"I had looked forward so eagerly to leaving the horrible place, yet when my release came and I knew that God's sunlight was to be free for me again, there was a certain pain in leaving"
About this Quote
Freedom lands here like a complication, not a victory lap. Nellie Bly’s line captures the odd aftertaste of survival: she “looked forward so eagerly” to escape an institution designed to grind people down, yet the moment release arrives, it hurts. That pivot is the point. Bly isn’t being sentimental about a “horrible place.” She’s exposing what confinement does to the mind and what sudden liberation demands of the body.
The phrase “God’s sunlight” reads as both relief and indictment. Sunlight shouldn’t be a theological privilege; it should be a baseline human right. By framing it as something she is “to be free for…again,” Bly quietly marks how thoroughly the asylum controlled even the most ordinary sensations. She also positions herself among the incarcerated rather than above them. The “certain pain” suggests guilt and kinship: she can exit because she has an assignment, an identity, an audience. The women left behind often don’t.
Context matters: Bly’s undercover asylum investigation depended on her ability to leave and report. That creates a moral asymmetry baked into the experiment. The line acknowledges it without melodrama. It’s not just the trauma of being locked up; it’s the realization that the story’s arc (enter, endure, escape) is structurally unavailable to most of the people she met. Her discomfort becomes a form of credibility. It signals that the institution’s cruelty doesn’t end at the door; it follows you out, as responsibility.
The phrase “God’s sunlight” reads as both relief and indictment. Sunlight shouldn’t be a theological privilege; it should be a baseline human right. By framing it as something she is “to be free for…again,” Bly quietly marks how thoroughly the asylum controlled even the most ordinary sensations. She also positions herself among the incarcerated rather than above them. The “certain pain” suggests guilt and kinship: she can exit because she has an assignment, an identity, an audience. The women left behind often don’t.
Context matters: Bly’s undercover asylum investigation depended on her ability to leave and report. That creates a moral asymmetry baked into the experiment. The line acknowledges it without melodrama. It’s not just the trauma of being locked up; it’s the realization that the story’s arc (enter, endure, escape) is structurally unavailable to most of the people she met. Her discomfort becomes a form of credibility. It signals that the institution’s cruelty doesn’t end at the door; it follows you out, as responsibility.
Quote Details
| Topic | Moving On |
|---|---|
| Source | Ten Days in a Mad-House (1887), by Nellie Bly — passage describing her release from the Blackwell's Island asylum. |
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