One year ago, I walked out of prison for what I hope is the last time. For more than 15 years, my life had been a revolving door: getting out, falling back into old habits, and ending up behind bars again. I never stayed free for longer than 90 days. Each time I came home, I felt lost, disconnected, and convinced that the world had moved on without me.

This time was different, not because I suddenly became stronger, but because I wasn’t doing it alone. Inside, I found connection — first through technology, and then through mentorship. Both changed everything.

Staying human through a screen

For years, my mom prioritized maintaining our connection to family and made it possible for my kids to hear my voice. When calls became free and we gained access to secure video visits, the change was life-saving.

For the first time, I could help my son through school challenges and be there when my daughter felt hurt or confused. I could see my grandmother’s face, even as her health declined. These moments, ordinary to most people, reminded me that I still mattered.

When you’re incarcerated, connection isn’t just communication. It’s a lifeline. The ability to talk, see, and hear your loved ones keeps hope alive and gives you a purpose.

Studies consistently show that people who maintain strong family ties while incarcerated are significantly less likely to return to prison after release. Maintaining those connections can make the difference between another cycle of incarceration and a true second chance.

Staying connected didn’t just help me hold onto my family, it opened the door to people who would change my path. One of them was Mike, a mentor I met through a call that started as small talk and grew into something life-changing.

The power of a mentor

At first, our conversations were simple. We talked about sports, family, and the challenges of staying focused while serving time. Over time, those talks became lessons. Mike had been in and out of prison himself, so he understood the uphill battle that comes with trying to start over. Through long conversations, he showed me what responsibility looks like, what it means to follow through, and how to rebuild trust with people who had every reason to give up on me.

When I was released, Mike was there waiting. He picked me up, helped me move into a place of my own, and gave me a job learning carpentry and painting. But more than that, he gave me structure, patience, and purpose. He became the father figure I never had.

Every lesson — how to show up on time, how to act in public, how to think before I react — has been part of my reentry journey. And every one of those lessons started with a simple phone call made possible by technology inside prison.

Why connection and mentorship matter

Today, I’ve been home almost a year, the longest I’ve stayed out of prison for more than a decade. I’m still learning. I still make mistakes, but I’m also part of my family’s life again. I’m present.

I share my story because what happened to me wasn’t luck. It was the result of two things that too often are still treated as afterthoughts: access to communication technology inside correctional facilities, and access to mentors who believe in you. Thirty thousand people come home from incarceration in Massachusetts every year. More than one in three will be behind bars again within three years. That will only change when we decide to treat connection not as a privilege, but a condition for success.

Connection gave me a voice again. Mentorship gave me a future. And together, they gave me the chance to build a life worth keeping.

Craig McNair is a reentry advocate using his lived experience to promote mentorship, digital connection, and second-chance opportunities for justice-impacted individuals.