The First Dinner and the Last The first dinner you eat in the penitentiary is something you never forget. Not because the food is memorable—but because you are different. That first tray comes with a kind of shock that settles deep in your chest. You’re standing in a line you never imagined yourself in, surrounded by women who already know the routine. They move with a strange confidence through the chow hall, grabbing trays, cups, and utensils like it’s just another Tuesday. But for you, everything feels loud. The metal doors slam. Plastic trays slide across stainless steel counters. Officers shout directions like it’s muscle memory for them. And you’re just standing there holding a tray, trying to act like you belong somewhere you never thought you’d be. You sit down at a table, and suddenly it hits you: this is your life now. The food doesn’t really matter. It could be meatloaf, mystery stew, or something that vaguely resembles chicken. It all tastes the same at that moment—like reality. Like consequences. Like a chapter of life you didn’t plan to write. That first dinner carries a heavy silence inside you. A thousand thoughts swirl around while you push food around your tray. Shame. Fear. Anger. Confusion. Maybe even relief that the chaos leading up to prison has finally stopped. But mostly, it’s the weight of realizing you have a long road ahead. Years pass inside those walls. And somewhere along the way, something unexpected begins to happen. Grace starts sneaking into places you didn’t know grace could reach. It might start in a recovery meeting. Or during a late-night conversation with someone who’s been through hell and somehow still has hope. Or in the quiet moments on your bunk when you finally stop blaming the world and start looking inward. Prison has a strange way of stripping everything away until you’re left with nothing but the truth. And sometimes, that’s exactly where grace finds you. By the time you eat your last dinner in the penitentiary, something inside you has changed.

Count Time Never Leaves You If you’ve never been to prison, “count time” probably sounds harmless—almost boring. Just a routine headcount, right? But for anyone who’s lived behind those walls, count time becomes something deeper. It’s a rhythm that gets etched into your bones. Long after the gates close behind you, it’s still there. Count time is when everything stops. The noise on the unit dies down. Conversations trail off. The TVs get quieter. People move to their assigned bunks, sometimes slowly, sometimes irritated, sometimes already there waiting. Because everybody knows the rule: when the officers call count, you better be exactly where you’re supposed to be. In prison, the day isn’t measured by clocks the way it is in the free world. It’s measured by counts. Morning count. Noon count. Evening count. Final count before lockdown. The day moves from one count to the next like checkpoints in a strange, repetitive marathon. Miss one, mess one up, or if the numbers don’t match, everything freezes. Nobody goes anywhere until the math works. That means no chow. No yard. No phone calls. No movement. Just waiting. And waiting is one of prison’s most powerful punishments. During count time, you sit on your bunk while officers walk through slowly, eyes scanning every face. Sometimes they shine a flashlight directly at you. Sometimes they make you sit up straighter so they can verify you’re breathing. You become a number in a system that demands precision. But something strange happens after a while. You start to feel the count before it happens. Your body knows when it’s coming. The energy on the unit shifts. People wrap up what they’re doing. Cards get put away. Someone yells down the tier, “Count time!” And everybody moves. Even years later, that feeling sticks. People who’ve done time will tell you the same thing: your body remembers. You might be sitting at home on a couch years after release, and suddenly at the same time every evening, a quiet thought crosses your mind—

March 14A.A. Thought For The Day Can I get well? If I mean: “Can I ever drink normally again,” the answer is no. But if I mean, “Can I stay sober?” the answer is definitely yes. I can get well by turning my drink problem over to a Power greater than myself, that Divine Principle in the universe which we call God, and by asking that Power each morning to give me the strength to stay sober for the next twenty-four hours. I know from the experience of thousands of people that if I honestly want to get well, I can get well. Am I faithfully following the A.A. program? Meditation For The Day Persevere in all that God’s guidance moves you to do. The persistent carrying out of what seems right and good will bring you to that place where you would be. If you look back over God’s guidance, you will see that His leading has been very gradual and that only as you have carried out His wishes, as far as you can understand them, has God been able to give you more clear and definite leading. Man is led by God’s touch on a quickened responsive mind. Prayer For The Day I pray that I may persevere in what seems right. I pray that I may carry out all of God’s leading, as far as I can understand it. As

Hi, I’m Roxanne… and this is Awakened Through Adversity. If you’ve ever felt like your life was completely off the rails—addiction, jail, trauma, losing everything—you’re in the right place. Because I’ve lived it. For years I was stuck in a cycle of drugs, destruction, and pain… until I experienced what the Big Book calls an entire psychic change. A spiritual awakening that changed everything. This space isn’t about pretending life is perfect. It’s about real recovery, real spirituality, and how to rebuild a life you never thought was possible. If you’re struggling, curious about the 12 steps, or just looking for hope… you’re not alone. This is Awakened Through Adversity.❤️‍🩹

I’m not sure how candid I can be on this forum but I’m just gonna tell you a story of one time I was with my pimp and I was in the front seat of the car and he was behind me in the back seat. We got in a conversation and I told him I wanted to go see my boyfriend for the holidays…he reached around put his arm around my neck and started choking me screaming at me saying “bitch…you ain’t going no where!!” I had told him the first night when he captured me (I have a video about it) that the minute he puts his hands on me, I’M GONE!! Well…I stayed calm after he let go and he of course said, “why did you make me do that to you, I’m so sorry” I’m thinking to myself, yeah right dude I’M OUT!! But I had to wait for the perfect time. So we went back to the hotel to work. So we posted on Backpage, and I got an Incall!! 👌 perfect!! I had been cuffing money the whole time I was with him, so I had like $2,000 saved. (Cuffing: Taking money off the top from a business proposal) When the guy came to the room, I told him when we were finished that I was leaving with him. He looked at me puzzled 🤨 but I said “just drop me off at a bus stop” and he did and I ended up back in jail a couple months later for petty theft🤦🏻‍♀️