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When Essence returned home to Oklahoma, she did not lack credentials. She holds an associate’s degree in nursing, holds a Peer Recovery Support Specialist certification, and boasts a history of steady employment, during which she could secure a new role within a single week. She was highly qualified and motivated to work, but navigating life as a justice-impacted mother introduced an entirely new, agonizing roadblock: the false start.

When Alex returned home from prison, he wasn't returning to the same family he had left behind. The years had passed, and the child he had once worried about from behind prison walls was now an adult and a father himself, with daughters of his own. Alex was determined to be present for this next chapter of his family's life, showing up not just as a father, but as a grandfather.

Today, Henry is back behind the wheel, supporting his family and working toward his dream of one day owning his own truck. Just a few years ago, however, he was preparing to leave prison after spending six years incarcerated. The difference between those two versions of himself, he says, wasn't luck—it was faith, accountability, and a decision to change.

By Simone Price, Director of Organizing, Center for Employment Opportunities (CEO)

For the majority of his adult life, Jesse was caught in a cycle of incarceration, separated from the people who mattered most. When you are behind bars, fatherhood becomes a game of catch-up played through broken connections. For Jesse, the scariest part of coming home wasn’t the reentry process itself—it was the fear that his children wouldn't truly know who he was.

Ontario still remembers the moment something didn’t sit right. He was taking an OSHA safety training course earlier this year for the Union Pre-apprenticeship Program offered through a partnership with the Center for Employment Opportunities (CEO) in Buffalo. Ontario was scanning through the standard personal protective equipment (PPE) required on construction sites – hard hats, gloves, and harnesses. Everything had a purpose. Everything had a design.

For the one in three California adults living with a past conviction, searching for a job is rarely a level playing field. Even when a candidate possesses the exact skills and work ethic an employer needs, the traditional background-check process frequently functions as an automatic barrier to employment. Under current loopholes in the state's hiring laws, qualified job seekers are routinely pressured to relitigate their pasts during interviews—long before a formal, conditional job offer is even on the table.

When Damien first came home after incarceration, life felt unfamiliar. “It was very unreal,” he recalls. “I struggled to find employment. People kept turning me down for basic things because I was fresh out. I had a record. I didn’t want to ask for help and I felt like I had to figure everything out on my own.” Like many people returning home, Damien faced barriers that went beyond employment. Reentry came with pressure, uncertainty, and the emotional weight of trying to rebuild while carrying the experiences of incarceration with him. At one point, it all became overwhelming.

The quiet, tree-lined streets of Palmyra, New York, looked like the picture-perfect place to raise a family. It was an upper-middle-class small town where neighbors left their front doors unlocked. Outside the house, Chad was an energetic, athletic kid who loved playing every sport available. But behind closed doors, reality looked entirely different for him.

Imagine what it’s like to be a 48-year-old mother of four emerging from prison after serving seven years on two separate drug convictions. Your family is not there to pick you up. You’re completely on your own. To meet your most basic Maslovian needs, you have nothing but a $25 debit card that a prison official handed you upon your release. Actually, it’s worse than that. Because you were convicted in Georgia, you are responsible for paying the state parole fees. Your probation officer told you that if you don’t pay your $5,000 fee within three years, you will get sent back to prison.

When Dion walks through the east side of Detroit on his way to work, it’s not just another commute – the 56-year-old is walking on a sidewalk that he was never meant to walk on again; was hearing sirens that he was never meant to hear again. Dion served 38 years of a life sentence before being released from a Michigan correctional institution 14 months ago. His journey from an upper‑class childhood to incarceration, and now to a life of service and mentoring, is one of remarkable transformation.

When Stephen talks about his hometown of Pontiac, Michigan, he lights up. “The whole block was family, man. We all grew up together.” Raised by his grandmother with ten siblings and countless cousins nearby, Stephen spent his youth playing basketball and hanging out in the neighborhood. After high school, he enrolled in community college to study HVAC – he came from a strong family where entrepreneurship was common, and he was encouraged to learn a trade.