The Prison Rule About My Bed That Redefined Freedom

I didn’t grow up making my bed every day. It wasn’t something I saw as essential. In college, I sometimes pulled the sheets up, sometimes didn’t. It felt like a small thing that didn’t really matter in the big picture of life.

But when I went to federal prison, that changed.

Making my bed wasn’t optional. It was a rule.

Every morning, before I climbed down from the bunk, I was required to make it. Every corner had to be tucked, every line smooth. The blanket folded with precision at the foot of the bed. The pillow had to sit exactly in place. There were no shortcuts.

At first, it felt meaningless. Just another task to get through. But over time, that one small action became something much more.

It became an act of self-respect in an environment designed to erase identity. It was a moment where I could take back control over something, even if it was just a bed. It was a ritual that grounded me in the middle of a storm I never imagined I’d be navigating.

Making my bed became my first promise of the day, to myself.

Years later, I heard Admiral William McRaven’s speech to a graduating class, where he said, “If you want to change the world, start by making your bed.” His words resonated deeply with me, but not because I had learned that in the military.

I learned it in a prison cell.

But for me, making my bed wasn’t just about discipline. It was about freedom.

Because now, I do it every morning not because I have to, but because I choose to. It is my reminder that I have agency. I have a say in how I start my day. I get to decide how I show up for myself before the rest of the world ever sees me.

I’ve learned that making my bed is not just about order. It’s about identity.

When I smooth the sheets and fold the blanket just right, it reminds me that I am choosing to be present. I am choosing to honor myself. And I am choosing to lead from that place.

The way I care for my space and energy in those early moments reflects how I carry myself through the rest of the day. The small acts, especially the ones no one sees, shape who we become.

When I make my bed, I am not aiming for perfection. I am practicing presence.

And that presence is the foundation of how I lead, love, serve, and rise.

Try this tomorrow:

Before you make your bed, pause. Ask yourself how you feel. Check in with what you need.

Then, as you fold the corners or place the pillow, let it be a reflection of your intention for the day ahead.

It’s not just about the bed. It’s about you.

Let that simple act be a quiet but powerful way of saying, I’m here. I’m grounded. I’m rising.