Editor’s note: This story was written by a participant in Denver, in his own words, reflecting on his first day home after incarceration.
Stepping Into Freedom
My name is John, and this is a glimpse into my first day out of prison.
It began as I got off the prison van and boarded the Bustang bus to Denver. This first step was bittersweet. Even though I was free, I did not feel that way. Wearing DOC-provided clothes and stepping onto that bus with all my property, I felt like I was in a long-range extension of the prison system. I felt a melancholic indifference to my newly gained situation, and more than that, I felt pressure. The pressure of responsibility.
Leaving Sterling, the ride became a somber opportunity to think, reflect, and process my last three years in prison. Thinking about my past and my future, no new revelations or grand plans presented themselves, so I sank into a comfortable mental silence. We arrived at Union Station a few hours later, with no meaningful insights gained, the feeling of freedom dancing around my periphery but not yet in focus.
Lost Between Two Worlds
Looking onward, it was time to find my way to the Aurora Parole Office. I retrieved the directions given to me during my pre-release process before I left prison and quickly determined they were not useful. The route prescribed cost more money than the resources provided. Maybe I should have checked this before I was released, but I did not have the relevant information, and more than that, my head was spinning from paperwork overload.
So, doing my best detective impersonation, I decoded the cryptic and confusing directions, unlocking an alternate route and relative destination. With determined, if somewhat naive, optimism, I left the bus station and decided to start walking. My journey was set to emerge on a new dawn, and I foresaw no barriers to finding my way.
Everything was fine until I realized I was lost and actually walking in a big circle. Not allowing myself to be daunted, I took advantage of my predicament and enjoyed the freedom I was beginning to feel. Unfortunately, the longer I walked, the more I felt like a stranger in my own backyard. It was a feeling I had never experienced before, so I used the tools I learned in Therapeutic Community programming to ground myself.
My question became why. What was I really feeling?
Well, I’ll tell you. The one feeling that washed over me with every step, which was many, was the need to be validated and welcomed back into the world. The only way I could imagine that happening was by seeing someone I used to know or landing somewhere I used to go. I did not want to feel like a stranger in a strange land. I wanted to feel like I belonged.
A mental red flag popped up, and I knew I needed to process everything so I would not fall back into my old ways and old behavioral patterns. I was looking for comfort and asking the world to regulate my mental weather, but I knew I needed to make my own. I asked myself, am I really going to fall apart in my first hour out, my first hour on my own?
Using my best thinking, I tried to understand why all the prison paperwork, classes, and groups I invested in did not prepare me for how far removed and different the world outside of prison really is. This left me wondering, am I disillusioned? Shouldn’t I have expected this?
Strangely, the things I loathed about prison, count time, chow pulls, lockdowns, and all the minute nuances, in hindsight made me feel like I somehow mattered, like someone was paying attention to me. I realized I had been living inside a box, inside a smaller box, inside an even smaller box. Like a Russian nesting doll, I was nesting in the strange safety and security of my big DOC brother.
The irony is that prison, the one place I never wanted to be, accepted me. I know prison exists for me because of my bad decisions, and even though I do not like it, it became me, and I became it. My validation and belonging came from the very place I desperately wanted to escape and never return to. In an unsettling but revealing way, prison will always be part of my identity.
Alone and Accountable
So there I was on my own. No more big DOC brother to hold my hand and validate my existence. With that realization, the freedom that had previously been out of focus came sharply into view. I was free, but I was also alone. That combination left me reeling.
My thoughts began to race, screaming, hey, look at me, I’m back, I matter, and I made it. As I continued on, memories of my past life washed over me, teasing and flirting just out of reach. I felt a tense sense of desire and nostalgia that, if unchecked, could have pulled me back into my old life.
But I had prepared for this. I challenged those thoughts and asked myself, is this really how I feel? Is this really what I want? The answer was a resounding no. I knew undoubtedly, I needed to stay away from those old places and avoid people from my past. Capitalizing on this realization, I felt in charge of my destiny. I was finally free to see the world not as it was, but as it is and what it could be.
A World That Hurts
Refreshed and renewed, I found myself at the bus stop at Colfax and Broadway. My first encounter was with a woman yelling at no one in particular about nothing that made sense. She was not dressed for the weather and appeared to be under the influence. She was clearly not doing well.
I wish I could say my mental health first aid training kicked in and I helped her. What I can say is that I did not know what to do, and she made me deeply uncomfortable. I wanted to cry for her brokenness, for her pain. I felt helpless for both of us.
I began to look expectantly at the other people passing by, hoping they had the answer for her struggles. People passed her by indifferently, guarded. I imagined them silently asking her to please spiral out of control quietly. Her trauma was real and unavoidable. Her pain mattered. Her life mattered.
Interrupting this revelation was the arrival of the bus. I timidly got on and asked if it went where I needed to go. I was hyperaware, focused, and determined to get from point A to point B, but that did not change the fact that I was ill equipped for the task. Working with little information and no phone was terrifying. My freedom was on the line. I wouldn't want to ever repeat this process again.
After speaking with the bus driver, I felt confident I was headed in the right direction. As I sat and reflected, one thought kept repeating. I do not want to be part of the problem that makes it acceptable for people to suffer like that woman. I want to be part of the solution.
Finding the Right Door
Luckily, I realized just in time that the bus had reached a place that made sense. I got off and started walking again. I wish I could say I walked straight to the parole office, but I did not. I went in the completely wrong direction and ended up at the Aurora Public Library.
I thought it might be a fortunate detour. I imagined getting a library card and accessing resources. But I did not have a phone number, an email address, or an ID with the right address. OMG! Still, I pivoted, asked for directions, and after a bathroom break, I was on my way again, feeling better with every step.
I made it to the parole office without further incident. You might not think it by reading my narrative, but this was my third time being released on parole, just never in Aurora. The office was a welcome, if intimidating, conclusion to my journey.
When Support Changes Everything
After meeting with my parole officer, I met Ms. Cook, CRS, and everything changed. She cared about my journey and my life situation. She helped me change the address on my ID and connected me to resources I had never been offered before, a phone, a bus pass, clothes, hygiene items, and most importantly, hope.
For the first time, I felt supported. I felt empowered to succeed.
This was a new feeling for me, the parole department wanting me to succeed, not waiting for me to fail. I felt empowered to do my best and to be my best. For the first time, I felt like the system was investing in my success, and that made me want to fully invest in myself too.
BORN
I titled this piece BORN because that is the only way I can describe my first day out. I felt born into a world I did not recognize, experiencing everything for the first time. I felt like a baby growing and navigating life, traveling through a full range of emotions, feelings, and revelations.
At first nothing was familiar and as a Denver native. I couldn't grasp why and it made me feel anxious. But over time, I realized the familiar I was seeking was petrifying, and the unfamiliar was promising, even inspiring.
I am light years away from who I was and from the world I left behind. By changing my thinking, I have changed my reality. Can someone say paradigm shift please! There is no half stepping when it comes to success. It is all in or nothing, and I am all in!
Thank you.
Why Early Support Matters
John’s story reflects the reality many people face on their first day home. Reentry is not a single moment but a series of decisions made under pressure, often without resources. When support shows up early, in practical and human ways, it creates space for people to stabilize, rebuild, and move forward.
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