Take a peek into my life—the life of a woman who fell apart, got back up, fell down, got back up again, got knocked down, and remains getting up, never losing her hope, faith, and determination.

I am a 46-year-old African American woman. I was raised in a single-parent household and never met my father. I can’t recall the exact age, but I do know that I was under ten when my adult male cousin molested me.

During my elementary school years my mother moved us from Roxbury, MA to Brooklyn, NY and back. Her relationship at the time dictated where we lived. Then and throughout my adolescent years, I studied dance and drama and was filled with hope and promise. But my young life began moving in a downward spiral fast as I succumbed to the snarls and pitfalls of the inner city. I became a teenage mother, high school dropout, and drug addict. As a young adult I moved again to New York, nailing the coffin on my dreams of acting and dancing. My hope was reduced to a whimpering hush, my dance now a march to the beat of crimes and drugs. Whenever I was arrested, I accepted it as occupational hazard. I did my time and returned to the miasma that had fast become my ruination. I never complained, and in some sick way, I enjoyed the menacing lifestyle.

Not yet 30 years old, with three children by three different men, I tired of the street life. I left the children with my mother and returned home to Boston seeking change. No great epiphany or personal tragedy motivated me; I believe it was that small ray of hope that kept burning inside—the hope that told me I could be someone, that it wasn’t too late, that I had much to offer—not just to my children and family, but to society as a whole.

So I sought help. Through the course of drug treatment, self-help programs, acupuncture, counseling, and exercise, I realized some things. I discovered that I was a compassionate, loving, caring, giving human being. I forgave my cousin who violated my innocence. I did my best to tend the wounds of my children, so drastically affected by my adverse choices. I learned that I loved all children, especially those who suffer from the social ills that plague impoverished communities. I found a voice—my voice—that caught the ear of the afflicted, young and old alike, and instilled a sense of hope in them. I decided to go back to school. I applied and got accepted into the Community Fellows Program at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to become a certified urban planner through their Department of Urban Studies and Planning.

Life took on a whole new meaning for me. I learned what integrity was and took pride in my own. I built stronger, meaningful relationships with people—unlike the superficial ones from the past.

I fell in love and got married, and together we decided to have a child. We planned so much for our family, for the new baby. With the tools and skills I had gained, we would be able to give the child all it needed to flourish. We would nurture and cultivate this child to its fullest potential—something that hadn’t been done for any of his or my previous children.

But things don’t always go as planned. My husband was gunned down in the streets of Chicago and died February 19, 2000. His death sent me spinning. After a decade of working hard to renew myself—of learning, living, and loving—I reverted to drugs, which led to crime, which landed me a 2-year prison sentence. During that stint I grieved my husband’s death; lost three dear friends to diabetes, Hepatitis C, and cancer; and lost my grandmother, who had been the cornerstone of my life. I cried, I prayed, I meditated. I made it through. I kept hope alive.

In 2002 I went back to my community to work with young people. Around the same time, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Two years later I got pulled over on a traffic violation and arrested for a fourteen-year-old restitution issue in Las Vegas. We paid the court $4,600 and provided medical documents about my mother’s imminent death in an urgent request for my immediate release. They refused and committed me to four months in Clark County Jail. My mother died on Dec. 24, 2004, her 59th birthday. In the dorm they housed me in, I crumbled.

On my knees beside the small bed and wailing, I snatched hungrily at a woman I had known only 3 weeks. I begged her through loud sobs to read me the Bible, John 14. She scrambled to get her Bible from her neighboring bed to console me. She read out loud, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms…I am the way and the truth and the life,” and so on. “Again,” I pleaded over and over. I don’t know how many times she read for me or how long I was on that floor. But what I did come to know was that I had a message I needed to tell the other incarcerated women, especially the younger ones. They could learn something valuable from me, and that’s what I implored them to do.

Immediately after New Years I received a pardon from the court and release from jail. Talk about a day late and a dollar short… My daughter had held off all planning and services until I returned. We gave my mother a dignified memorial service on Monday, Jan. 15, 2005, Martin Luther King’s birthday.

Sometimes holding my head up is a chore. Shame and guilt haunt me. I feel I should have been there by my mother’s side when she took her last breath. I should have been a better daughter, made better choices in my life. My only amends then and now are to be a better mother and person.

I took the role of executrix of my mother’s estate, which included two properties, and assumed position as head of household, matriarch of the family. I assured my four children that despite the absence of Nanny, we would be all right. I became gainfully employed with the nationally recognized Boston TenPoint Coalition, a faith-based organization that works with inner-city youth and gang members. I felt satisfaction and fulfillment in coordinating the girls’ program.

On February 6, 2006, on my way to work, I was arrested yet again by federal marshals for a past, unprosecuted indiscretion. I remained out, awaiting trial and sentencing, for seventeen months. During that time I continued my work with the youth, increased my faith, and did my best to show the face and actions of a woman filled with hope, faith, and integrity. My job stood by me; my church stood by me; friends, family, and community supported me.

I am currently in the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury, CT, awaiting appeal on a 70-month sentence. This fall from grace is a hard one, but I hope and believe there’s a lesson in all this—not just for me, but also for my children and the lives of those I serve.

Thoughts of regret and failure creep up on me, but I fight them with hope, love, and scripture. I have recently completed my first novel, Cannon Love, and am working on a second one. I believe that great things are in my future, that my family will be happy and healthy, and that my appeal will send me home to my family and community sooner than we think. I still have work out there to do.