The Class That Changed Everything: Billy’s Journey from Incarceration to Inspiration
When Billy Martin walked into a peer support specialist training behind the prison walls of Chino Hill’s California Institute for Men last year, he had already spent decades behind bars. At 39 years old, Billy was sentenced to life in a system designed to punish, not heal. But in a single moment of curiosity and openness to change, he asked another inmate on the first days of our inaugural California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation CAPS Cohort, “What is that class right there?” He unknowingly took his first step toward his future.
Billy’s story begins in the harsh realities many deal with growing up in an inner city—continually being exposed to violence. “You just get numb,” he said, reflecting on his early desensitization to trauma. “You get used to it. It’s like no big deal.”
That numbness carried into his incarceration, when facing the weight of a life sentence, he insisted to others that he didn’t feel stress. But beneath that stoic surface, Billy was carrying the scars of childhood trauma, street violence, and systemic neglect.
It wasn’t until he participated in a Substance Use Disorder Treatment (SUDT) program while incarcerated that he began to unravel his emotional history. “I never understood my feelings,” he said. “The traumas I went through, they numbed me… I didn’t realize I had issues.” The SUDT program cracked open a space for healing, and then he found peer support.
When Billy learned about the CDCR Peer Support Training led by facilitators like Carlos and Kerry from Project Return Peer Support Network (PRPSN), he knew he had to be a part of it.
“Because our class had already started, it was Billy's staunch self-advocacy and determination that got him into the program. It came down to giving chances,” said Kerry Leonard, the Director of PRPSN’s Training Institute.
He completed the entrance assignment and was accepted into the class, soaking in tools for emotional awareness, peer connection, and hope. Then, in an unexpected turn, a judge ordered his release just before graduation from the program.
Billy walked out of prison and went straight to PRPSN, unannounced, no appointment, just driven by his purpose and gratitude to those who poured into him. “They weren’t expecting me,” he said. “But they gave me my certificate. And I stayed connected.” Eventually, when a job opportunity opened, Billy applied and was hired.
His impact doesn’t stop at his employment at Hacienda of Hope. Billy continues to stay in touch with peers still inside, encouraging them from the outside. He sends photos, shares stories, and reminds them that change is real, even if it doesn’t feel like it. “It means something to me to help others,” he said. “To help them dudes that are in there find a way out. It’s worth it.”
Billy’s journey shows how peer support can disrupt cycles of recidivism and replace them with cycles of community and recovery. He emphasizes the importance of reaching young people early, “When I was young, nobody told me the truth,” he said. “They talk about the good stuff in prison, lifting weights, and getting out in a few years. Nobody told me you could do 30 or even 40 years.”
Now, Billy tells the whole truth. He tells it to the youth on the streets and to men behind bars. He tells it as someone who has lived through the system, and found his way out, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.
To the younger version of himself, or any young person growing up in the same circumstances, Billy says simply: “It ain’t worth it. It’s not worth getting caught up.”
Billy Martin’s story is a prime example of the power of peer support and also second chances: it doesn’t just change lives, it saves them.