Long before I entered prison, I lived in a war zone.

I grew up surrounded by gang members, drug dealers, cartel guys, and street soldiers. Violence was my norm—even in my home, where abuse was rampant. Fear was my constant companion.

I quickly developed survival skills. Some emerged naturally; others I worked on so that I’d be prepared for whatever came my way.

My survival skills sharpened when, at 16, I entered a Mexican prison. I experienced things there no human should ever see—lynchings, stabbings, rapes.

For years, I fought to secure my most basic needs. I was so relieved the day a representative from the U.S. Consulate visited and told me I’d be transferred to a U.S. prison.

I continued to fight to survive until the day I was transferred from a maximum-security prison to a low-security prison in California. When I stepped off that bus, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There were palm trees, green grass, and nice buildings. People were smiling and playing basketball in gray sweats. I felt like a kid on a field trip. But what excited me the most was the workout equipment—leg press machines, squat racks, and dumbbells up to 200 pounds.

Was I in heaven?

I threw my bag on my bed and ran to work out. I could do 20 years here, I thought. For the first time, I felt happy and at peace.

But by nightfall, fear crept in. When you’ve lived in hell long enough, happiness and peace feel suspicious.

I put on my steel-toe boots before taking a shower. I was going to be prepared for the war I imagined was coming. That is what survival looked like where I’d come from.

As I headed to the shower, someone stopped me and said, “JC, I’m going to tell you something, but don’t get mad. Look at everyone’s feet.”

I glanced around the dorm. Everyone was wearing sandals—everyone but me.

Embarrassment swept over me. I felt stupid, like a clown.

Nobody here lived the way I was trained to live. What was I supposed to do now?

Being a survivor had been my identity. But now that danger didn’t exist anymore, confusion swept in. Who was I to be if not a survivor?

I waited for those “South Side” guys to laugh at me. But instead, they took me in and taught me a different way to live.

With time, I began to rest, to talk, and to breathe. I even started thinking about my future—something I had never done before.

I left prison for the last time in 2017. Shortly after, I came to know the love of God. Since then, He’s been helping me lay down my remaining survival skills.

Relearning how to live when surviving is all I’ve known is not easy. It takes time, and some days look better than others. But God’s love is patient and keeps covering me, as does the love of those He’s placed in my life to help me (see 1 Corinthians 13; 1 Peter 4:8).

God and others have chased me down when I’ve run, drawn me out when I’ve hidden, and calmed me down when everything in me wanted to fight. Slowly but surely, I’m learning to live in peace and be a man of peace.

I still react in my old survivalist ways at times. But when I do, I am quick to seek forgiveness from others and forgive myself. I learn from my mistakes and try again.

Are your survival skills no longer working for you?

Lay them down. Be patient with yourself. And let God teach you a new, better way.

Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:29 NLT).

CONSIDER: What survival skills have you developed? Do you run, control others, or push them away? Do you hurt others before they hurt you? Do you trust the calm—or secretly prepare for something to go wrong? Why? What might it look like to thrive rather than survive?

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JC Almanza is on a journey of learning and growing, experiencing mental, emotional, and physical healing along the way. He is committed to helping others find the peace and joy that transformed his life.

For more information, visit WrongtoStrong.com.