by Raul Higgins, San Quentin State Prison, CA
In the midst of the infirmities and traumatic memories of this deadly Coronavirus pandemic, it continues to linger on in the cells of San Quentin. However, with watchful eyes and cautious paranoia, it’s not an option to let my guard down, either. With the power of prayer and the courageous pillars of our communities it inhales a natural breath of resilience.
Then it exhales the most power-fullest currency in prison-HOPE! A hope that’s resuscitated my second wind. Drifting through a wind-tunnel of looming dark shadows and haunting fears that have rattled my bones for years. But I never gave up, and kept it pushing until I saw a beam of loving sunshine. I reached my hands to the sky, with my arms opened wide, and cried for help.
In 2019, my preparation for my board hearing was promising! With self-help groups, insightful book reports, marketable skills, higher education, and therapy! The confidence and determination surfaced. I was committed and ready for a good fight! The one-on-one therapy sessions, became a safe place and a new way to learn how to walk, and pace myself for this marathon journey.
Therapy purged my heart and soul like never before. As torn and fragile as my heart was, I surrendered to the process. Carrying old beliefs of; don’t trust, don’t tell and don’t cry, held me captive for years. Carrying this weight was like swimming with your clothes and shoes on, “heavy!” However, here’s how it went down in one “Therapy Session” a few months before my board hearing:
Therapist: “So what you’re saying is your mom was never there for you as a child, and never went to any school events or races?”
Me: “No, not even once.”
Therapist: “But she did come to see you the first time you went to jail?”
Me: “Yes”
Therapist: “And wasn’t this right before you went to prison?”
There was a long pause. My heart started pounding and racing. It felt like someone was slugging my chest hard! I was sweaty and hot. My heart shook harder and harder. My body felt weak and face hot. The pain was excruciating. I started panting, and I couldn’t hold it any longer!
I tried to stuff it, but it was just too much, and it all came rushing out like an explosion! I started crying uncontrollably, the tears poured down my face and everything felt blurry. I remembered crying so hard, loud and long. It was so unbearably painful and the same peels my heart like an old dried scar.
Crying in front of her (therapist) was very unpleasant either. I thought I could stop after a while, but there was way. I cried on and on. It felt like hours. My eyes looked like I was punched in the face, swollen and bloodshot-red. As my heart felt heavier and heavier, I realized I was emotionally exhausted and broken. Hunched over, I didn’t dare want to look up. All I wanted to do was crawl underneath the table and hide.
Therapist: “Raul, Raul, look at me!”
I looked up ashamed and torn and looked into her eyes. As I could see she was crying too.
Therapist: I’m sorry I’m hurting you. Am I too hard on you? Do you want me to stop?”
Me: “No, it’s okay.”
Therapist: “Raul, when was the last time you cried?”
Another long pause. The tears followed quickly, this time they felt like hot burning water, slowly scarring my face as they dripped in slow motion. I tried to answer and speak without weeping, but all I could do was whisper. I was so ashamed, but I softly whispered, “I never have.”
Therapist: “Raul, I know this is a lot for you take on, but your heart is so strong and resilient. You’ve got great insight. Your work history and institutional behavior is a testament to what you have done with your time. Just look at what your “heart-change” work has done for you. You’ve carried an incredible amount of pain, stress and suffering for so many years. Much of that you had become accustomed to and you normalized it.
You also have a higher pain threshold than most men, and probably never realized it. I mean, look at your history, you were a pediatric phlebotomist. You’ve finished an Ironman Triathlon, run marathons. You’ve ran 90 mile weeks, and you’ve worked as an EMT in an ER performing CPR for a living! That’s a lot of painful stress to carry! So tell me, What’s the difference between you working as an EMT in the ER doing CPR, versus working on the “heart-change work” you have to do right now?”
Me: “I had nurses and doctors right by my side, helping me. We worked together saving lives!”
Therapist: “You’re right! But this time Raul, you’ve got to save yourself and by yourself! No one can help you with that! You have to do this alone! No one can help you with that, but you!”
Again, I looked into her eyes, with my eyes all puffed out and sadly said, “I’ve never worked on myself this deep by myself, because I didn’t trust anybody, but I can do it.”
That day my heart, my life, my hope, completely transformed! For the first time, I realized vulnerability became my birthplace of empathy and compassion. I became transparent about my heart’s condition and I gave myself permission to be vulnerable. The compassion touched my heart, and the courage moved my soul and they kissed.
As a result, an unashamed badness and the self-discernment and others became crystal clear. The colors of miraculous healing and redemption were indescribable. When I first painted that picture it was breath-taking. Something I thought never possible. Putting the pieces together for my life, and the others I helped, was enlightening. This has allowed me to lean into my own discomfort. It might have taken longer than I thought, but vulnerability is my superpower!
I truly believe God made us with two ears and one mouth for a reason. I will listen more and talk less. Looking back on it all it made sense to me. I remember wanting to feel connected and to feel that I belonged. I love helping others solve problems, assisting them to find their full potential and the skills to listen. My ears record the stories and my soul is the canvas. I can help guide many hurting hearts to a safe place. From my ears, to my heart, to their soul, in a moment of trust. “From hurting, healing, to helping,” I was finally tired of being sick and tired, and never gave up on the good idea of my life.
I started believing in myself, wished for self-forgiveness and it all came to light. My purpose and vision was obvious. To continue rebuilding and restoring all my relationships, personal and professional. To give, serve and to love. I love to paint! Although, the kinds of pictures I love to paint are stories I hear. Stories paint words, touch hearts and change lives. Some are dark colors of dread and sorrow, while others are bright and enlightened joys and victories! I believe the feelings, thoughts, behaviors, attitudes, and actions illuminates and paints their stories. The contours, shapes and shadows are the different stories I hear at work, and that’s where I paint with my heart.
I work inside of an Intensive Substance Use Disorder Program under the umbrella of the Division of Rehabilitation Programs. In the capacity as an Internationally Certified Alcohol & Drug Counselor, Certified Alcohol & Drug Counselor II, Certified Denial Management & Relapse Prevention Specialist. I just like to call myself a “Professional listener.”
As the pandemic persistently goes on, so does my life inside my cell. As night falls, the foggy misty bay cold winds cloud over “The Q.” The walls sweat hopelessness, the sheets soaked with tears of loneliness, the wool blankets weaved with shame, but it’s comfortable and it keeps us warm. The lack of air is filled with lost identities, criminality and all the addictions you could think of! Other occupants wallow in their “stuckness,” (the unchecked lifestyle of the diminished and deteriorated dysfunctional denial. Some call it “Living the Dream!”)
The incarcerated men WHO DO want to change or even dare the possibility, are also stuck in deep-seated denial. I recall having grown up and not knowing, what it is to be a man? I was surprised on how many didn’t know! A common and engrained belief is “toxic masculinity,” that pumps through their veins and sweats out of their pores. How can I teach men how to trust? How can I assist men who are socially incapable of sustaining trust, when their only hope of relief is to trust? How can I persuade a convict to allow themselves to become vulnerable in front of their peers?
Having been on both sides of the fence from an alcoholic/addict, believing in don’t trust, don’t tell, don’t cry, to being vulnerable and positioning myself to tell my story, has broken many walls down. Then to surrender, let go and cry like never before, in front of a bunch of complete strangers is quite the task! It’s a daring and lonely journey that many men aren’t willing to take. But now, is the time to pull out my brush and start painting the comeback story.
Its colors reveal validity and it’s relatable. Some are pictures of my dark shadows and tunnels, to victorious mountain highs. While listening to their stories, I’m painting mine. It’s a picture of me holding their hand while walking with them through their dark tunnel, showing them it’s safe and there’s light at the end of the tunnel!”
The light is the truth, and that truth introduces rapport. Then the courageous resilience begins to set a different pace. Now, the picture in the tunnel becomes an illuminated journey. Just like a marathon. It’s about starting a slow pace, a pace anyone can run and finish.
It is the marathon of life. The vulnerable feelings in my story are daring, yet compassionately satisfying. It was indeed uncomfortably painful to reveal, yet necessary. However, it was enlightening and liberating. I’m listening…