Creating a Circle When You Don’t Even Like People

Let’s get one thing straight: re-entry feels like someone dumped you in the middle of a crowded room and then whispered, “Go find people you trust.” That’s hilarious, because prison trained you to trust absolutely no one. Trust got you hurt. Trust got you manipulated. Trust got you disappointed enough times that your brain now treats it like a malfunctioning fire alarm that only goes off when danger is near. And now here you are, free but guarded, trying to build a support system even though just the idea of depending on someone makes your skin crawl. This is where the bullshit of survival mode crashes into the reality of building a healthy life. You cannot do re-entry alone, but every cell in your body tells you to try anyway. Spoiler: that lone-wolf mentality is exactly what keeps most people stuck, broke, isolated, and eventually back in the same behaviors that wrecked their freedom the first time.

Here’s the truth nobody told you: your distrust isn’t brokenness. It’s training. Years of being in an environment where you had to walk sideways just to watch your back taught you to be suspicious of everyone. And that training kept you alive. But here’s the twist: the very mindset that protected you inside becomes the weight that drags you underwater outside. It’s like carrying a prison shank into a job interview — it made sense in one world, and it makes zero sense in the one you’re trying to build now. You can’t build a new life while clinging to old survival habits. You need new tools. New strategies. New people. And I know—“new people” sounds like a horror movie. But stick with me. We’re going to walk through this without pretending it’s easy.

The first myth you have to kill is the idea that support means dependency. That’s not what a support system is. A support system is simply a circle of people who help stabilize you while you become the strongest version of yourself. They’re not there to carry your life. They’re there to help you carry your load until your legs don’t shake anymore. And here’s the beautiful part: you get to choose your people this time. Not the maniacs in your cell block. Not the toxic friends from your old life. Not the dealers, users, chaos agents, and drama magnets. You get to hand-select the voices around you. You get to curate your circle like you’re stocking your spiritual pantry. And if you stock the wrong shit, don’t be surprised when you end up spiritually malnourished.

Building a support system starts with one uncomfortable truth: you have to let at least one person in. One. Not ten. Not twenty. Just one person who knows where you’re really at so you don’t drown silently. Most people fail because they try to rebuild a whole social network overnight or they stay isolated until the walls start closing in and the old life starts looking comfortable again. You don’t need a crowd. You need a cornerstone. Someone steady. Someone safe. Someone who tells you the truth without crushing you. Someone who supports your growth without enabling your bullshit. Could be a mentor. Could be a sponsor. Could be a pastor. Could be the one sane family member who hasn’t given up on you. Could even be a coworker who seems annoyingly stable. You pick. But pick someone.

And yes, you will test them. Not on purpose, but because your trauma will hit the panic button the first moment they get close to you. “What do they want? Why are they being nice? What’s their angle?” Your brain is doing what it was trained to do. Let it panic. But don’t obey it. Distrust may speak, but it doesn’t have to drive. Building a support circle means learning to sit with discomfort without letting it sabotage you. You’ll be tempted to pull away the moment you feel seen. That’s the old you trying to take the wheel. Don’t let it. Growth always feels uncomfortable because your old self built your comfort zone out of concrete and razor wire.

Another challenge is learning to ask for help without feeling weak. In prison, asking for help was like painting a target on your forehead. Out here, asking for help is actually responsible. It’s maturity. It’s the emotional equivalent of admitting you can’t lift a refrigerator by yourself — sure, you can try, but you’re going to crush your damn foot. Asking for help isn’t helplessness. It’s strength with wisdom attached. But your pride will fight this. Pride will tell you to figure it out alone, keep quiet, stay tough, don’t open up. Pride is a liar. Pride is the thing that kept you from growing long before bars ever locked behind you. Pride is the voice that kept you stuck in cycles of self-destruction. Let that version of pride die. Replace it with dignity — dignity says, “I’m worth getting support.”

Now let’s talk about the kind of people you should avoid, because your past has a funny habit of showing up wearing a friendly face. Anyone who thrives on chaos, celebrates your old life, encourages relapse, mocks your growth, drains your energy, or triggers your worst habits is not part of your support system. They are part of your sabotage system. And you know exactly who they are. Stop giving them access. You can’t build your future while entertaining ghosts of your past. Not everyone from your history deserves a seat in your resurrection.

So how do you build trust when trust feels dangerous? Slowly. Very slowly. Trust is not a light switch; it’s a dimmer. You turn it up a tiny bit at a time. Share small truths first. Observe their reaction. Let them show you who they are. Real supporters don’t rush you, pressure you, or expect perfection. They walk with you at your pace. They celebrate small wins. They correct you gently. They don’t weaponize your vulnerabilities. And when you fall — because you will — they help you stand without throwing your past in your face. That’s how you know you’ve found the right people.

And there’s something nobody ever mentions: sometimes your support system isn’t who you hoped for. Sometimes it’s a stranger who becomes family. Sometimes it’s a coworker who sees potential in you. Sometimes it’s a neighbor who checks in. Sometimes it’s someone who has walked the same road and understands the storm you crawled out of. The support you need may not look like the support you expected. Stay open to that. Healing doesn’t always come in familiar packaging.

The endgame of all this isn’t to become dependent on others. It’s to stabilize yourself enough that you become a strong, reliable, emotionally-grounded human being who eventually becomes part of someone else’s support circle. That’s the full-circle redemption arc. You go from the guy who didn’t trust anyone to the guy others trust because you did the work.

Here’s the truth that will save your life: isolation is the old you trying to resurrect itself. Connection is the new you learning how to breathe. You don’t have to like people to need people. You just have to choose the right ones.