the moon shining on my face, I talked to God and whoever I thought lived in the big, beautiful sky above me. It was so vast; it was intimidating. I was taught growing up to fear God and that hell awaited me if I was bad. But the religious god and the one that made the heavens seem like two different Gods.

My parents had a way of correcting our behavior by reminding us if we didnt behave, we would go to hell. There was nothing in between, and that would be our fate. Hell and the devil were used to keep us in line and to instill the fear of God in us. Well, it worked, but I feared the devil more than I did God.

Sleep never came as easily for me as it did for my other family members. My mind was a constant space filled with activity and wonder. It was my escape from reality and the terror of the night. To me, the night was when the devils came out. It was the space where God did not reside.

I bought every radio and book I could afford when I was older. As a child, the library and bookstore were an adventure that would provide solace during the night terrors. I read under the moonlight and even had a flashlight at times. I loved sleeping by the window. It made the sky look like a framed live picture. The sky lit up the night, and everything was so beautiful. Night and darkness weren’t the same to me. I realized that you can experience darkness in the brightest of days.

I never understood the darkness and why it was so terrifying to me. Perhaps growing up in a religious home where I was constantly reminded to be good or I would go to hell is why I was afraid of the dark. Darkness reminded me of what death would be like if I didn’t obey God or my parents.

Death, darkness, and dying were my three “Ds” of torture, and keeping the light on was my weapon against them. If I was under the night sky, the three “Ds” couldn’t harm me.

When I married and had my children, I was sensitive to their fear of the dark, and I bought nightlights for their rooms. By then, I was old enough to understand how bad television was, so my husband and I did not put televisions in their rooms. Every night, I would pray after they were asleep. I would open the door, look in on them, and see how innocent and peaceful they were when they slept.

I remember the two worst days of my life and when my fear of the night started to change. My mother died of cancer in 1988. She was 57; it was the worst day of my life. A few months later, my brother-in-law died in a terrible car accident; he was 25. He was my best friend and my son’s godfather.

As painful as the loss was, I found comfort in the darkness because I knew my mother and brother were with me in the darkness. It makes no sense, but that’s how I came to grips with their death and my fear of the dark. For some unknown reason, these tragedies helped me overcome my fear of darkness.

I didn’t turn the light off right away. But when I decided to work on my fear of darkness, it wasn’t easy. I remember lying in bed, waiting for the impact of fear.

Laying there, enveloped in the night, something extraordinary happened. The room began to feel different—not oppressive or fearful, but comforting, like a soft blanket settling around my shoulders.

My eyes adjusted to the shapes around the room, and the darkness, which had once symbolized isolation and fear, now fostered a connection I hadn’t anticipated. The darkness wasn’t empty; it was filled with the presence of my mother and brother-in-law, their love and memories illuminating the darkness more than any physical light could.

I felt their guidance as if they were telling me that it was okay to let go of my lifelong fears to embrace the cycle of life that includes the inevitability of death. And so, lying there, I finally turned the lights off.

I allowed myself to drift into sleep, a peaceful, deep sleep that I hadn’t known all my life until that moment. In my dreams, I saw myself as a child again, running through fields under a starry sky, unafraid and free. My mom visited me often in my dreams.

Waking up the next morning, the light seemed different—softer, warmer, as if I was seeing it for the first time. I embraced my days and nights with a new perspective, grateful for every moment of light and darkness, knowing that each phase was a necessary part of the whole.

The journey from fear to acceptance had been long and fraught with challenges, but in the end, I found peace. I no longer fought the night; instead, I welcomed it as an old friend, a companion in my life, reminding me that even in darkness, there is beauty and life.