As many of you know, I volunteer in prison on Mondays.
I lead a 90-minute mindfulness group for residents. It’s a space where people can be vulnerable. Through meditation, they begin to know all parts of themselves. This creates room for forgiveness—and genuine change.
I also have individual visits, where I hear stories of generational trauma, abuse, neglect, addiction, and incarceration. If I went through what they went through, I’d likely also be in prison.
One of those people is G, a young Black man from Milwaukee. He came to the group curious and also afraid.
In our first 1:1 visit, he asked me,
“How do you speak so easily in front of everyone? I have so much fear. Whenever the check-in comes around to me, I feel anxious.”
I encouraged him to keep practicing. And he did.
G showed up for group, committed to meditation, and slowly started to believe in himself.
Over time, more of his story emerged. He was ignored and neglected as a child and eventually entered the foster system. His foster parents abused him and convinced him it was his fault.
After hearing this, I looked G in the eyes and said,
“You didn’t deserve the mistreatment. A child should be loved and protected. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is not your fault. You’re lovable just as you are.”
He looked at me, wide-eyed, and said,
“No one has ever said that to me before.”
In that moment, something shifted. He could see himself differently.
G kept doing the internal work. Because of required programming, he eventually had to leave the mindfulness group. But I met with him just before his release.
He looked different—more open, confident, and grounded.
His plans after release were to get a barber’s license and connect with young men in similar situations, helping them see another path.
He was excited for release and confident he’d never step foot in prison again.
I think of G often—how deeply change became possible once he could see his own worth.
It’s powerful to reflect people’s goodness back to them. It may seem obvious, but often it’s not. Many people carry a distorted view of who they are.
When we remind people of their light, we give them permission to be real and whole.
Each of us has been wounded. The unloved places within us can snarl back at the world. But when we meet those places with kindness, they soften and real connection becomes possible.
Today, be kind to your wounded parts.
Be kind to the wounded parts of others.
Look for the light in each other.
That’s where connection happens.
If this resonated, you might enjoy The Pocket Pause—a free daily text with gentle reminders to pause, breathe, and come back to what matters.