i. denial I can’t admit I’ve fucked up. Not to myself, and certainly not to anyone else. It simply doesn’t track. I’m the responsible one in the family. The reliable one. The sober one. Rock steady, perpetually calm…
Radical honesty is my guidepost. My lived experience as a family caregiver, a college student, a convicted felon, and a cautionary tale means I must acknowledge my past and the gap in my résumé to move forward. During my post-incarceration redemptive path, navigating such necessary conversations led me from detailing cars twelve hours a day to eventually being hired as a legal assistant for a group of open-minded attorneys who granted me not just an interview, but a chance at professional reestablishment.
This piece is also part of my frank dialogue. It began as a writing sample for my application to my MFA program at the University of Kentucky, which I wrote while working full-time as a paralegal. I had to lead with the truth; the admissions committee needed to know the creative nonfiction applicant they’d be considering.
In “Everything Will Be Fine,” the lens of grief allows me to sharp-focus a dark and surreal two-year period in my mid-to-late twenties blurred by pressure, panic, shame, loss, and self-isolation. By framing these moments in present tense, they become tactile; I can put my hands on them, clench my fingers, wrestle and engage with my then-frantic, disorganized mindset on the page. Though the traditional Kübler-Ross model of the five stages of grief is not necessarily a linear or complete process—and grief and grieving look different for everyone—in this essay, I move through the progression of my implosion to my arrest with the connective tissue of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I’m fortunate that my experiences haven’t limited me, but informed and defined me. I share my worst mistakes to reckon with how I once traveled so far from myself that I made increasingly terrible choices—how I convinced myself that I could problem-solve by committing bank robberies. By naming this shame-shackled version of myself, I give voice to the transformative power of storytelling and forgiveness. Here, I’m saying, is how I shocked myself and everyone around me with what I did in service of what I thought I needed to do. It’s a story of pressure, a lesson in limits, and hard evidence that insular desperation can be the loneliest of valleys.
CRYSTAL LITTLE is a Kentucky writer and an advocate for criminal justice reform. She is a 2025-26 Lyman T. Johnson Fellow pursuing her MFA at the University of Kentucky. Her work explores the American criminal justice system, class, and redemption. She is an editorial assistant for New Limestone Review, and she is currently working on a memoir. Find her on Instagram @justalittleapocalypse.
