Why I Stopped Calling Myself an Ex-Felon

By Kevin McCracken, Executive Director at The Last Mile.

Twenty-six years ago, I walked out of San Francisco County Jail with a felony record, a history of addiction, and no clear path forward.

My record followed me everywhere. Every application asked the same question. Every interview I managed to get turned into a conversation about my worst mistakes. And every rejection drove home a message that was already taking root: this is who you are now.

At the time, I believed it.

I have spent decades working with people rebuilding their lives after incarceration. Today, I lead The Last Mile, a nonprofit organization that provides education and workforce development programs inside prisons across multiple states.

Along the way, I have become convinced that the most important part of rehabilitation is not a job placement, a credential, or even a recidivism statistic. Those outcomes matter deeply, and we should continue prioritizing them. They tell us whether programs are working, and alumni of The Last Mile have some of the best outcomes in the country by these metrics.

But the numbers do not explain why people change in the first place. Real rehabilitation starts when someone stops seeing themselves through the lens of their worst decision and starts building an identity around their future.

The Labels We Carry Become the Stories We Live

My first year out was spent in recovery and transitional housing, looking for work while dragging a criminal record behind me. This was long before Ban the Box and fair-chance hiring. Back then, most applications asked about felony convictions before they asked about your qualifications.

Every time I checked that box, I felt branded.

After more than twenty applications, I knew the question by heart: Have you ever been convicted of a crime? Before anyone else had the chance to judge me, I had already judged myself. Checking that box felt like announcing that everything else on the application mattered less than the worst decision I had ever made.

I carried that feeling into every interview, every conversation, and every opportunity. I wasn’t just afraid employers would see me as a felon – I had started to see myself that way, too.

The Identity We Practice Becomes Our Reality

During that difficult stretch, I went through some cognitive behavioral training focused on self-perception and behavior. One idea from those classes has stuck with me for more than two decades: the way you talk to yourself shapes the way you move through the world.

At first I didn’t really get it. I thought my biggest problem was my record. What I didn’t see was that I had swallowed the same labels society was handing me. I called myself an ex-felon. I called myself a former addict. Both were true parts of my history. But both kept my eyes locked on who I had been instead of who I was becoming.

Over time I started to understand that identity is something you practice. The stories you tell yourself shape the risks you take, the opportunities you chase, and the future you believe you deserve. When you see yourself mainly through past mistakes, every setback becomes proof that nothing has changed. When you start to see yourself as a student, a parent, a professional, someone capable of growth, new possibilities open up.

That shift did not erase my record. It did not solve the problems in front of me overnight. What it changed was my relationship to the future. For the first time, I stopped asking whether I could outrun my past and started asking who I wanted to become.

Why Opportunity Alone Is Not Enough

The biggest turning point in my life came during a job search. I applied for a position at an organization with multiple social enterprises that hired people who needed second chances. 

During the process, the Executive Director Randy Newcomb, looked past my record and my addiction history. Instead of giving me the job I applied for, he pushed me toward a higher-level administrative role. That conversation changed the direction of my life. I am still in contact with him and share my deep gratitude for him for humanizing me in a way I was incapable of at that time. 

His demeanor was totally disarming, and calm. The whole conversation felt very matter of fact. He saw in me what I have seen in hundreds of men and women since: great potential, and the drive to get there.

Most conversations about criminal justice reform are about opportunity. We talk about jobs, housing, education, and access. Those investments are critical. But opportunity by itself does not create transformation. People also need to believe they deserve the opportunity in front of them.

You can hand someone a ladder. Climbing it takes belief.

The people I have watched succeed after incarceration share one trait. They stop defining themselves by their worst moments. A new identity takes shape. They start seeing themselves as students, workers, parents, leaders, mentors, business owners, neighbors. 

Once that shift happens, their decisions start lining up with that new picture of themselves.

The Evidence Behind Identity Transformation After Incarceration

None of this means outcomes don’t matter. The evidence for rehabilitation is stronger than ever.

In this country we spend over $80 billion a year on corrections alone. Add policing, courts, and the rest of the system, and the number climbs past $270 billion.

And even that undersells the real cost. Research from Washington University in St. Louis found that once you factor in lost wages, damaged health, destabilized families, and reduced economic mobility, the total burden of incarceration approaches $1 trillion a year. That is roughly 6% of our entire GDP.

The RAND Corporation’s landmark study on correctional education found that incarcerated people who take part in education programs have 43% lower odds of returning to prison. Employment after release runs 13% higher for participants, and 28% higher for those who get vocational training specifically.

Every dollar we put into prison education saves four to five dollars in re-incarceration costs within the first three years. The direct cost of providing that education runs $1,400 to $1,744 per person. The savings from reduced re-incarceration run $8,700 to $9,700 per participant.

Those numbers matter because they prove rehabilitation works.

Education teaches skills. Workforce development builds a path to a job. Mentorship provides support and accountability. Put together, they help people build a new understanding of who they are and what they can offer. The statistics measure the result. Identity transformation after incarceration is what drives it.

Rehabilitation Is About Building a Future

At The Last Mile we talk a lot about employment, education, and reentry outcomes. Those outcomes matter because they shape public safety, economic mobility, and quality of life. But underneath every successful outcome is a person who started imagining a different future.

That future-oriented mindset matters because people protect what they value. When someone starts building a life that means something, they have something worth holding onto.

This is why real rehabilitation cannot start ninety days before release. It should start on the first day inside. People need time to build skills, confidence, community, and purpose. They need chances to prove to themselves that they are capable of more than their past suggests.

Why I Stopped Calling Myself an Ex-Felon

I stopped calling myself an ex-felon because the label no longer fit who I was becoming. My record is still part of my history. It stopped being my future.

Over the last twenty-six years, I have watched thousands of people go through the same shift. Some became software developers. Others became business owners, tradespeople, parents, mentors, community leaders. The paths looked different. The underlying change was almost always the same.

They stopped seeing themselves as the worst thing they had ever done.

The outcomes we track matter. Employment rates matter. Recidivism rates matter. Economic impact matters. Each one tells us something real about whether rehabilitation is working.

But behind those numbers is something much more human.

A person decided they were capable of becoming someone new.

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By Kevin McCracken, Executive Director at The Last Mile.

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