I think about it often and remember it like it was yesterday.
I was in shackles, walking into a courtroom after being bussed there from MDC. I’d already been in custody for about three months on a probation violation. I had a public defender—no disrespect intended, I know we’re all doing the best we can with what we have—but my experiences with state public defenders have rarely gone well. It always felt more like, “Just take the plea so we can get you off our caseload,” than anything that truly looked out for me.
This time, the public defender told me I was going to do a year flat in county. Sounded like a deal, considering I owed more than a year on probation. I asked if I’d be eligible for good time, which would cut the sentence in half. The response?
“If you try to get good time, they’ll bring up your habitual offender status, and you’ll end up doing more than a year. Keep your mouth shut and take the deal.”
But what they didn’t know was that my mom—bless her—had scraped together $1,500 for a private attorney. She was just running late. When she arrived, she talked to the DA, then came back with a new plan: I’d still do a year, but with good time, and the clock started the day I was arrested. That meant I only owed three more months. I was going home.
Relieved? Absolutely. But as I was being escorted out of the courtroom, I looked around and saw the walls lined with fellow inmates. And I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them would end up doing way more time than necessary—simply because they didn’t have someone to fight for them.
That’s why having the right people in your corner matters.
My life has been full of second chances—sometimes third, fourth, fifth chances. I’ve been released when I could’ve been locked up. I’ve been given opportunities I didn’t feel qualified for. And I’ve done everything I can to make them count.
Today, I’m a Certified Peer Support Worker, a Community Support Worker, and a Comprehensive Community Support Specialist. I work two jobs and go to school full-time. This fall, I’ll start working toward my Master’s in Sociology. I run an organization that helps people coming out of addiction using harm reduction. I’m also a Harm Reduction Specialist, a musician, a stand-up comedian, a Program Director, a Parole Success Advocate, and a speaker in treatment centers across New Mexico. I contract with New Mexico State University as a Quality Service Reviewer and with the University of New Mexico to help facilitate the Opioid Epidemic ECHO. I also serve as a Presbyterian CORE member, helping shape information that supports both sides of the profession.
And I’m not saying this to pat myself on the back.
I’m saying it because none of this would be possible without second chances.
But I didn’t do this alone.
If it weren’t for a very gifted attorney who showed up at just the right time and helped me get a real shot…
If it weren’t for a pretrial officer who believed in me…
If it weren’t for the people who owned a treatment center and offered me a full scholarship just because they saw something in me…
If it weren’t for the director of the transitional living program who let me stay long after I completed my time there…
If it weren’t for the folks who hired me into roles I didn’t feel ready for, and trusted me with leadership positions that gave me imposter syndrome…
If it weren’t for the institutions and instructors who saw my potential and chose to invest in it instead of writing me off…
I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be writing this.
Because second chances are real—but someone has to be willing to offer them.
That’s why I fell in love with (De)serving Life the moment I saw what they were doing. They aren’t just offering legal help. They’re building a team. They’re wrapping support around people who’ve been left behind by the system. They’re standing in courtrooms, in treatment centers, in jails—reminding people that their story isn’t over.
It’s been my honor to serve as an expert witness for those going before a judge, to share insight into what successful reintegration can look like. I’ve lived it. I’ve lived the trauma of incarceration. I’ve learned the painful adaptation that happens when you’re locked up—and how hard it is to unlearn it when you get out.
But I’ve also seen what happens when someone is given the right tools, support, and community.
I often tell our Executive Director, Stephen Taylor, that what he’s doing is paradigm-shattering. (De)serving Life is helping people shift from serving life to living it. And not just any life—but a life full of possibility.
A life that only second chances can create.