Coping with the demeaning and adversarial nature of prisons is taxing. Prison is loud. Violence breaks out. People are disruptive. For all of these reasons and more, prison causes mental, physical and spiritual anguish. To combat these difficulties, most people in prison try to find a sanctuary of sorts, or something I like to call “pockets of peace.”

Each person finds different pockets of peace, and most people’s pockets of peace are influenced by the particular type of anguish that most aggressively invades their psyche. Pockets of peace are places where people seclude themselves to drown out the noise and the demons. I interviewed a few friends who have left prison about where they found their pockets of peace while inside. They requested that I don’t print their full names out of respect for their privacy.  

A close friend of mine, Luis, who left our prison in May, described learning and reading as his pocket of peace.  

“I try to have a very Zen reaction to the nonsense I must endure daily,” Luis told me in an interview. “Inside it always seems like a storm is brewing. But learning and reading lend me a sort of serenity where I can block out the chaos.”

Another friend of mine, Brandon, was released from prison last year. In an interview conducted through electronic messaging, he told me that music, especially drumming, had been his main release while incarcerated. Albrecht said he would sometimes lightly drum on the desk in our prison college classes to compose himself.

“I have to keep my hands busy,” Brandon said. “Being a drummer, I have to keep my hands moving, even if it bothers you when I drum on the bunk.” 

It’s true: He drummed on everything while he was my cellmate. But I knew the important reason he drummed, so I was perfectly fine with it. 

In prison, many people are often condescended to by officers and peers. Being demeaned, or treated like an object, wears on you. So people need a place to turn to remember their humanity. In addition to learning and music, people here find peace in board games and in their jobs. 

My friend Ali, who was released in 2022, said he used chess as his pocket of peace. It’s “a type of mental martial arts,” he wrote in an electronic message.

“It’s all about outwitting your opponent, and while you are in that duel, you can’t think about anything else,” Ali said. “It’s like the entire world washes away.”

My job is my pocket of peace. I work in a prison clinic that has labs and offices for physical therapy, oral surgery, wound care and optometry. To get hired for this job, people must view you as trustworthy and reliable. 

Before prison, I was an antisocial person with low self-esteem. Being thrust into the prison system — one of the most forcibly social environments I’ve ever experienced — taught me to be social. But it also clarified for me good and bad kinds of socialization. 

My job has a very relaxed atmosphere. I spend a lot of personal time with people who aren’t in prison. During my shifts, I’m the only incarcerated person there, working alongside one prison guard and 15 outside civilians. Most of them treat me like a person instead of a criminal, which is refreshing. I enjoy making people smile. So, when they smile, I feel good and smile too. That joy is my pocket of peace.

Spirituality behind bars takes various forms, too. I’ve encountered many people in prison who turned to spirituality after being incarcerated. A higher purpose allows people to focus on something more significant than themselves. It can help people see the world, and their position in it, differently. 

Bryan Hawthorne, my study partner in Rutgers University’s college prison program, is someone who relies on faith as a pocket of peace. Hawthorne, who goes by Latif now, said that Islam helped him sober up from a heroin addiction and become a valedictorian. 

“The straight path grants me the pocket of peace because I am pleasing my Lord,” Latif said.

There is also an intersection between mental anguish and physical anguish. The things that create anxiety and strain our mind can also manifest physically. When we’re antsy, fidgety or restless, our body is telling us it’s time for physical release. 

In prison, most people exercise and play sports. Exhausting themselves physically allows their minds to go blank. It gives them a respite from thinking about their incarceration. 

The competitive nature of sports provides an efficient outlet too. It’s a way to channel aggression in a respectful way. One of my friends, Otto, was released from prison in 2022. He told me in an electronic message that he played handball every moment he could in prison. 

“I’m a New Yorker!” Otto said. “I’m loud, I seem aggressive — even when I’m not. My inside voice is the same as most people’s outside voices! I get all that out on the handball court. I leave all the anger, and sometimes the depression, out there. … I smack the ball as hard as I can. For me, it’s like a massage. I’m so relaxed afterward.”