Man, I haven’t done time myself, but my wife did. Seven years. Serious time. And I watched her climb outta that hole people try to keep you in when you get out - "the ex-con," "the felon," "the one who went away"

Let me tell you what she told me one night, after another job rejection: "The label don’t disappear. You just get louder than it."

People will judge you. Some of 'em won’t even mean to - they’ll just look at you different when they hear the word prison. But over time, what she did? She built a new story

She took small jobs nobody else wanted. Cleaned floors. Worked night shifts. Took online classes. Didn’t post about it, didn’t whine. Just stacked wins in silence. Eventually, folks stopped seeing her past and started seeing her grind

It ain’t fast. And it sure as hell ain’t fair. But it’s possible

The trick is this: don’t wait for the world to forgive you - just make 'em respect you anyway

And yeah, there’s people who’ll never let it go. But screw 'em. They ain’t your future. The people who matter? They’ll notice how you show up every day, not what you did six years ago

My wife always says, "I did my time. I don’t owe anyone an apology for still being alive"

So no, the label don’t always fade. But it loses power. Especially when you stop wearing it like it defines you

You’re more than what they call you, brother. Keep moving!