During the 22 years that Rodney Reid was incarcerated, he spent 11 years in solitary confinement. In the following piece, Reid describes his experience on Rikers Island in solitary, where he spent all but eight months of his nearly three years in the infamous New York City jail. Since returning home, Reid says that he has been striving to overcome the barriers of re-entry and loves to “bask in the greatness of freedom.” 

The use of solitary confinement in New York City’s jails has long been a contentious issue. In January 2026, newly elected Mayor Zohran Mamdani signed an executive order mandating that city’s Department of Correction and Law Department work out a plan to bring Rikers Island and other city jails and into compliance with city rules and regulations and enforce Local Law 42, a measure almost entirely banning solitary confinement. After the law was passed by the City Council in 2024, former Mayor Eric Adams blocked it from taking effect. But in a statement, Mamdani “applauded” the law and said, “We will work closely with the federal monitor and the parties to put the city back on track to end solitary confinement as soon as possible.” On January 31, Mamdani appointed the first-ever formerly incarcerated commissioner of the Department of Corrections, Stanley Richards, who himself served time on Rikers Island. —Kianna Victor

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I was incarcerated from December 23, 2002, until January 10, 2024. During my time on Rikers Island between 2002 and 2005, I spent at least 24 months in solitary confinement. Rikers Island itself is an otherworldly experience—one that nothing in this world could truly prepare you for. It is depleting, dehumanizing, and beyond deplorable. To be forced to endure such conditions is, to say the least, insane.

However, experiencing solitary confinement within that environment is something entirely different. It is jail within jail, multiplied tenfold. On Rikers, they at least allowed access to a Walkman, which helped keep me somewhat connected to the outside world. Through the radio, I could listen to the news and remain aware of what was happening in the streets. At the time, I did not realize how essential that connection was to human serenity and mental well-being. As human beings, it is our nature to need awareness of the world around us, to know what is happening beyond our immediate surroundings.

People often say that pressure creates diamonds. While that may be true in some cases, it is certainly not always the case. I have seen solitary confinement break men who were considered stronger, physically and mentally, than I was. There is no formula to determine who is mentally equipped to survive such a horrific and traumatic experience.

I spent so much time in solitary confinement that it felt as though I was being treated as subhuman. I was confined to a small cage, one not fit for a dog. Yet, I was expected to survive there for what felt like countless years. One has to be mentally strong enough to never allow their circumstances to supersede who they truly are.

While in solitary confinement, I was denied a multitude of basic human rights, many of which violated even the government’s own policies. I was often denied reading materials. Showers were limited to three days a week. Proper hygiene supplies were scarce, including basic skin lubrication needed for my skin type. As a result, my skin would chafe, crack, burn, and bleed. The lights remained on constantly, day and night. These were just some of the Gestapo-like tactics designed to break the mind.

On top of that, we were forced to write with pencils or flimsy flexible pens that barely functioned. Phone calls were limited to mere minutes each week. Even obtaining an adequate amount of toilet paper felt like winning the lottery. It often felt as though officials deliberately strategized ways to inflict harm on those in solitary confinement. Every time I was sent to the Special Housing Unit (SHU), I would lose a significant amount of weight.

The cages were filthy, contaminated with remnants of past human waste. There were stretches where I was given nothing to do, no reading material, no stimulation of any kind for hours and days on end. My sleep cycle was completely disrupted. I would sleep during the day and remain awake throughout the night, catching only intermittent moments of rest. At times, I went as long as 34 hours without proper sleep. The food portions were minimal amounts that would not be sufficient for an adolescent, let alone a grown man.

Solitary confinement is often framed as a corrective measure meant to deter people from returning, but in reality, it is torture. Sometimes you end up in the SHU simply because an officer is having a bad day or because you are forced to protect yourself. That alone should not justify additional punishment, such as denial of family contact, phone access, reading materials, or even music. Many facilities do not allow headphones or any form of audio engagement. These conditions feel intentionally designed to drive a person insane, and over time, you are surrounded by the effects of that insanity.

The only positive outcome I can identify from my time in solitary confinement is that I learned how to meditate. There were moments when my thoughts were so scattered and overwhelming that I felt as though I was losing my mind. My mind felt compressed, as if it were physically hurting. The only way I survived was by lying down and visualizing mental images of the life I wished I were living. I imagined moments with my children, experiences with loved ones, and memories from a life outside those walls. Through this process, I taught myself meditation as a means of survival.

Solitary confinement forced me to learn how to be alone with myself and, in doing so, taught me to appreciate life more deeply. It made me more aware of my own rhythms and inner processes. However, it also caused lasting damage. To this day, I struggle to be around large groups of people. I often place my back against walls in rooms, restrooms, and public transportation without even realizing it. These are trauma responses that remain deeply ingrained.

Solitary confinement has traumatized me in ways that are still unfolding. It altered how I experience people, space, and safety. While I survived, survival came at a cost—one that continues long after the cell doors have opened.