Letting Go of the Past: Lessons from Jail Inmates on Personal Growth

Letting go of the past feels impossible when it still haunts you, but clinging to it will only keep you trapped in a life that no longer exists.

Letting go of the past isn’t just some cliché self-help mantra—it’s a war. And let’s be real, most of us are losing. We tell ourselves we’ve moved on and are done carrying that weight, but deep down, we know we’re still shackled to it. Whether it’s regret, nostalgia, or some twisted sense of identity, the past has its claws in us, and it isn’t letting go without a fight.

I see it every day at the jail: inmates who can’t let go of the past and can’t escape the ghosts of who they used to be. Some of them don’t even try anymore because they’ve convinced themselves there’s no point.

Others fight like hell but still end up back behind those bars. And then there are the few—the rare ones—who figure it out. They cut ties with their past, rewire their brains, and become something else entirely.

I respect those guys. Because I know how damn hard it is to do what they’ve done.

A few weeks ago, I sat down with one of them. I’ve known him for five years and watched him rise, fall, and rise again. When he’s on the outside, he’s a force—helping people battle addiction, making a real difference. But when he stumbles, he falls hard. And now here he was again, in that same cell, wearing that same orange jumpsuit, looking like life had chewed him up and spit him out.

He served two tours in Iraq. That alone tells you what kind of battles he’s fought. But it’s not the war overseas that gets to him—it’s the one inside his own damn head.

We got to talking, and I asked him straight up, “How do you deal with it? The transition, the loss of that identity, letting go of the past?”

His answer was simple. “It’s still a struggle.”

He didn’t sugarcoat it. He didn’t feed me some fake inspirational line—just raw truth. He told me that learning to let go was just like training in the military—it had to be drilled into his brain until it became muscle memory. Until his default setting wasn’t survival mode, wasn’t war mode, wasn’t the version of himself that only knew how to operate under fire. He had to retrain himself to be a different man—not just to say he wanted to change but actually become someone else entirely.

And then he hit me with a question that stopped me cold. “Are you all in, or are you still holding onto your past?” I already knew the answer. I’m holding on and gripping it with both hands.

I’ve talked about it before, but losing my role in law enforcement wrecked me. It wasn’t just a job; it was an identity. It was knowing exactly who I was and what I was meant to do. It was walking into work every day, knowing that what I did mattered. It was adrenaline. It was purpose. It was everything. And when it was gone, I felt like a ghost of myself. Like I was just floating through, pretending to be something I wasn’t.

So yeah, when he asked me that question, I felt it in my gut because he was right. I wasn’t letting go of the past.

I spend my days helping people rebuild their lives—coaching, guiding, supporting—but I’ve never fully let go of my old life. I’ve kept one foot in the past, just in case—like I needed a backup plan in case this “new me” didn’t work out.

But that’s the problem. You can’t move forward when you’re still anchored to who you used to be.

This inmate—this man who has every reason to be bitter, every excuse to give up—he’s figured something out that I haven’t. He knows you can’t half-ass it if you want to change. You can’t keep one hand on the past and expect to build a future at the same time. You either go all in on letting go of the past, or you don’t.

I left that conversation different than when I walked in. Because for the first time, I had to be honest with myself. I haven’t been letting go of the past. I haven’t fully committed to the man I am now. I’ve been clinging to the past like it’s some kind of safety net, afraid that if I let go, I’ll lose myself completely.

But the truth is, I already lost that version of me. That chapter is closed. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a good thing. Because if I stay stuck in who I was, I’ll never become who I’m supposed to be.

So now the real work begins—not for the inmates, not for the people I coach, not for the ones I try to help, but for me. It’s time to let go—not just in words, not just in theory, but for real.

Because if I don’t, I’m just another guy stuck in his head, not letting go of the past and making excuses for why he can’t move forward. And that’s not who I am. Not anymore.

Stay disciplined. Stay resilient. Live with PRIDE.

Jim Lunsford

Disclaimers:

Use of Artificial Intelligence: Jim Lunsford is committed to sharing authentic and meaningful content. To enhance the clarity and effectiveness of his writing, Jim utilizes Artificial Intelligence (AI) as a tool in the content creation process. While AI assists in organizing and refining his ideas, every thought, insight, and story shared on this website is genuinely his own. The use of AI does not alter the authenticity of his work; rather, it helps Jim communicate more effectively with you, his audience. Jim's goal remains to inspire, motivate, and connect, and AI is simply a tool that supports that mission.

Use of Affiliate Links: Some links on this website may be affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, Jim Lunsford earns from qualifying purchases.