IT WASN'T MY PLAN to go to prison. Nobody ever plans to go to prison. When I was on the path that ultimately led me there, I felt invincible. Like nothing would ever stop me and no one would ever catch me. But when the cold metal cuffs dug into my wrists and the metal door slammed behind me, I realized that not even I could run forever.
Before my time in prison, I spent two years in a treatment center, where they yelled at me every day and called it "therapeutic." The day of my intake, the counselor asked what my religion was. When I said pagan, she told me, "No you're not. That is just something you are interested in." For the rest of my stay, I made it a point to never join their optional, but highly encouraged, church outings. Even though it meant I would get to walk outside, smoke, and go to the store-all rare treats-it felt like it would be a betrayal to the goddesses and gods. Mostly it felt like it would be a betrayal to myself. Back then, my idea of spirituality included wearing mostly black and owning large quantities of pentagram jewelry. But it was what I had, and I held onto it with ferocity.
When my sentence was transmuted from the treatment center to prison over a case of a credit card application, I felt despondent. My father had gone to prison when I was 12. Despite my lifelong insistence to never be like him, I now found myself in similar shoes. My 29th birthday was spent waiting for the prison bus to come to take me. When it did, I was so scared, but also relieved by the finality of it. Up until that moment I thought something miraculous would happen that would save me from a stay at the Department of Corrections. I wouldn't know until many years later that my incarceration eventually created my inspiration.
This story is from the July/August 2022 edition of Spirituality & Health.
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This story is from the July/August 2022 edition of Spirituality & Health.
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