Gratitude is often spoken of in fleeting terms, an emotion reserved for the dinner table or a holiday toast. But for many post-incarcerated Black men and women, gratitude carries a weight far greater than a polite “thank you.” It becomes a radical act of healing, a form of resistance, and a declaration of self-worth in a world that has long denied their humanity.
As November ushers in the Month of Gratitude, we are called to reimagine what it means to be thankful, especially for those reentering society after incarceration. For them, gratitude is not simply a reflection; it is reclamation. It is the rebuilding of identity, relationships, and purpose.
The Family as a Site of Healing and Struggle
For many formerly incarcerated individuals, coming home is both a dream realized and a new battlefield. The family, while often a lifeline, can also represent the deepest source of pain. Some return to fractured households, others to children they barely know or aging parents. Gratitude, in this space, becomes less about celebration and more about survival, about finding light amid shame, rejection, and the slow rebuild of trust.
I recall working with a young Black father recently released after serving a decade-long sentence. During an individual therapy session, he wept quietly when speaking about his daughter, barely six years old, who offered him a handmade holiday card. On it, she wrote, “I’m glad you came home.” For him, that small act was not just a gesture of love; it was forgiveness. It was freedom. It was gratitude in its purest form, grace in motion.
The Holiday Season: A Reminder and a Reckoning
The holidays amplify emotions for those who have lived through incarceration. While many families gather to give thanks, others are navigating grief, distance, or stigma. For Black men and women returning from correctional facilities, the season can reopen old wounds. They may feel like outsiders in their own homes, struggling to participate in traditions that once defined them.
Yet, within these gatherings lies the potential for transformation. The holiday table can become a sacred space where the formerly incarcerated are not reminded of what they lost but embraced for what they are rebuilding. Gratitude, here, transcends material things; it becomes a bridge
Gratitude as Transformation, Not Tradition
Mainstream culture often reduces gratitude to performative gestures such as social media posts, holiday donations, or momentary reflections. But within the African and Indigenous diasporas, gratitude is communal, with roots in remembrance, reciprocity, and resistance. For post-incarcerated Black individuals, reclaiming gratitude means acknowledging the pain and still choosing to rise.
It means thanking the grandmother who wrote letters every month, the mentor who answered collect calls, and the church elder who vouched for a second chance. It means recognizing the divine favor that allowed survival through solitary nights, systemic injustice, and societal neglect. Gratitude is not denial of struggle; it is defiance through hope.
Rebuilding the Circle of Support
The journey of reentry demands more than programs and parole; it requires people. It requires the embrace of community systems that see the humanity behind the record. Family plays a central role in this restoration, but so do spiritual communities, peer mentors, and culturally competent mental health professionals.
Black psychologists, counselors, and social workers must continue to advocate for trauma-informed, family-centered reentry programs that honor both accountability and grace. When we affirm the humanity of the formerly incarcerated, we do more than reduce recidivism; we restore the soul of our communities.
Coming Home to Healing
To express gratitude after incarceration is to reclaim voice, identity, and purpose. It is to say, “I am more than my past.” It is to acknowledge that healing does not happen in isolation but through connection, through being seen, supported, and loved despite scars.
As we move through this season of thanks, let us expand our vision of gratitude. Let us include the mothers who never gave up, the brothers who found purpose behind bars, and the daughters who learned forgiveness. Gratitude is not about forgetting pain; it is about transforming it into purpose. For post-incarcerated Black men and women, gratitude is not tradition; it is liberation.
