My journey from atheist skeptic to firm believer

Yes, I went to hell.

It was the darkest moment of my life. A time of intense suffering, but also a time when I learned profound lessons about life, pain, consequences, and transformation while walking the hardest road of all: prison.

It may sound cliché, but it’s common for inmates to find Jesus behind bars. Many embrace faith through evangelical ministries that operate inside, usually with support from external churches that carry strong influence.

I wasn’t the exception.

I was raised Catholic. My grandma used to pray the rosary every other day at 3 p.m. But once inside, I found myself drawn to the evangelical group. Why? Because they had drums, and I could play. At that point, faith became just another adaptation to survive prison life.

Before incarceration, I already had a tangled belief system. I mixed the law of attraction with prayer to the universe, hoping for “manifestations” just by thinking hard enough. I was chasing miracles without understanding their source.

After months of praying and playing drums with the evangelical group, I started noticing strange routines. We were expected to kneel at 4 a.m. for almost an hour, often falling asleep in that position. Then came Bible reading from 7 a.m. to noon. At 3 p.m., back to kneeling. More prayer at 6 p.m. and 9 p.m., every day.

Eventually, I stepped away. I felt like I no longer had a life of my own.

Still, I didn’t stop believing in God. Leaving gave me a strange kind of freedom. But instead of returning to my Catholic roots, I went deeper into skepticism. I started to say things like, “I’m already condemned. I don’t need a guy in the sky judging me again.”

As the years passed, things changed, especially financially. I had some money at first, but it didn’t last long. Eventually, I depended entirely on my family to help me buy food, hygiene products, or pay off debts.

At one point, I found myself drowning in debt. I had made one bad decision after another.

I was never into drugs or cigarettes. My only real addiction was my morning coffee. But my debts weren’t because of vices. They were because of food.

In Panamanian prisons, the government doesn’t exactly provide nutritious meals. Inmates are the ones who cook, and let’s just say quality isn’t the top priority.

Eventually, I hit a wall. I couldn’t give anymore. I began romanticizing the idea of suicide. But something shifted. I decided to give Jesus a chance. Now that I look back, it sounds strange—who am I to "give" Jesus a chance? But that’s what happened.

I turned back to the Catholic Church, partly because of my family roots. For about two years, I attended Mass every other Sunday and joined various Catholic activities within the prison. I also dove deep into theology. That’s when skepticism hit me again.

By January 2025, I was reading books by Sam Harris and Richard Dawkins and watching skeptic YouTube channels regularly. I stopped attending Mass. I joined atheist groups on Facebook and started posting comments mocking God, Christianity, and religion. I became an angry, stubborn atheist, ready to attack, ready to “educate” believers with verses and arguments interpreted through a brutal secular lens.

Even though I was highly educated, skepticism slowly pushed me into a cold, self-centered mindset. I began putting my goals above everything, even over my family. I hurt people I loved. Not because I wanted to, but because I had become emotionally detached.

Six months into that lifestyle, everything began to shift again.

Flash forward to July 2025. I had said things like, “I’ll believe when you show yourself to me,” or “Jesus, if you exist, send me a sign.” I had been daring God to show up.

On July 18, 2025, He did.

Earlier that year, I had received a job inside the prison, a role I had waited on for a long time. That job was carpentry. I became a woodworker. At the time of writing this, I’ve spent almost three months refining those skills.

Then something happened.

The Catholic group inside received a large wooden cross that needed repair. No one wanted to work on it. Somehow, I felt pulled to take it. As I restored that cross, I began reflecting deeply on where I was heading.

The deeper I went into skepticism, the more confused, empty, and directionless I became. My projects were disorganized, my motivation faded, and nothing gave me peace.

That same day, I stumbled upon a video in my YouTube feed. It was a talk by Rosalind Picard, a professor at MIT. I watched the entire thing. She spoke about exploring different religions and how, despite her deeply scientific background, she embraced Christianity. She explained how spirituality plays a meaningful role in our lives.

Something clicked.

Something in her story touched me. And for the first time in a long while, I felt warmth again—not from logic or reason, but from grace.

That was the beginning of my return. On July 20, 2025, I went back to the Catholic Church, did my confession, and received communion.

Speaking of confession, I confess to you that I haven’t fully unpacked my mistakes in prison. Hell for me wasn’t just the physical place. It was getting so deep into skepticism that it overwhelmed me.

For example, a skeptic mocks a Christian for believing in “fairy tales from the Bible,” while also claiming that Christians mock atheists for not believing in God. On the other hand, many Christians also ridicule non-believers simply for their unbelief. Do you see the paradox?

This is my first post for my new site, jjgarrido.pro, where I plan to share many of the experiences I lived through during my time in prison. And yes, I got into prison for a crime I didn’t commit. But I don’t regret the lessons I learned or the discipline I developed during the darkest season of my life.

This site is not just about incarceration. I also plan to share reflections on faith, technology, personal growth, and the pursuit of a meaningful life.