As the survivor of a violent crime, I can attest that the aftermath is, in some ways, the hardest part. That’s when the physical pain, perhaps previously dulled by adrenaline, really kicks in—along with regrets, doubts, fears about the future, and that lingering beast known as PTSD.

I haven’t stepped foot in a playground in decades, but a recent conversation revived that sinking feeling I used to get every time I was near a dome climber. All the other kids seemed to rise to the top with ease, but I always struggled to make it only halfway up.