Letting go of the past is something I struggle with every day, especially in my work at the jail. It’s not just about me helping others—though I’d like to think I do that—but it’s about the lessons I learn from the inmates. These individuals, even in their darkest moments, teach me things about myself, and sometimes, it’s their wisdom that helps me navigate my own journey.
Recently, I sat down with an inmate I’ve known for about five years. His journey has been a rollercoaster—a tale of highs and lows that’s all too familiar in this line of work. I’ve seen him on the outside, thriving, making a difference by helping those struggling with addiction. And then, I’ve seen him at rock bottom, back in jail, grappling with the consequences of a mistake. He’s someone who, like me, has served—not in law enforcement; his service was two tours in Iraq as a soldier in the U.S. Army.
His story resonates with me, maybe because we share some parallel experiences. While his battlefield was overseas, mine was more metaphorical—chasing down wanted people, serving warrants, and doing the high-speed work I once thrived on—the core of our struggles isn’t so different. It’s the fight that comes after the action has stopped. That’s when the real battle begins. I’ve talked about this before—this internal war I’ve been waging. It’s not the thrill of the chase I miss; it’s the sense of purpose, the adrenaline, and the feeling that I was doing something meaningful.
When I sat down with him, I wanted to know how he coped after being medically discharged from the army. He had seen and done things overseas that I could only imagine, but in a way, it felt like his experience was the closest thing to mine. The fast-paced, mission-driven life we both had wasn’t something you could easily walk away from. So, I asked him how he handled the transition—how he dealt with no longer being a soldier and no longer living that life.
His response hit me hard: “It’s still a struggle sometimes.” He didn’t sugarcoat it, and I respect that. He went on to explain how he had to make a choice to be different, and not just superficially. He had to go all in on that choice. It wasn’t enough to say, “I want to be better” or “I’ll change.” It was about retraining himself, much like how we were trained to respond with muscle memory when using weapons. He had to train his brain and his body to stop reacting as if he were still in combat. He needed to develop new muscle memory to become the person he wanted to be.
For him, that person was someone who helps others in recovery, someone who works to lift people out of active addiction, much like what I’m doing now. As he spoke, I couldn’t help but feel a connection between our journeys. We had different circumstances, but a shared goal—to help others, to make a difference.
Then he asked me a question that has stuck with me ever since: “Are you all in, or are you holding onto your past?”
I knew the answer before I even opened my mouth. I’m holding on. I admitted it right then and there. There’s a part of me that still clings to that old role, to the excitement, the purpose, the identity I built around chasing down bad guys. It’s hard to let go. Sometimes, it feels like letting go of that piece of myself means losing something essential, something that made me who I am.
But his words made me think. He said that it wasn’t until he let go of his past that he truly started to move forward. That hit me like a ton of bricks because I realized I hadn’t fully done that yet. I’m still caught between two worlds—the one where I was the guy who hunted criminals and the one where I’m trying to help people rebuild their lives. And let me tell you, living in that in-between space? It’s exhausting. It’s like having one foot on solid ground and the other on quicksand.
I thanked him for the conversation and the advice, but it wasn’t until later, when I had some quiet time to reflect, that I really started to absorb what he said. I’ve been working for years now to help people through adversity—addiction, trauma, loss—but have I gone all in on this? Have I truly let go of that old version of me?
The answer is no. I’ve been holding onto a piece of the past because, in some ways, it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It reminds me of a time when I knew exactly what I was doing and had a clear sense of purpose. But it’s also holding me back from fully embracing who I am now and the work I’m doing.
And the truth is, I’m proud of the work I’m doing now. There’s nothing more fulfilling than seeing someone come out of the darkness, rebuild their life, and know that you had a part in that transformation. But part of me still wants to hold on to the past, like it’s a safety net in case this new path doesn’t work out.
That’s not the way forward. If I’m going to truly help others, I need to take my own advice. I need to go all in. I need to let go of that old version of me—the one who thrived on adrenaline and the high-stakes environment—and embrace the man I am now, who is dedicated to helping others overcome their battles.
It’s time for me to stop living in two worlds. It’s time to commit fully to this path of service and to go all in on helping others. That’s where my purpose lies now. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that this is the next chapter of my life. It’s not about what I used to do; it’s about what I’m doing now and the impact I can have moving forward.
The time is now.
Stay disciplined. Stay resilient.
Jim Lunsford
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