Criminal Comprehension

It was the end of a great class.  An inmate turned the tables on me.  He asked, “Do you feel differently about convicts since you began working with us?”

I am stunned by this, and told him I need a moment to think before responding.  As I am deliberating, an inmate can be heard in the background humming the Jeopardy song.

I do. I used to suffer earlier in life from a bleeding heart. All people could be rehabilitated… I believed.  Any issue could be addressed. I feel that way no more.

Some now to my understanding, are just inherently evil.

Yet deep down I still believe in the beauty of rehabilitation, encouragement, and forgiveness. I share my thoughts on this with my classroom full of inmates. I know they worry about being judged on the outside of those walls.  I remind them I am there to represent the portion of society that will forgive them, give them opportunities, and support them.  My role is to reassure them that they can change, and if they do, many will believe in them again.

As they file out of the room, an old G turns to me and says…”You passed!”, before leaving the class. I understand what he means by this. Prison has taught me how to comprehend more with less verbal communication, and more through tone and body language. Especially by a gangster that has spent the past 20 years locked up.

 

27 Years

“As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.” -Nelson Mandela

I always print out news articles for each class, to start our talking points of the day about current events. It usually sparks phenomenal discussions that I could never develop on my own.

Today, I discussed the passing of Mr. Mandela.  (Some of the inmates hadn’t even known he had died).

I thought it was very relevant and important to share his quote about freeing himself from the mental and emotional prison that would potentially follow him upon his release, if he didn’t let go of the 27 years of pain he garnered while rotting away in prison. I followed by highlighting how he was not only able to embrace goodness, but he went on to change the world because of it.  After prison.  I want these men to know that anything is possible for them, if they can let go and let God.

 

Trading My Fears for Tears

I am so stressed out I can barely write. Yet, knowing that when I do, it will release some of the steam inside my pressure cooker. So here goes….

Last week, one of my inmates had a heart attack and flat lined on the ground.  None of the officers would perform CPR on him and I don’t know how, thank goodness one of my other students did.  He rushed in and saved his life. I cried so hard that day I had to go to the beach after work and pray to clear my head before I could even face my family. Thank you Lord Jesus for answering my prayer and keeping him alive to see his release date in 8 days.

This morning the Bluebird bus came to take the transfers to other facilities…they took Papa Jay.  One of the most beloved inmates on the compound. A man serving a life sentence.  A man who found God in prison.  A man so respected and adored, that today I watched grown men openly cry to express their grief over it…in prison. The last place men want to openly grieve.  A man I will probably never see again, but I will certainly never forget.

Cut to the end of my Tuesday today, when I sponsor the inmate Art Club. This is something I volunteer to do so that there is something positive taking place in that wired covered hell.  Come to find out one of the LIFERS that scares the crap out of me was drawing sexual images of women, 4 feet away from me.  I feel violated all over again.  This time I can see how being institutionalized has influenced my growth. This time, I didn’t cry.  I got angry.  I still am. I don’t feel weakened, I feel empowered to make sure justice is served. Finally.

So much happens every day there.  This week seems to be an especially intense emotional roller coaster for me. Like yesterday, when one of my students pulled me aside to remind me of how rare it is to have someone be a part of that prison that cares so much. That gives so much just because my heart guides me to do so.  How important it is to not let anyone take advantage of how much I care, so that I stay safe. So that I can keep giving and supporting the ones that have no one, and nothing.

 

The Empty Chair

As a holiday very dear to my heart is only a few days away, it is hard not to think about the voids I feel this time of year, and more and more as the years pass.  It is strange that a time of the year that in childhood was filled with so much bliss, can now be filled with such sadness as I get older.  It is filled with my mourning of the memories and the loved ones passed…not here for another year to rejoice with.

On Thanksgiving this year, I will look around our table.  Then I will spy the empty chair.  The place where love used to sit…and love would laugh, share memories, and remind me of what family is truly all about. Now I have grown and have a family of my own…but the family of my childhood follows me like a ghost.  I miss it, I miss my loved ones that have moved onto the next realm without me. The Thanksgivings we shared that were the best day of every year of my childhood.  That I will cherish eternally.

My empty chair is not my own.  Every family has one or 2…and will also be elbowed with sadness when they see them this year. It is quite normal for families to experience this, especially when they mourn the dead.  But what about the families of the living dead?

The families that have an empty chair that belongs to someone in prison.  Someone that could be there…that should be there.

When you say your grace of thanksgivings this year, don’t forget about them. xxoo

 

Killer

He’s a crack head.  I know it.  He doesn’t work very hard to hide it. Ever.

On Friday he came up behind me.  I am always weary when the inmates are behind me, as I should be.  He shouted, “Hey teacher!”…I quickly turned around.  Then I jumped and screamed, all in one motion.  He had a lizard in my face.

His pet.  It had been in class with us all day….they are so good at hiding things I hadn’t even realized it.

His name is Killer.  He will hold still on anything he is set on.  The inmates love to pet him…you would think he was a dog.  The inmates go crazy looking for bugs to feed him with. This is odd for me. A trained lizard that is better behaved then my own doggies.

 

My Faith Phone Charger

I am very blessed to have a job that I love. It fills my heart and my spirit with joy and gratitude.  I learn something valuable everyday behind those prison walls.

Yet, there are many days the weight of it all bears down on me.  My head hangs because sometimes it is just too exhausting to simply hold it up.  My shoulders feel as they carry the burden of every man I meet behind the iron curtains.  My heart…my heart. Pieces of it everywhere.

I am dealing with many men that have been abused and neglected most of their lives.  They lack a family, an education, and basic life skills.  They have trust issues, addictions, impulsive natures, rage, violent tendencies, and on and on.

Many of them need counseling, medication, love, and support.  Few have any of those things. Many of them will NEVER have any of those things.  They are a statistic.  They will relive the cycling lifestyle of the streets, followed by prison, and revolve until that lifestyle eventually kills them. Few will notice. Even less will care.

I suffer from a condition I have had since childhood.  I refer to it as a bleeding heart. It causes me chronic spiritual pain.

Due to all of this, I feel worn out,  I have tried a few times to write the past couple of days….but each effort was a FAIL.  When you give and give, you become depleted. That is a natural cycle.

God is reminding me to slow down.  It is time to recharge.  Time to plug my faith batteries in and let the charging…I mean, HEALING begin.

Blessings to all of you.  Thank you for taking the time to read my words.

 

Truth or Consequences

Today was the kind of day where I walked out of class, and my heart couldn’t contain the rays of sunshine that laser beamed out of it back into the world…and the voice in my heart reminded me that God has me exactly where HE needs me…making sure HIS work is being done.

Let me rewind to Monday morning, when I once again began a new class of inmates to teach my community re-entry course.  For the next 2 months, we will all slowly get to know each other, and by the end of it all, it will be hard to say goodbye.

However in the beginning, it is scary…for all of us. New inmates, new histories to learn, new body language to observe and comprehend. New people to gain respect and trust with. A new dynamic to survive.  Just as much for them as for me.

I have 2 young inmates that sit in the back of this brand new class.  They are hardened and criminalized dramatically despite their youth. They stare at me, they seem angry, one even began a verbal confrontation with me 15 minutes into our first class 4 days ago. In front of the ENTIRE class. Great.

And how did I handle this test of his masculinity against my authority? With flying colors.  I stayed cool, calm, and collected and reminded him if he didn’t want to take class with me in a civilized environment, he had another option. To my impressed surprise not only did he listen, but he sustained no hostility the rest of the day.  He engaged and participated well. He gained respect from me for that.

Yet, I also noticed this young inmate was receding into his clothes that first day.  My training alerted me to the possibility he was masturbating. I did not want to jump to conclusions.  I could have hit my panic button and had security rush in and take him away to confinement,  He would have been one less headache to deal with.  But that is not my style.  I am here to help as many men as I can, and in order to do that I must remain a fact gatherer.  I want to be very sure of my decisions that affect my students, as long as I am not in jeopardy.

I consulted with security about my suspicions.  They listened, and with their typical enthusiastic support of me, agreed to let me handle the situation as I saw fit. My instinct told me to observe this kid slightly longer to make a full assessment of what was taking place. I am sooooooooooo grateful I followed my instinct.

Today this young man approached me after class.  With his shyness he approached me while staring at his feet.  He thanked me for caring so much about them, for being there.  He talked about how much he has suffered in his young life, and how no one has ever been there to take care of him, to support him, to teach him anything.  All of his older brothers are incarcerated.  As the youngest, he doesn’t have anywhere to go when he is released in 3 months. He is terrified.

He then begins to discuss his extreme anxiety.  He has suffered from it ever since he was a kid and child protective services began placing him in foster care (11 different placements to be exact).  Part of his behavioral response when he feels anxious, is to cradle himself.

He tells me he is sorry.  He doesn’t want me to be afraid, he would never want to do anything to make me feel uncomfortable or  disrespected.  He has been in trouble so many times at the prison because he is often accused of masturbatory behavior by female officers. It has forced him to recognize that his unconscious behavior of comforting himself during panic attacks is misconstrued to observers as inappropriate touching of himself.  He gets it now.  He doesn’t mean it.  It is a habit that started when he was 4 years old.  He draws into himself, cradles, and rocks.  As a long time sufferer and survivor of anxiety, I can understand this young man’s pain.

I am so proud of him for coming to me.  For being a man…that no one ever modeled for him how to be…to admit something, and to apologize. For being honest with someone he hardly knows, which in prison takes a heck of a lot of courage.

I could hear the harps of heaven ringing in my ears as he spoke.  We were both being lifted into the love and grace of God, with our moment of peace and understanding.

I could have let the devil’s fear control me, and cast this man from my class into confinement.  I wouldn’t have had to deal with this. But when the Holy Spirit lead me to hold steadfast, I listened…and he listened to the Spirit that lead him to testify his truth to me.

And now, here we are. This man that needs God to guide him and love him…and his teacher who is working as the Lord’s vessel to deliver just that. God’s beauty and perfection is undeniable.

Amen.

 

Code Red

There have been a LARGE number of drugs discovered and confiscated at the prison this week.  A spike in the number of fights and stabbings often is the following pattern when that happens.  Such has been the case the last few days at work.

Security has been on high alert as a result of this.

The security shift that worked today is one of my favorites.  Those guys would run into a burning building if my life depended on it. They always keep an extra vigilant eye on me and what inmates are doing in my presence. I am very grateful for all of the security that keeps me safe and allows me to do God’s work.  But these guys are exceptional.

On our radios (walkie talkies) that every staff member carries,  we have a “magic” red button.  If one were ever to touch it, it would send off an alarm over the entire prison.  I have been fortunate enough to never need it, but for the first time I finally heard it.

I was sitting in my office consulting with my assistant about the morning class, when my radio starting beeping.  I could hear the other radios in the building doing the same.

I know the radios beep when my battery is low so I turned it off, despite the battery indicator being full.  I turned it back on… still beeping.  One of the inmates yelled out that it was THE alarm. Suddenly my heart started to race.

Before I could blink, officers came running from every direction… into my office!  They pushed my assistant to the ground and ran towards me and surrounded me.  I knew immediately they thought I was the one that had hit the alarm, and here they were coming to my rescue!

I began to scream, “It’s not mine! It’s not mine!”. Their training was in high gear and they grabbed my radio to verify what I was saying.  They were out of breath and sweating.  Many of them had even run across the compound from the dorms… all the way to my office.  I could see the relief on their faces as they looked into my eyes.  And then in an instant, panic again, and they took off.  They still needed to find the person who DID set off the alarm, to make sure they were not in danger.

Suddenly another teacher was standing in my doorway.  With a smile on his face, he looked at me and said, “Why did they only come looking for YOU?!” We both laughed.

I cannot express what that feels like.  To know a panic alarm goes off at that prison, and the first person security RUNS to protect, is me.  Even security staff that is assigned to be watching inmates in a dorm far far away, left their posts… for ME.

The story ends happily.  The librarian accidentally set off her red panic button.  All is safe in the land of maximum security, for today.

Blessed and grateful.  Glory be to God.

 

I Love Secrets…My Family Has Lots of Them

I have a deep secret to share. In the past I may even have used the word “dark” to describe it.  But not today. Not ever again.  Holding onto shame over my weakness won’t do me any good.  I chose to be open about my flaws so that I can overcome them.  Just like those before me that were open about theirs…served me. So I will serve.

Before I share what it is, let me tell you what I endure as a result of it. Every fucking day.

Depression, racing thoughts, self medicating tendencies, extreme memory loss, shame, guilt, hopelessness, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, irritability, chronic pain without a known cause, suicidal ideation, difficulty sleeping, anger, confusion, sensitivity, delusions, a tendency to isolate myself, and on and on we go. Where it stops, who the hell knows. Oh, and medication.  Every day. For the rest of my days.

Do not misunderstand.  I am no victim.  I overcome this crap, every day of my life.  I FIGHT for my joy. For my peace. And I fight hard! I will not let the darkness take control of me. Although sometimes I feel like it will. Sometimes I think it has.

Every day I fight to smile.  And if I don’t, it is because the demon on my back is fighting me harder than usual.

Have you guessed what it is yet?

When I meet new people, I feel like a fraud.  How can I explain what I am? They don’t really know who I am, and what I wrestle every day.  Like when I don’t return a phone call, and someone is offended, I wish I could explain.  I might say, “My head was pounding as I was fighting depressive mood swings with all of my strength. It zapped me of all my ability to deal with anything but my next breath. How are you?”…or something along those lines.

I have always been afraid of labels. C-R-A-Z-Y is my least favorite.  My biggest fear is if someone knows this truth about me…I will be stamped with the C word and abandoned.  Left in the dust.

I often joke with my friends that I am crazy.  They always laugh.  Inside of me I am screaming, “It’s true!”.  I just wish they knew and it was over with.  They could hug me, love me, and accept me.  Check please.

When I first met my husband, this terrible secret hung over me like a terminal diagnosis.  I was terrified he would leave me.  I finally broke down and told him. Ready and expecting to never hear from him again. I concluded by telling him I was damaged goods, and it was best for him to move along.  I am no good to anybody.  I didn’t want him to have to endure my living hell with me.  Nor did I expect him to want too. Why would anyone?

His response to my confession startled, shocked, and moved me speechless.  He saw something beautiful in my heart, there was no way he was using any excuse to dismiss me from his life.  He told me WE would deal with this TOGETHER.  My salty tears kept me from speaking.  His love began to crack the pain that covered my heart, and had for so many years… as I had struggled in a personal prison of agony. He has been the blessing that really opened me to living my LIFE. To feeling, seeing, and overcoming.  He holds my hand through every peak and every valley.  He deals with my mood swings, my rage, my depression.  That is no easy task.  He is….my love, my strength, my HEART.

He sees me on my worst days, and still loves me.  Sometimes I wonder if he is the CRAZY one….He is amazing.

I think working in prison makes sense now.  In my worst days I could have easily been sick enough to make a mistake that cost me my freedom. I am sure I actually have made many.  But GOD has a plan for me, for all of us.  It is easier to support my students in love, when I know what it feels like to expect no one to love you.  For no one to try and understand you and help you become well…or at least better. I know what it feels like to think you are broken, defective, and worthless.

Only GOD knows what is in a man’s heart.

Have you guessed yet? Do you know? I am sure you are scratching your brain.

I NEVER talk about this.  I allude. Sometimes I drop hints, secretly hoping someone will guess and publicly declare their acceptance and love for me anyway.  Maybe even love me more in spite of it.  I know my Mama does. Thank goodness for her.

I am what I am because my Lord made me this way.  I am no accident.  I am Depressed.

 

Boobs in Prison

Today something powerful happened. I got SCARED. The trouble with working in prison is, I work in prison.  Prison rules apply. Let me explain.

When I began teaching in an all male facility, I was nothing shy of terrified. I would shake, sweat, and lose my temper… a lot.  My defense and coping mechanisms manifested in ways that communicated: STAY AWAY!

Over time, I have found my groove.  I am comfortable being myself in safe ways.  What has really eased my stress is having developed a strong rapport with my students that commands respect.  They watch out for me all the time.  They speak up on my behalf when anyone is inappropriate, much like a big brother does for his sister.

My initial teaching assistant I inherited from the teacher I replaced was a veteran convicted child predator.  He didn’t last in my kingdom after a month.  I was onto his manipulative selfish ways very early on….and he got the boot. I was content to run the show without an assistant.  But as my initial class graduated, it became very clear that one of my star pupils would be a wonderful addition to my circus.  It was a tremendous experience and he has been a delight to work with.

I didn’t really understand what I had done until very recently…what that move signaled to the inmates on the compound.  I had replaced my first assistant, a convicted sex predator, with an old school Hells Angel member. I had unwittingly changed my position in the pecking order in the eyes of the prison population.  I showed I was not a child molester sympathizer, but a staff member who aligned myself with men of power capable of violence.  Of course it appeared to all it was a calculated move, for my own safety. I was untouchable.

Looking back I see how people began treating me differently.  Inmates no longer muttered inappropriate things under their breath to me.  They kept their distance and no longer STARED at me or tried to get too close.  If they greeted me, it was in a manner of great respect, as if I was truly a princess in prison.  How silly of me, I thought my reputation as a kind and caring instructor was responsible for all of this. Oh how naïve of me.

Today marked a milestone of change.  I am no longer “protected”.  I see now how vulnerable I truly am.  I can no longer sit in comfort behind a veil of ignorance.

You see, my teaching assistant who has been with me since almost my beginning there is being released in 3 days.  He is going home.  And now I am a sitting duck.

At the end of the day, the Art Club that I VOLUNTEERED to instruct concluded at its usual time.  This is usually chaotic as many inmates are moving around, putting supplies away, and leaving the room.  Because of this, I did not notice the 2 inmates who entered the room.  I was sitting at my desk that is catty-corner in the classroom away from the door and has nothing but a barred window behind it. I had a sense to look up and saw 2 large inmates I did not recognize approaching me…quickly.  I had nowhere to go.  I grabbed my radio and stood up in an attempted power move.  They got as close as they could, one leaning over the desk.  They looked like salivating tigers ready to pounce on weak prey.  I asked them what they wanted.  They began asking me about the class I teach (my salary position) and when it was starting.  If they would be on my roster….blah, blah, blah.  I could see their disgusting eyeballs moving up and down my figure and could almost hear them inhaling deeply to smell me.

I shot back verbally and thank goodness my assistant was nearby and came to my rescue.  Upon seeing him, one of the creepy inmates took off.  The taller and fatter of the two stood his ground.  He became hostile with both of us.  He tried arguing with us and became more and more agitated.  I thought of an excuse to leave and my assistant picked up on my cue and followed out behind me.  I could not have walked faster to the officer’s station on the cellblock.

When I got there it was no wonder the officer hadn’t picked up on what was happening. He was working alone and trying to manage 200 inmates.  I basically threw my supplies in the office and tried to move towards the gate to leave.  OH CRAP!  There are inmates surrounding the door.

As in a mist sent by angels, I see inmate Knowledge.  The inmate who works in my office.  He makes eye contact with me and signals to me to walk to him.  I keep my eyes glued to the floor and follow as closely as I can.  He gets us to the gate and pounds on the door.  The officer buzzes it open and we escape.  He slams it shut and presses on it to make sure it locked behind us.  He walks me outside and stands with me until another officer arrives. Making sure I could leave safely. I was so grateful.

Why has all of this transpired? Because the inmate that spoke up as my guardian is leaving.  He will no longer be there to protect me and all the inmates know it.  What happened in my classroom was a test.  Inmates are testing the waters to see how they can get to me and who will do something to protect me now.  My assistant has lost their respect, because he did not stand up for me.  He can’t anymore and I understand why. Any altercation will jeopardize his release on Sunday. His release to go home and care for his children.  What is more important than that?

Now I am in trouble.  The inmate I have lined up to be my new assistant has no affiliation in the gang world. He is an accountant with a cocaine problem.  I had no idea how vital a choice that was.  Welcome to prison girl.  How do you like your rose-colored glasses now?