Life in Solitary: Lessons from a Year in the Hole

Beau Brown explains how life in solitary strips a person to their core, revealing truths about prison, punishment, and the fragile threads of humanity that keep us from falling apart.

I’ve only done one stretch in the Hole — a long one at that. That experience alone was enough to influence me to make better decisions, or at least to try harder not to get caught.

I came into the system 25 years ago, a 19-year-old defendant with a life-without-parole sentence. I was sent straight to maximum security. It wasn’t long before a knife was put in my hand and I was told to pick a side. Not long after, my cell was searched, the knife was found, and I was on my way to the Hole.

Words on the Wall and a Mind in Turmoil

The cell I moved into had a mural of a garden. Words rose from the dirt like flowers:

“Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once; just once, understand.” [author unknown]

I thought of those words all night long. They reminded me of my neighbor Jimmy, who had lived there before me. Jimmy was in death row overflow housing, and I couldn’t stop thinking about death row.

When someone is sentenced to life without parole, that person’s fate is “death by incarceration.” That’s different from knowing one day you’ll be executed. I couldn’t reconcile the difference that night.

When I finally slept, I dreamed I was Jimmy — condemned, desperate for mercy and pardon. I found no peace in the dream, only fences and high walls. No roads, no duration, no deals, no miracles. Dreaming was as close as I could get to winning, and I still lost.

I woke in a cold sweat, even more depressed than before, feeling like I needed a good cry. Nobody knows exactly why Jimmy ended up on death row, except maybe the warden, who acts as if he can read everyone’s thoughts and feelings. Officially, it wasn’t because Jimmy threw a whiskey bottle at his wife, killing her when it struck her head. It was because she was pregnant with their first child — a child Jimmy swears he never knew existed in their drug-clouded lives.

Punished Without Proof

In solitary there were all sorts of people, both in disciplinary segregation and administrative segregation (ad seg).

My other neighbor, John, was in ad seg while the administration “figured out” where to place him. His wife wanted a divorce, so she accused him of molesting their child. She got the divorce, sole custody, the house, the car, and the money. John got arrested, convicted, and sentenced to 10 to life.

To receive treatment he didn’t need, John had to admit to a sex crime he swore he didn’t commit. He refused. Prison officials labeled him “uncooperative” and “in denial.” He wasn’t allowed contact with his children, and the court ordered child support payments he couldn’t make.

Two and a half years later, late at night, John would stare into the eyes of a man he’d never met — a man bleeding out, dying because others had found out what John was in for.

12 Years of Life in Solitary

Across the tier was Keith, who had been in ad seg for 12 years. Freedom from solitary was what he longed for. His weary body and mind cried out for new life. His soul was parched, his dreams crumbled, his energy stripped away. Depression hovered over him constantly.

Hopeless in every moment, Keith asked himself if it was worth struggling on. Still, he wanted a voice to cut through the silence. He wanted to hear laughter, to see a burst of light, to care again. I vowed to help inspire him.

Life in Solitary: What I Learned

I learned a lot in that year. When I was most alone, I embraced others’ loneliness. To paraphrase Carl Jung, : Light has need of darkness — otherwise, how could it appear as light?

Life hinges on many factors we can’t control. But two things we can control are relationships and the correction of our mistakes. What is life, if not a series of relationships and mistakes? Nothing has a greater effect on us than the lives we never lived. Inspiration unlocks the doors of the human heart.

When I told Keith I’d help him, he cried. Looking at him through his door window, I said, “I didn’t see you cry.”

He replied: “Not all cries shed tears.”

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Want to read more? Check out They Can’t Break My Spirit in Solitary

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