It began like any other spring day. I woke up in my apartment in Queens and went about my daily ritual of preparing a batch of coffee and watching the morning news. Then my plan was to wake up my daughters and get them ready for school.
The sun was shining and so was my spirit, because I was just one week away from completing my master’s degree in social work. I had meticulously planned every step toward obtaining it, ever since I had been incarcerated. That included working at various nonprofits, as both an intern and an employee, in addition to my schoolwork.
I was so close I could taste it. This would be the fulfillment of a promise I had made to myself about changing my legacy to reflect who I really was: a person who, despite having been incarcerated, had potential.