From Guard to Wife: My Journey in the Shadows of the Justice System

  -by Ryan You ever notice how fast people throw the word “redemption” around? Like it’s a prize you win. Like you hit a certain checkpoint in life, level up, and boom— you’re redeemed. Nah. Let me set the record straight: Redemption is a war. A daily, bloody, internal war. And it doesn’t come with parades or pats on the back. It comes with people questioning your motives. It comes with the system doubling down on your past. It comes with silence from the ones who promised to be there , and fake smiles from the ones watching you like a damn hawk, waiting for you to slip so they can say, “See? I knew he couldn’t change.” Let me tell you something: I’m still in that war. And just because I haven’t lost yet, doesn’t mean it’s been easy. I’m not out here claiming sainthood. Hell no. I’ve done dirt. I’ve hurt people. I’ve made choices that chained me to this life. But you know what else I’ve done? I’ve owned it. I’ve sat in cells most men would lose their mind in, facing...

  -by Ryan  Let me tell you something they don’t want you to know: Prison doesn’t break everybody. Sometimes, it sharpens you. Not in the way they think—fists up, cold heart, dead eyes. Nah. I’m talking about a different kind of sharp. The kind that happens when you’re forced to sit still in a world built on chaos. When you're stripped of everything but your thoughts. When silence isn’t peace—it’s pressure. That’s where I’m at right now. Still in the hole. Still in max. Still being punished for a label I didn’t ask for and a past I’m no longer living in. But for the first time in a long time, my mind is clear as glass . You’d think after all this time, all this isolation, all this retaliation, I’d be angry. And I am. Don’t get it twisted. But underneath that? There’s clarity. There’s purpose. There’s a shift happening inside me that no amount of lock-down can stop. You know what happens when you’re forced to spend 23 hours a day with nothing but a bunk and your own ...

  -by Ryan It’s been a minute, I know. Some of y’all probably thought I disappeared, went dark, or gave up. Nah. I’ve just been fighting battles that don’t come with warning shots. I’ve been surviving behind walls that don’t care about progress. And I’ve been silenced in every way they know how to silence a man without a noose. But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still pissed off. Still holding onto a sliver of something that looks like hope. When you’re in this place long enough, you start learning the difference between “quiet” and “forgotten.” I’ve been both. But I’m not gonna be either anymore. The truth is, they don’t like men like me talking. Not because I’m violent. Not because I’m a threat. But because I’m waking up. Because I see through the bullshit. Because I’m the kind of inmate that doesn’t just want out—I want change. And that? That’s dangerous. Since my last blog, they’ve sent me to max. Again. Because of lies. Because of labels. Because of a fi...

  It’s wild how life will put someone in your path and make you believe you’ve found a safe place to land. Someone you thought was a confidant. Someone who made you feel like your trust was finally in good hands. And then one day, without warning, you see it. The truth. The little cracks in their mask that they tried so hard to keep hidden. I think the hardest part isn’t the betrayal itself — it’s replaying every conversation, every laugh, every moment you thought was real, and realizing they were just… playing a part. A role. And you? You were just the audience. It makes you question your own instincts. Did I miss the signs? Was I so desperate for connection that I ignored the red flags waving in my face? Or were they just that good at pretending? People like that… they don’t break you with one big act. They chip away at you slowly, making you believe they care, while quietly stacking the pieces they’ll later use against you. And by the time you see it, the damage is a...

- by Ryan I’m writing this from the hole. Again. Four Mexicans jumped me last week. Broad daylight. Caught on camera. Most of my personal stuff? Gone. Jacked. And what’s SSU doing about it? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Because when it’s gang-related, the system doesn't want the smoke unless it lands on their front step. Let me be real—this ain’t a sympathy post. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. This is just my reality , and maybe, just maybe, someone out there will hear this and reroute their life before it’s too late. Right now, I’m being shipped off to a maximum-security yard —again. I’m 26 years old. Days away from my 27th birthday. And this will be my second time walking through those gates. My first time? I was 17. Just a kid. They sent me to max back then, too—like they were prepping me for a life I hadn’t even signed up for yet. Fast-forward nearly a decade, and here I am. Older, maybe wiser, but somehow right back where I started. Why? Because SSU decided I w...