Escaping Prison Mentality: How I Found Freedom by Changing Priorities Behind Bars

Tracy Lee Kendall writes about escaping prison mentality — a transformation that began early in his incarceration in Texas and grew into a deliberate effort to live mentally in the free world long before he could physically leave prison behind.

Learning to Escape Prison Mentality

Each time I look outside, I die further.

Through the steel of my cage, I see into the distance—the cars flowing along the highway during the day, and the flames above it at night. I look up at the sky, the only physical thing outside of prison that is sometimes not obstructed by fences, bars, or razor wire.

I also look through the media and politicians, who often block everyone’s lines of sight with idealized rhetoric as they decry the very things they do themselves. I look through letters that never block my line of sight. In here I am destroyed, while out there I am rebuilt.

It sounds religious—to discover the key to freedom in the depths of effacement—but this is about priorities, not religion.

Why priorities? Because embracing the wrong priorities is how I destroyed my life and so many others—and how Texas prisons have become an obstruction to the rehabilitation of prisoners. Therefore, to find actual rehabilitation, I had to change my priorities.

Since a criminal mentality is effectively a prison mentality, and Texas prison officials run a prison-focused industry rather than preparing people for the free world, I had a two-fold challenge. First, I had to efface my criminal mentality. Then, I had to efface my presence from prison—while remaining inside it.

This was required because Texas prisons are adverse to genuine rehabilitation, yet I cannot simply leave by choice.

Yes, there are success stories associated with Texas prisons—resulting from non-prison-centric programs instituted inside prison but designed to continue outside.

One of these programs, which has impacted my rehabilitation and proven its value by lowering recidivism rates, is Bridges to Life. This program is facilitated by victims of violent crime who come into prisons seeking healing for themselves and for prisoners. They teach inmates about the impact of their crimes and how to embrace change.

While a variety of prison programs are often credited for success, free-world opportunities—not Texas prison programs or organizations that profit from prison—are actually behind most success stories. Furthermore, success requires preparation before release so that a person contributes to society rather than becoming a parasite upon it.

That preparation has become part of my journey not to be a danger to you.

The World Inside the Tank

As I look around me right now, I see about 60 other people in my tank—here, a concrete room with steel cubicles, expanded metal, and bars on the windows.

Most of them have beards (men can have beards in Texas prisons now), tattoos, or various stages of baldness, sometimes hidden under contraband hats.

Under those bald heads are brains mostly engaged in discussions about prison drama or the ball game on TV.

While the ball game is happening outside prison, here it is monitored mainly because of prison bets or arguments. Some people just watch the game, but most use it as fuel for arguments.

Aside from phone calls to relatives or rare conversations about life outside, prison itself is the main priority of most of these men.

The Moment I Gave Up on Prison

I found the seed of transformation in giving up.

Not on life—on prison.

It began in 2001, about two years into my incarceration, in the midst of a chaotic dayroom at the Coffield Unit on commissary day.

That meant a room full of angry prisoners struggling to go to the store on the one day of the month we were allowed. Everyone was screaming, cutting in line, and shoving each other. These were far more violent times than Texas prisons today.

Suddenly there was the sound of a human body hitting concrete so hard it seemed to vibrate the floor.

Everyone turned toward the noise.

Most of us couldn’t see clearly through the dense crowd, but four prisoners were stomping, beating, and kicking another prisoner into the concrete floor.

This was not necessary to make their point. They had already slammed him hard enough that everyone in the packed dayroom noticed.

When they finished, they dragged the beaten prisoner to a bench and sat him up as if he were simply resting.

He was at least unconscious.

Guards discovered him when the dayroom cleared out.

I never saw him again.

That moment made me start thinking about where all this came from.

Over time I began analyzing both extreme and minor situations.

I realized that while people matter, almost nothing else in prison really does. Prison is literally a bus station. Most criminals here live in their fantasies. Many “rehabilitative” programs are unrealistic, obsolete, or worse.

None of the drama here truly matters.

Sadly, prisoners matter little to the public as well. Often we only matter after death, when lawsuits cost the state money.

Killing My Prison Self

Instead of letting prison kill me, I decided to kill myself first—so that when I eventually leave, I will not carry prison out with me.

Otherwise I might end up like Big Face.

Big Face came to Coffield with a seven-year non-aggravated sentence. During the two years he was here, he tattooed a crown of thorns around his head and face. He embraced prison culture—gangs, drugs, and everything else.

After release and only one year on parole, he returned with a brand-new 75-year aggravated robbery sentence.

Now a new victim walks free, and Big Face will walk prison for 37½ years before even becoming eligible for parole.

So how did I “kill” myself?

By placing my life outside prison.

The first step was deciding whether I wanted to be a criminal anymore.

Prisons exist to hold people with criminal mentalities. When you see criminals in the news or on the street, you are seeing people with a prison mentality already on the road to prison or death—either theirs or someone else’s.

Unless a person wants prison or death, the best thing to do is not be a criminal.

Otherwise they might as well start decorating a prison cell—or planning a funeral—because that is usually the future.

Living in the Free World From Prison

Gradually I realized I was wasting my time focusing on almost anything related to prison.

Where most prisoners look at each other and into the sterile environment of prison life, I began killing my prison self by looking at life.

I studied the grass, animals, insects, earth, sky—everything that contrasted with the death and disease that fill these concrete prisons.

Then there were the letters.

Just as people from my life before prison disappeared, new people entered my life through correspondence.

These people represent many countries and fields—academia, law enforcement, business, medicine, government, and more.

At first our letters resembled the typical prisoner/free-world exchange—prison drama meeting free-world curiosity.

Over time I realized prison had become the main topic in most of our letters.

Then something changed.

Instead of simply asking about prison or reporting their activities, some of these people began sharing pieces of their lives with me.

That life—the same life I see in the sky, the earth, and the grass—began replacing prison in my mind.

The people I write became my family.

They eventually asked why I rarely talked about prison anymore.

They didn’t realize they had become the priority that completed my death to prison.

Preparing for Life Outside

Living around these people means redirecting my priorities to prepare for life outside.

Many prisoners claim they will change when they are released.

But inside prison they continue embracing criminal mentalities and prison culture, expecting to magically transform on the day they walk out.

This is why 76% of U.S. prisoners commit another crime within five years of release.

Instead, I integrate the free world into my life now.

Sometimes this is simple—helping friends outside make decisions, discussing budgeting, or sharing ideas.

Other times it means preparing for employment.

Two people I correspond with are involved in hiring for companies and government agencies. Rather than relying on outdated prison resources, I integrate their guidance into my post-release job preparation.

Indirectly, I live in the free world by making it the priority of my mind.

Instead of playing dominoes and climbing the meaningless prison hierarchy, I study the world.

BBC, NPR, and academic publications help me stay current.

Without internet access, prisoners must rely on people outside for information.

Someone very special spends hours searching for information to send me.

This knowledge may not seem vital, but many prisoners here have little or no real education. Their worldview often comes from outdated prison classes, talk radio, and conspiracy theories.

That combination prepares many people for one thing only: returning to prison.