Resilience is often misunderstood.

We’re taught to think of it as some hardened mental posture—the ability to push through pain, to “toughen up,” to bend and not break. But real resilience doesn’t come from brute strength. It comes from self-understanding. From owning your truth, finding meaning in your pain, and choosing who you want to become in the face of your worst fears.

I learned that the hard way. At 19 years old, I took another man’s life and was sentenced to 17 to 40 years in prison. I would spend 19 years behind bars, seven of them in solitary confinement. I went into that system broken, angry, and afraid. And for a long time, I let that pain define me.

But at my lowest point—trapped in a cell the size of a parking space, cut off from the world—I made a decision. I chose to change. I began to write. I read hundreds of books. I confronted the darkest parts of myself and committed to something radical: I was going to rebuild my identity from the inside out.

That process didn’t happen overnight. It happened through small, daily choices. The same way we build muscle in the gym, I built resilience by showing up for myself when no one else could.

What I learned in that cell has guided me every day since—through my reentry into society, through building relationships, raising children, writing books, working with CEOs, and speaking on stages around the world.

Here are a few of the most powerful lessons I took from that experience:

1. You have to tell yourself the truth.

At the core of any transformation is brutal honesty. Most of us are in denial—about our pain, our patterns, our past. We bury the things we don’t want to face. But until you confront your truth, you’re a prisoner to it.

For me, the truth was that I had been deeply wounded long before I ever picked up a gun. I had unresolved trauma, I felt unworthy of love, and I didn’t know how to ask for help. Prison forced me to stop running from that truth. It taught me that freedom begins where denial ends.

2. You are not your worst decision.

One of the most damaging myths we carry is that we are defined by the worst thing we’ve done. That belief keeps us locked in shame—and it keeps others from seeing our humanity.

I will never forget what I did. I live with that every day. But I also know that I’m more than my past. The man I am today—father, author, mentor, friend—is a result of years of conscious work, reflection, and growth. You don’t have to stay stuck in the story someone else wrote about you.

3. Stillness is a superpower.

Solitary confinement is designed to break people. And for a long time, it nearly broke me. I was angry, bitter, and desperate for an outlet. But in that silence, I began to hear myself clearly. I began to feel emotions I’d numbed for years. Stillness became my teacher.

In the outside world, we’re surrounded by noise. But resilience requires space. You can’t rebuild yourself in chaos. Whether it’s five minutes of breathing or an hour of journaling, carve out silence. Your growth depends on it.

4. You can choose your thoughts.

This was the biggest revelation of all: I didn’t have to believe everything I thought. I could challenge the stories in my head. I could reframe my pain. I could interrupt the loop of self-hate and replace it with something better.

In prison, that meant shifting from “I’ll never get out” to “What can I do with this time?” Outside of prison, it means shifting from “I’m not good enough” to “What’s one small thing I can do today to move forward?”

Your mindset is your operating system. Update it as often as necessary.

5. Growth is nonlinear.

Change is messy. You’ll stumble. You’ll relapse into old patterns. I certainly did. But I kept coming back to the vision I had for my life. I held onto the version of myself I hadn’t yet become.

The goal isn’t to be perfect—it’s to keep growing. That’s what resilience really is: not avoiding failure, but learning how to recover with grace.

These lessons didn’t just help me survive prison—they helped me lead. Today, I speak to leaders around the world about trust, culture, and transformation. And I tell them what I know to be true: the same tools that saved my life can strengthen their teams, their families, and themselves.

Because in the end, we’re all doing time. We’re all navigating systems, stories, and struggles that can box us in. The question is: will you let those constraints define you—or will you choose to break free?

Adapted from How to Be Free by Shaka Senghor. Copyright © 2025. Reprinted by permission of Authors Equity.