In 2018, I embarked on a 5,400-mile solo cycling journey across the United States to explore the realities of trauma and incarceration in America

At the time, the U.S. held less than 5 percent of the world’s population, yet nearly 25 percent of the world’s prisoners were behind its bars. Annual jail admissions had grown from six million to nearly twelve million since the 1970s, costing more than eighty billion dollars in public funds. I wanted to understand not just the statistics, but the human experiences beneath them.

That summer, I cycled from New York to Mexico over the course of 4 months. The purpose of the ride was to use movement as a platform for connection, to sit with the stories of incarcerated men, women, and youth affected by trauma. I visited prisons, halfway houses, shelters, and transitional environments, listening to voices too often silenced or forgotten.

Breaking Cycles partnered with Sheltered Yoga, a 501c3 nonprofit bringing trauma-informed wellness programs to underserved communities, including those inside the correctional system. Their work focuses on rebuilding dignity, emotional regulation, and self-worth through somatic practices and mental-health education. Working alongside them allowed Breaking Cycles to help support programs that brought nervous-system literacy and self-awareness into environments built to restrict rather than heal.

Along the journey, I met teachers, facilitators, advocates, and formerly incarcerated individuals who shared wisdom shaped by lived experience. I wasn’t just cycling — I was witnessing. Learning. Allowing people to feel seen. The ride deepened my understanding of trauma, resilience, and how the body carries stories long after the world stops listening.

The journey was documented throughout, capturing not only the miles traveled, but the conversations, practices, and quiet human moments along the way. Many of the teachers, volunteers, and community members I met became part of the growing web of Breaking Cycles, showing how healing and compassion can travel across walls and gates where empathy is rarely invited.

That ride changed me. It widened my heart, sharpened my intuition, and strengthened my commitment to healing work. It taught me that resilience is not loud or heroic. Sometimes it is simply someone standing up again when they don’t know how they’re going to make it through the next day.

This was the beginning. The ride that opened my eyes, expanded my compassion, and set the foundation for what comes next.