Going to prison shattered my comfort zone. I didn’t know where I was going to go or what my life would look like. But I knew I didn’t want to keep living the way I had been.
Before, I kept returning to the same environment and the same relationships. We called each other friends, but we were enabling each other’s addictions. Sometimes I convinced myself that using with them was a way to connect, like being in the same headspace would help us understand each other. Looking back, we were helping each other stay stuck.
I was part of that, too. I wanted money and power, and I influenced people in ways I’m not proud of. I lost friends and people close to me. The table I was sitting at was taking us down a road I never want to go down again.
I knew I needed to change my surroundings. But I also knew something was missing spiritually.
While I was incarcerated, I was told I had cirrhosis and needed further care. I had lost family members to that disease, so hearing those words scared me. I didn’t know how much time I had left.
I remember feeling this urge to get down on my knees. There I was, on the concrete floor of a small cell, crying out to God. I wasn’t asking Him to give me my old life back. I prayed, “Whatever time I have left, can You please use me to help others so they don’t have to go down this path?”
That night, I felt peace. Sleeping in prison had been difficult, but I remember being able to rest.
About a week later, after more testing, I was told they found no signs of cirrhosis and that my liver enzymes were normal. I was shocked. I shared what happened with a friend who had been talking to me about God. He put his hand on me, and we sat quietly while he prayed.
I look back at that prayer in my cell as the beginning of the life I’m living now. I felt like God had opened a door and said, “Come in. You don’t have to do this alone.” For the first time, I knew I wasn’t alone.
After Roswell, I chose to come to Albuquerque. I needed to get away from the environment I kept returning to. Coming to a city where I had never been was uncomfortable, but I wanted to give recovery a real chance.
When I found Steelbridge, I knew I needed the structure and the opportunity to learn about Jesus. I had been interested in knowing Him, but I didn’t really understand what that relationship could look like.
Still, when I first arrived, I thought I would be judged. I looked at Christians and thought they were better than me. They seemed to have good lives, and I wondered, “What do they have that I don’t?”
During those first two months in Foundations, I really applied myself. I read Scripture, listened to the instructors and pastors, and wanted to understand who God was. I’m still learning today. Reading my Bible helps me approach my day differently and reminds me that I don’t have to build my life around being liked or accepted by other people.
Knowing the Lord accepts me has changed my heart.
Steelbridge also gave me something I never thought I would have again: a home and a family. Before coming here, relationships with my own family were broken. My brother and I weren’t close. As I’ve grown closer to God, I’ve started seeing those relationships come back into my life.
Now, when I talk with my nieces and nephews, I want them to know they can go further than I have. If they think I’m doing well, I want them to know they can do even more. I want to encourage them and be someone they can learn from.
Today, I’m attending CNM, serving at church through prayer, and helping lead groups at Steelbridge. Standing in front of people and being a leader felt uncomfortable at first. But I believe God is pushing me to grow and giving me opportunities to use my experiences to help someone else.
Recently, a story we read in my English class opened up a conversation about addiction. I hadn’t planned to share my past, but I felt that same urge to speak. I told my group some of my story and why it mattered to me. I wanted them to hear from someone who had lived through it.
I used to hate myself for the things I had done. Today, I can share those experiences with the hope that someone else might learn from them.
What I bring to the table now is different. I try to bring encouragement, courage, and whatever wisdom I’m gaining from Scripture. Sometimes that means helping someone look for a job or encouraging them to go to school. Sometimes it means listening or sharing something that helped me.
If I can make a difference in even one person’s life, that matters to me. I can plant a seed and trust God with what happens next.
One of the most beautiful things about Steelbridge is watching each other grow. We see someone come in not knowing what to do next, then watch them begin serving, finding work, and taking steps toward their future. We ask about each other’s days. We laugh together, cry together, and get to see the changes in each other.
For someone who is where I once was, I would say to focus on what you can do today. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by yesterday or everything you still need to accomplish. Set a goal for today. Recognize the blessings along the way. Stay humble, and let people help you.
Change is uncomfortable. Leaving what I knew was hard. But making that decision brought me here, to a place where I could rebuild my life and learn how to be there for others.
Steelbridge gave me a seat at the table, a place I can call home, and people I can call my brothers and sisters.
No matter where you come from, having that opportunity means everything.
