All that mattered was hearing from my loved ones—knowing they were okay, and telling them I loved them.
I found my identity, passion, and goals in life during my time at San Quentin Rehabilitation Center, but it came at a great cost. Prison is worse than going to war. It’s a sentence of “social death,” inflicting more than physical punishment. It strips us of liberty, security, privacy, and identity—especially deprivations from our loved ones. The psychological toll of confinement—depression, anxiety, helplessness—can lead to antisocial behaviors.
I will always remember 2020, the year COVID-19 swept through San Quentin. In May, a rushed transfer of 122 prisoners from the California Institute for Men ignited an outbreak that infected more than 2,000 of us, including me. Against all odds, I survived what felt like an inevitable death sentence. It’s true what they say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
In the midst of adversity, I discovered what happiness means to me. Life became precious when COVID hit, knowing no one could stop it. There was no guarantee I would make it to the next day. All that mattered was hearing from my loved ones—knowing they were okay, and telling them I loved them.
By the end of July, COVID had claimed 28 of my incarcerated peers. San Quentin stayed on lockdown until late 2022. During this time, I picked up tennis, and it changed my life. It became a vital coping skill, helping me manage stress, anxiety, and depression, and gave me focus.
Once released, I look forward to working with non-profit organizations to improve public safety and reduce recidivism by visiting Juvenile Detention Centers as a credible messenger. My goal is to share my experiences and explain how childhood trauma influenced my decisions, leading to my crime. I believe tennis can be a tool to help young people improve their mental health and make healthier decisions, just as it has for me.
“Just because something has never been done before doesn’t mean it can’t be done.” — Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.
