Dear Former Prisoner

As 2018 draws closer, many seem to be reflecting on the last 12 months and identifying goals and dreams for the year ahead. I never stick to resolutions, so I won’t even bother to make any. What I am going to do is write a blog today, on New Years Eve. For the moments in the next year that I may need some motivation, because even I feel unmotivated at times. Maybe unmotivated it the wrong word, deflated would suit better.

Dear Former Prisoner,
Are we ever ‘former’? I don’t think so, I don’t feel like my sentence is over. I don’t feel like my punishment is over. When I committed an offence at the age of 19 and now, as a 27-year-old woman, jobs can be snatched away from me with no back lash, I can’t attend school trips with my daughter because I have an unspent conviction and I have to spend time explaining to people why I am at University at the age of 27 because I am outraged and hurt by the way our prison system attempts to break us down and then send us on our way. Over and over again. All in the name of justice?
Its funny how a not so educated view believes that when someone is released from prison, their punishment is over. Surprisingly, I would guess that the people who say this, really believe that it is right for that to happen also. Of course it is right, but it does not happen. We then go on to live a life treading on egg shells, worried, nervous. We get used to hearing no, used to being ignored, if we had the courage to try and move on in the first place.
For every door that is shut in your face, I hope you knock again. If you can’t knock again, do everything you can to build your own door and when someone in need comes knocking, be sure you let them in.
For every ‘NO’ you hear, go home and add it to your list of ‘NO – one will stop me’. Cry if you need to, have a few days in bed being miserable, when you feel like all of this trying will never pay off, when you almost accept that this is now your life, a life you didn’t have a chance to choose, a life the system tried to force upon you. Cry it out, get up and go back for more.
For everyone judging you, drop down at their feet and praise them for being angels on earth and never making a mistake in their life. Or not. Never become that person, pity them. Challenge them. Never become them. Other people’s opinions about YOUR life, do not affect YOUR life, unless you let them. Find the strength to let them carry on, while talking your truth because regardless of other people, you have every right to do so.
For every idea that you have, that didn’t quite turn out how you imagined it to, never stop dreaming. Idea’s keep your mind active, one might pay off one day. Possibly the only think no-one can ever take off you, are the idea’s you create and possess in your mind. Keep them, work on them and if they don’t work, have some more.
For every time you wake up and think ‘I just can’t do this anymore’. Take a break. Look after yourself. To give your best, you have to be your best. Remember, when you thought you couldn’t do it, every single day, for two years in prison. Guess what, you did it. You keep doing it, and you will do it.
For all of the moments you are consumed with fear, breath. Use that fear to fuel your fire. Be scared but keep going. Please, keep going. Fear is what they want, it’s what they need. I lived in fear through-out my childhood, fear of being alone at night, fear of finding my parents dead, fear of people finding out who my parents were. I then lived in fear, in prison, every single day, and then I was released. Nothing at all was changed in a positive way, from the day I entered to the day I left. Nothing. That is a system, that does not work. Now, I fear that I may be destined to endure failure and failure. I hope not.
Dear former prisoner, for a life that has tried to break you, many times. There ain’t a single tear, ruining your make-up. My only wish for you, in 2018 is to live without fear.




Society, Well-being and Prison.

I wasn’t going to blog until 2018. Today I have attempted to work on my social policy assignment while looking after my 10year old. That wasn’t going to happen, although I didn’t manage to type I did manage to read and whilst I don’t have the required attention at present to put my reading to academic assignment writing, I can blog on what I figure to be food for thought. I don’t think at present I have attempted a conclusion to what I am going to write however I still feel that the content for me, is worth consideration.
Firstly, I want to start by touching on well-being. Individual and societal. Each community, each person and each group of people will of course all have different views on what well-being means to them personally and for the society that they live in. Even in this first statement, the worry surfaces when we think about the people in power who make policy to look after our well-being.
While I can not speak to anybody apart from myself, I would hope to think that all round well-being for individuals would incorporate the following,
1. Health
2. Education and skills
3. Governance – Trust in how the country we live in is run
4. Personal finance
5. Relationships
6. What we do/employment
7. Housing and location

Here, I should state the obvious. All of the above, which are in no particular order are interactive and overlap. Now, in true Michaela style, I am going to break these down and explain how personal experience of prison is so detrimental to each component of personal well-being if we consider the above to be of importance.
Health – This would encompass physical and mental health. The very act of imprisoning a person and locking them in a cell for long periods, over a duration of time is harmful to one’s mental health. With limited resources available and time constraints on using facilities such as the library and the gym, sitting in a cell being entertained by only soap operas or music, if you have any, is how many a days are spent inside. During my two years in prison I was sent books, writing equipment and music. Apparently, it takes three weeks to process a parcel with a pad and a pen into the establishment.
If inmate after inmate after inmate is being processed into prison with issues relating to health, its all well and good providing doctor’s appointment and medication but for all the good that may achieve, if it actually happens, it is undone but the structure and regime of a prison system so incompetent in building people up on a day to day basis. Food that lacks any nutrition that is needed for health reasons, long delays in access to any kind of productive pass time, daily negative reinforcement from staff, self-harm from prisoners and from a selfish point of view, witnessing self-harm and/or the aftermath. Having arrived into the system with no mental health problems and having never even considered self-harm, for me the two vivid memories that I have from my stay at HMP and memories that will never leave me are the two where I witnessed the aftermath of self-harm and the night I stayed up all night pressing the panic alarm for officers to come and check on my neighbour who’s body was scarred from her knee’s to her neck in scars. For me, seeing this young girl emerge from her cell with self-inflicted wounds, all up her arm, pissing with blood all over the floor, was the worst thing I have ever seen in my life. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes when the nurse came onto the wing, bandaged her up and then she was locked up again. I simply can not imagine how that feels. The thought of it almost brings me to tears and infuriates me.

Clean them up, lock them up and when they do again, greet them with “Oh for God’s sake not again”. This is the treatment I saw, first hand when officers were attending to a girl (19) who had self-harmed again. Following the night this happened, the girl was taken down the block for supervision. The cells were bars and only had a bed and toilet where officers can see in 24/7. Apart from limiting access to objects that can be used to inflict injury to ones self, what bloody good will this segregation and punishment do to a young girl who is a prolific self-harmer. None, and it doesn’t take a mental health professional to work that out, or a prison officer for that matter. Its intrusive, no doubt embarrassing and more punishment on an individual for a fault of the system not being able to meet the needs of vulnerable people within its care. Utterly shocking, heart breaking and horrific to witness.
Much more can be said on health care within our prisons, but I will move on.
Education and skills – Now, without going over old ground because I have already dedicated a whole blog on educational opportunities I had in prison, I will touch on this once more. There is no such thing as equality in prisons. There is not equal access to anything. Cleaning a wing is a job in prison to teach skills….. mopping floors, emptying bins, with no certificate or qualification at the end of it and for something stupid like £9 a week. Exploiting prisoners to work all week for shit money and nothing to show at the end of it. Forcing ‘jobs’ upon prisoners and punishing them when they refuse. Some people wake up in prison is a bad state, maybe bad news from home, anxiety, homesick, fear of release, and guess what, if we don’t go and sign in for our wing cleaning job we get an I.E.P warning, or worse. The only skill I learnt in prison was how to plait hair, from a fellow prisoner. There were months and months waiting lists for every course in prison, with you sentence plan that is made FOR you by someone who hardly knows you playing a part in if you can a course, considering the length of your sentence, you release date and a lot more in between.
Governance – Lets talk about trust in a system that has a duty of care. Its hard, if not impossible for me to have any faith in a system that I have seen cause so much heart ache, pain and suffering to so many. Now, I am not saying that everybody within the system who is at fault, and thankfully I had a great relationship with my personal officer who at least gave me a bit of faith in humanity. A system that favours punishment instead of rehabilitation, corrupt staff, bullying, favouritism and in my opinion, a system that builds prisoners, I can see why not many prisoners have any faith or trust in the system and establishments that hold them.
Personal finance – The best paid job in prison was Mon-Fri 8.45am until 4.45pm, DHL and £25 a week. Not many are given the opportunity of working outside of the prison for a proper wage and then its release with £46 and months to wait for benefits and knock back after knock back if applying for jobs. Fantastic for well-being, wouldn’t you say?
Relationships – I was given one free letter a week, extortionate rates to call home if you are lucky enough to have someone sending you money because the job wages are so poor. Maintaining contact with family was never greatly encouraged, parcels sent it took so long to process, family days were almost non-existent, visits were spent with my sisters telling me how rude the staff were, money was lost, paid into other prisoner’s accounts taking almost two months to rectify with my sister having to call every single day.
What we do & employment – A job, a passion, some stability that provides a suitable income is the reason most of us get out of bed in the morning. Prisoner’s do not have this opportunity. As stated previously with the wing cleaning job and the best job being £25 a week with DHL. They are being used to work to line the pockets of people making money out of their unfortunate and often predictable situation. With no benefit to their self.
Housing and location – I was sent to a prison 2 hours away from where my child lives, and that is relatively close compared to some of the women, with children, who I met there. Visits on a good day with no traffic was 7 hours out of my 4 year old daughters day. 7 hours, every Sunday for two years. Plastic covered mattress, plastic covered pillow, cold room, dirty graffitied walls, blood stained floors. This was my home, concerned with my well-being.
This blog and description is very brief, I would be here for days going into the depths of how a prison system accommodates for, enables and actively works towards improving  prisoners well-being. Many prisoners have entered the system from a disadvantaged life, the cycle of deprivation is maintained and intensified within the prison system and then at the point of release, many are in a worse state than how they arrived. This, I fear is no accident.
Just what is prison providing? The outcome of the system is re-offending rates, recall rates and a prison population far greater than is needed. Deaths and self-harm through the roof and guess what, charities and volunteers picking up the pieces of far too many lives shattered, unnecessarily.



As I sit in this very cold kitchen with a steaming coffee and consider my last blog of 2017, I don’t know where to start. This isn’t a blog about prison or about life after. The words for those blogs come easy to me. While I reflect on my journey over the past year I feel immense pride. This pride isn’t selfish or personal. Granted, I have achieved a lot this year down to my own hard work and perseverance, with that being said, none of it would have been possible without many people who have believed in me, support me and help me along the way, and for that I want to express my gratitude.


Here I should name names. But I won’t! I don’t have time to seek permission to name individuals and I would like to keep this as a collective.


Through-out the year I have been supported by organisations and individuals. I have received emails from families of serving prisoners and feedback from my blogs has come in thick and fast from academics, people working in the Criminal Justice sector, Child Protection workers and many former prisoners. My writing has been criticised, challenged and praised. All is ok because ultimately, nobody has lived my life so I don’t expect everybody to understand, agree or even like what I have to say.

Ill say it anyway.


When I left my full time job and swapped it for a part time role elsewhere it was a massive risk. It provided me with time to volunteer with various organisations, using my skills and experiences to help others. My summer was spent doing various mentor training courses and applying for University. We are now in December and I had the pleasure of winning an award for Volunteer of the year and to date, my assignments from University have come back with a B and a B-. Not bad for a girl who left education at 16.


My course leader at University is amazing. From the day I met her she has been a great help. No problem is too big or too small. I feel at ease within my group to talk openly about my experiences and I am able to do so. I can already notice changes in my behaviour, my thinking and my general well-being brought on from my university experience so far. It really is the best thing I was brave enough to do. Its challenging, hard, enjoyable and the best opportunity I received this year. I hope the three years goes very slowly so I can enjoy it and work at it for as long as possible.


A special mention to my mentor, who undoubtedly is another amazing woman. Her facetime calls when I am in a state of sheer stress, sat at the table with my laptop, coffee and an assignment to bang out, provide me with reassurance that I am ok, doing well and she is an unquestionable source of support guidance and advice, if and when I need it. This woman has so much faith in my ability and a brilliant way of making me question and understand my own life and how to move on from my past. For another person to want success for me and help me achieve it, is new to me. Its so lovely and I cant thank her enough for everything she has done and continues to do for me. Actually, I was thinking about texting her after the completion of this blog, then my phoned beeped and she had text me. The law of attraction is some powerful force.


When I first started my blogs, I had no idea what I wanted to do with them. All I knew was that I had an insight into a system that so many people do not understand, do not care about and do not challenge. Little did I know, I would meet and be supported by so many people who do understand, who do care and who do challenge. What is so brilliant is that I have seen these people come from all walks of life. Its heart warming to see compassion, empathy and people going above and beyond their professional role, to help and support many people caught in a cycle and a system where they are written off.


Many of the people who have and who are supported my journey I have never even met. Emails, texts, letters through the post that get sent to me, with kinds words, motivation and humanity are just the nicest things to receive. Words from strangers, wishing me well and rooting for my success.


For all of you who read this, who have taken the time to contact me, help me with work, comment on my blogs, offer me opportunities to write or talk, offered me paid work, advice, support, a listening ear, a chance to help change a failing system, I owe you a lot. A simple thank you, I know most of you will say I don’t need to give anyway, but I am thankful.


I am thankful that you listen to my story, share my story and help me ultimately help others with a story. I am thankful that I get to see passion, dedication and resilience, day to day. Thankful to still be able to dream, to work hard, to live and now enjoy life.


This will be my last blog of 2017 and I begin my new job in the start of the new year. 2018 is looking like it will be even more crazy than this one, but I am ready to battle through it, as I have done for 27 years. Stopping isn’t an option when you have a mini me watching your every move.


Thanks to my daughter, who teaches me discipline every single day. Doing what you know needs to be done, even when you may not feel like doing it. My childhood was far from the norm and then I went to prison and damaged my own child’s chances. For that, every day I promise her I will get up and work so damn hard. Ill have sleepless nights of worry, early mornings of work and never quit, so she can see her mum is not one to quit on. While I worry about Christmas because this year I am not in full time employment, and worry about life as I am busy doing uni work and loads more, she tells me not to worry because I am doing this for her and other people and that it is important that I do well. I will be with my daughter on Christmas day, and she will open a present. Regardless of what we have or don’t have, we are together and happy and that is more than enough for me.


Mum, I know I don’t need to do anything to make you proud. You love me unconditionally, and I offer you the same. To see you happy makes me happy. There are times I haven’t understood our lives and that made for a troublesome few years. Look at your daughters now. We couldn’t do it without you.


This year, I have cried, laughed, I’ve been hurt, disappointed, elated, there are too many describing words I could use so I won’t bore you, it’s been a rollercoaster. Its been amazing, thank you to everyone who has been there along the way. Enjoy Christmas and lets spare a thought for the many who are separated from loved ones at this time of year.


 See you in 2018. 






How Much More, Much Worse.


What I want you to know, what I want you to remember and what you need to read when you are feeling at your worst, with nobody there, only the awful thoughts inside your head. Michaela, you dream, you fight, you love and you care.
When you first arrived to HMP Eastwood park, with only the clothes on your back, tears in your eyes and pain in your heart. Remember that pain, keep that as your absolute driving force for every single thing you do. Do not be consumed by this pain. Pain is power, your bible is power and you also love Tommy from Power!
The first morning when you awoke, in a prison cell. When you absolutely broke down, lay in that bed, with a stranger opposite you, already smoking and drinking from a blue plastic cup. You finally felt ready to face what was coming, then you got out of that bed and put on some prison issue knickers, because you had nothing. Then you broke down again. You had no idea what was going on and how much more, much worse, you would have to endure.
Remember, in a time of such distress, you saw a woman walking with a prison officer. Bandaged from ankle to neck. Even in your own darkest hour, you cried for that lady and thought about how could she possibly have been in a prison. That memory haunts you, I know. The corridor, the smell, the glazed over eyes and dribble on her chin. That was a moment, a realisation that everybody around you didn’t see that as a problem, or if they did, they didn’t mention it.
Christmas came and you had to call home, except, that wasn’t your home anymore. When your daughter asked you “Mummy, why aren’t you here?”. You lost your breath, your voice and your heart, in that very instance. In that second, you would have chosen a knife in the heart than to hear those words of your daughter. The phone was thrown down, you made it back to your cell, and remained there. As nothing. A number, in a cell, with a stranger.
A mother’s cry. The absolute worst. Hearing you mother cry when she had always been your ultimate strength. Soul destroying. In the words of your daughter and the tears of your mother, you stood there. Cold, empty, hopeless. As nothing. A number.
Gramps, he apologised in every letter, blaming his arthritis. When he walked into the visits hall, trying to hide his heartbreak at seeing you, in prison. It was visible, every single time. His girls were his life.
The naked truth, of humiliation. When you stood in a room, naked. With a prison officer holding your knickers, with her blue gloves on, or sitting on the loo, with a cup to piss in because your name was randomly generated for a drug test.
You got used to seeing broken hearted girls, you got used to things. Sounds, smells, eyes that hid a thousand stories and eyes that hid nothing. Blank. Empty. In your darkest hour, you were strong enough to pull through into the next day, the next week, the next year. You heard stories worse than any horror film you ever saw, you cried yourself to sleep, woke up in tears and you still got through the day.
Michaela, for every single tear that you cried, you matched them with laughter. You met your best friends in that hell hole. For every problem that presented, you fought and you bloody won. For all of the people that reminded you of how many people return, you didn’t. For every sight that broke a piece of your heart, you still have one. For every person that tried to quiet your voice, its powerful. For every person who ever hurt you, Michaela, they helped you. Be thankful.
Today, I need you to know how strong you are and remind you of times you have proven it. Strength is waking up daily, knowing its going to be a battle. But you wake up anyway. Strength, is leaving someone you love with the pieces of your heart that you have left, because they don’t love you. Strength is the guilt you feel for leaving for work at 7am and not returning until 7pm, because you miss your daughter, but you go to work anyway. Strength is not knowing where you are going, but travelling anyway.
You are allowed to wobble, to worry and to be weakened. You are allowed to start, stop and then start again.
Remember this. You are more than nothing and how amazing is it, that the only number you can associate with now, is your university student number. Hold the pain close, as a memory not a burden. No-body knows you, like you know you. Girl, you got this, I know you.


Building me into a prisoner.

I have been pondering a blog for a few days now, wondering whether I have enough content and if the things that have been on my mind are even worth talking about, the fact that I havn’t stopped thinking about it tells me I need to write about it to get it off my shoulders.
We had a lecture on Crime, Mental Health and Substance Abuse. I have been in prison, witnessed hardcore substance abuse for 16 years and also endured the absolute torture of living with, loving and supporting my mum with mental health issues, I think its fair to say that what I am about to write, doesn’t come from an inexperienced, naïve view point.
A single word was mentioned in lecture, this word hasn’t left the back on my mind since I heard it. ‘Unsettling’. In context, the word was used in a sentence while discussing anxiety and depression. The fear of something unsettling the routine of daily living. I am no mental health expert and I do not have personal experience of any mental health problems, believe it or not. What I do have is a concern, when I think about the word ‘unsettling’ and while I consider the context I have been able to apply this to a part of my life that has only been recognisable and apparent since my release from prison.
Prior to giving examples of time where I have been unsettled, I have to say, they are not things I am proud of and writing this and admitting it, is hard.
Firstly, ill talk briefly once again about prison life, for me. Actually, It may be worth a brief, pre-prison first, to understand the change. Prior to prison I had a routine and structure, in general. This being, working at set hours, living with my daughter in our own apartment, socialising at certain times, even down to simpler things such as getting up and going to sleep around the same time each day. Such things that happened during the day that were not planned but equally not scary, happened. Things like unsaved and unknown numbers calling my phone, bumping into people at the shop or around town, hearing of arguments or disagreements between friends and friends of friends etc…These things happened, they still do. I have no reaction or thought to these situations being anything other than part and parcel of life, prior to prison. When my phone rang with calls I wasn’t expecting, I answered. With no such thought as, what are they ringing me for, what have I done/missed? When someone knocked on my door, I answered with little hesitation. I opened my curtains in the morning, I agreed to go out and do things with little thought and my ability to make quick decisions were not deflated.
Then I went to prison, my house was a cell, my family became prisoners and my jobs were not chosen but forced upon me. Settling into prison was somewhat easy, a forced routine with nothing productive. 8am, roll call outside my cell door. Off to work, then lunch, then work, dinner, gym, 8pm roll call, bed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Of course, things at times disrupted my routine but accepting I was in prison with no choice and no control, these unsettling phases were somewhat not unsettling, more like an inconvenience. In prison I had no decisions to make, maybe the living conditions were so unsettling I began to feel a sort of protection from a regime that ran from day to day, the same. I got used to seeing the same faces, I went to the gym with the same people, ate with the same people, slept and awoke with the same people.
There was a whole office in Drake Hall, full of staff sat at desks being paid to work in the office that was named ‘resettlement’. I can say from personal experience, they did no such thing. Maybe, they would be better renaming to ‘unsettlement’ and start preparing prison leavers for an unsettling life, at least they would then be doing exactly what they say on the tin. With no resettlement and no unsettlement, this is where I had a problem with the word ‘unsettling’. A regime and environment that doesn’t prepare you for release after forcing on you a period of your life where they are in command, is even unsettling to think about, but it is happening, and it happened to me.
I thought about 3 things, within 5 minutes of hearing the word ‘unsettling’. These situations, would have never had such an effect on me, had I not endured two years of decisions being made for me, not with me, about my own life.
1) Two years ago, around this time in December. I had worked from 8am until 8pm in a very busy retail shop, with less than a twenty-minute break. The shop was busy all day and by 8pm I was knackered. I needed to get home, make dinner, shower, sleep and be back to work for 8am the following morning. As I was walking from the shop to my car in freezing weather and almost pitch black, I noticed an old woman in front of me who had dropped her handbag, with the content of her bag and purse falling all over the ground. This lady was very old, frail and obviously freezing cold and not many people were around. I just walked straight passed her. I thought about stopping to help but because I didn’t anticipate this happening, I just panicked and walked off. After about 15/20 steps I looked around at her, kneeling to the ground and thought to myself, bloody hell Michaela, go and help her. I had an iphone with a torch, I was a lot more capable and able to be on the floor collecting this lady’s things. I turned around and walked back, as I got a few steps away from where the lady was, on the floor, she looked up at me, put her arm around her things on the floor as if to drag them all to her quickly and she looked terrified, shaking her head at me. That pissed me off. I was thinking, did she think I was going back to rob her? Does she know I was in prison? I know it shouldn’t of and I should have just said, ill help you collect your things. But, the look on her face after I had beaten my own battle in my head to go and help, was quite upsetting for me. Had this of happened before prison, I would have stopped to help, if the lady didn’t want help I would have left with no real irritation and I probably would have forgotten about the incident after two years. This one, stays with me.

2) Last year, I had dropped off my car for an MOT. I walked to my mum’s house over a railway crossing which lead to a field. Over the other side of the railway track, in my path on the way to my mums, was one of her neighbours who was on the floor after slipping and falling on some stones at the bottom of the crossing. I looked at her and saw her in pain with a swollen ankle but she didn’t see me before I saw her, so I looked at her, looked away and carried on walking. Nobody else was around and even as I was walking away I was screaming at myself in my head, ‘Go and fucking help her Michaela, she can’t bloody walk’. After walking for a minute or two, I turned around and walked back. I asked her is she was ok, helped her up and assisted in getting her home, she lived two bloody doors away from my mum. I still can’t believe I didn’t just stop straight away but this is how anything ‘unsettling’ to a planned routine now affects me.

3) In more recent times, I was at home pottering around the house after a visit from my mum. She had left and I was then home alone. After about twenty minutes I heard a knock on the front door. I ignored it, thinking my sisters were at work and my mum had just left. My curtains are closed indefinitely since my release from prison, so nobody could see in. I stood in the kitchen listening to the knocks. Finally, after a few minutes they went. About half an hour later, I realised my mum had left her phone, so I took it to her house and she told me she came back around and knew I was home but knew I wouldn’t answer the door if I didn’t know who it was, and she didn’t have her phone to call me as it was in my house and that is why she came back.

Now, I don’t know if little things like this affect people who have no mental health problems, who haven’t been to prison? I simply doubt it, I could be wrong. If we consider the amount of women who are in prison today, at least 45% of these women will have been assessed as suffering from anxiety. Personally, I don’t fear or feel anxious about situations that may present themselves, I simply lose my ability to act within seconds of seeing something that unsettles me. My quick decision making to act somewhat lacks in times when situations that present are unexpected. This I know, wasn’t a problem prior to prison.

Now I feel completely unsettled, knowing the resettlement office when I was in Drake Hall, wasn’t fit for purpose, knowing that I was settled prior to prison and now I live, not in fear but with an inability to make quick decisions in life’s unforeseen situations. I mean no harm by this and I know that what I am doing, when I do it, is not the right thing to do, that is why I have always gone back within minutes, however it is something that stays with me.

A system that creates, generates and thrives on the socially awkward, the system that disables you to make decisions, and the system that then sends you on your way, into a big unsettling world, I hate you sometimes, for the person you have made of me. In the moment when I walked away from a woman who was in pain and in need of help, I was too afraid to stop and help because you built a girl to survive in an environment that was hostile, harmful and to routine. You did that by instilling in me that my decisions were wrong, that I needed to think before I act and that wrong choices are so massively punishable. Do you even consider unforeseen events, such as a former prisoner seeing someone in need of help… you consider that prisoners, would actually stop and help someone in need, and if so, how is enforcing so many decisions on a person’s life considerate of a time, this person may need to make a quick decision to actually help someone. When you told me to think about my actions and to take time to make decisions, were you thinking about me walking passed an old woman in the dark who dropped her bag all across the floor, and needed help. How long would you have suggested I thought about how I should act? What programmes do you run for prisoners, to prepare them for life on the outside, apart from the course where you asked me had I even considered having sex with an animal, because I can honestly tell you now, that really didn’t help me at all in real life. What was the role of my probation officer in my transition from prison to returning home, apart from the threat of recall should I be late and miss an appointment, for the numerous times she did exactly that with no consequences. Are you taking away our minds, brains and abilities to act and live, in the hope that we return, to be another number on your treatment programmes that fail miserably?

To the system, in my own way to adapt and react to the environment you forced up on me, I fear that the damage you have done will be forever present. Habits learnt and thinking skills I needed to survive in prison, with no resettlement or help to reintegrate, have left me with a dysfunctional mindset which to the average person who hasn’t lived with that I have, doesn’t have.

Prison should have been the punishment, the resettlement office staff who are being paid, should have done their job and instead of giving me treatment with questions asking about sex with animals, when I was in prison for a single fight in a nightclub, as a teenager, you should have been more concerned with my release and preparing me, than you were for building me into a prisoner.

Not only a childhood of stolen dreams.

Following the lecture on Safeguarding children and my sub-sequential blog, I am here again to talk about a safe guarding vulnerable adults lecture. Again, this one hit me and at one point I almost had to take a break as my eyes were welling up (I am a big baby at times, I know). We had a guest speaker who works for a homeless day centre near me. He spoke about his work and the people he comes into contact with, what he also said was somewhat shocking and heart breaking, furthermore completely unacceptable. The man spoke of a career in teaching before working with the homeless, mentioning that a number of people who now access the homeless centre services, he knew from children at around age 8 and based on their upbringing and family circumstance, he could predict where they would be as adults. When will this prediction and aftermath stop, when will diversions, support, money and safe guarding be put into practice to STOP these children becoming “oh, its them I knew this would happen”. Like it can’t be stopped. It can be stopped, if people don’t sit back and accept that the fate of children has already been decided. If you are seeing a child in trouble, act. The hardest thing to do, the scariest thing to do and often, I am sure, the most ‘looked’ down on thing to in a professional environment is to say, ‘actually, this is not right, I can foresee a problem so I am going to do something about it’. What you may actually be doing, is enabling a vulnerable child to not become a vulnerable adult living a life of destruction, ultimately a period of criminality thus taking away the victim narrative as soon as the criminal label comes into play.
I don’t want this blog to be about children again but that is somewhat hard when I consider adults, from my own experience as a child and now an adult and for the women I spent two years in prison with. My last point I will make about children is this…. For anybody in a profession working with children who may from time to time suspect trouble and be nervous on how to respond, that is fine, it isn’t meant to be easy but I want you to consider this, if the child you see displays actions or behaviours that concern you, imagine for a minute that child is yours, in that moment in time you have a responsibility to protect that child and how would you feel if that was your child, and the school or whatever environment they were in were ignoring these signs. If your own child came home from school with bruises or a story of being bullied, I can hazard a guess that you would be at the school at the earliest possible opportunity to find out what had happened. Please do this for all children, not just your own. Bare in mind, children will come home from school and tell all of their days stories, if they have a safe and enabling environment to do so. Not all children have the luxury of this. Many children who are victims do not even know it. When abuse, neglect, harm and survival are normal, they will not tell you because to them, that is life. It’s embarrassing, it’s shameful and I would have rather suffered alone in silence than to speak a word of what was going on in my house.
It’s not surprising that children who suffer like this for years and years end up in prison. Who has taught them how to love and be loved, self-care, self-confidence. Who has taught them right from wrong, nurtured their talents, pursued their dreams, taught them how to take pride in their appearance, to be clean, to be healthy. In order to have a dream, ambition and find a talent, you need to have a chance to do so. Living in a house fuelled with hopelessness, waiting for giro day, shop lifting dinner, wearing dirty clothes and full of smoke and spoons with needles around, I didn’t have dreams, I didn’t even know what It meant to go out to work because I never saw it happen.
Now, I am not saying that other people’s behaviours are the reason I ended up in prison. That was my own doing. I was 19 and capable of understanding consequences. That wasn’t because I was taught in a stable environment. Here it may be worth adding, my first real experience of understanding consequences. I was about 6 and a family friend was buying and selling large amounts of heroin from a gang in Birmingham, using her profit to fund her own addiction. I lived in the house that this was happening in. Now, the ins and outs of this scenario are somewhat unclear because I was so young however I get the gist of what happened. The Birmingham gang arrived to the house to pick up some money and drop off some more drugs. I was there and so were 3 or 4 other kids. The adults went upstairs to do business. I recall some screaming and crying and the family friend running down the stairs screaming ‘they have robbed us’ I am having chills just writing this as I can remember it so clearly. A few people jumped in cars outside and attempted to follow the thief! Ironic if I say so myself. Upstairs there were the family friend, the gang from Birmingham and some other drug acquaintances who were always at the house using. Two of these people decided to steal the drugs and the money. I don’t know how they did it (thank god). After the commotion dies down we went to bed. Two weeks later, the house was the victim of an arson attack. That is how I leant consequences to actions. This family friend found herself in prison, she was the victim on addiction, a victim of serious domestic abuse and committed suicide on her release leaving behind two young girls. The father of these girls is in the tight grips of addiction still, 20 + years. In previous blogs I have mentioned visiting him in prison and having to take my knickers off so his young daughter could wear them.
While is it all well and good to say if you can’t do the time don’t do the crime but let’s consider a life with no love, no chances, no help and no direction. The women who I served a prison sentence with, were victims. I was a victim. Guess what happens when you enter the criminal justice system, if you can’t afford a barrister that Lavinia Woodward could afford. Your victim narrative is ripped up and put in the bin, you are no longer a victim of abuse, you are a criminal. This is you, now, forever. Who is being held to account for the protection failings I endured as a child? No body, because as soon as I was sentenced to a prison term, with no pre-sentence report to consider my back ground, my life or my circumstances leading up to my offence, my victim narrative was taken and replaced with criminal. Once again, leaving me with minimal opportunity, minimal hope and not only a childhood of stolen dreams, but an adult life aswell.

The Justice System!


Safeguarding in practice?

Today I had a three-hour lecture on safeguarding children. It was hard, emotional and thought provoking. A three-hour lecture hardly makes me an expert, I know. Nevertheless, it has enabled me to broaden my thinking, my questioning and my understanding of safeguarding, what it means in practice and times in my life that it has failed. We hear of child protection scandals, when cases like Baby P are publicised widely in the media, and rightly so. What we don’t hear about is how so many agencies miss so many issues and for what reasons and how as a society we have so many systems that should have child safeguarding at the forefront of their work, but don’t. From personal experience, this is my take on it….
We touched on interventions from local authorities for children in need. When I was born, I was a child in need. My parents were heavily drug dependant. I left the hospital, with them, with no intervention. I can’t remember a lot about my early years however it doesn’t take a genius to realise that with parents addicted to heroin, I wasn’t going to be adequately cared for without the possibility of significant harm. I assume I came into contact as a baby with various healthcare professionals, my parents encountered the criminal justice system and other agencies were involved around the drug issues. No protection, safeguarding or child welfare concerns from any of these people so far? None of these professionals considered that the children living in this environment were at risk of harm?
Let’s move on to Michaela, age 4. At this point in my life I started primary school. Often being the last child to be collected at the end of the day, often not doing homework, not bringing in the right books or P.E kit, not fitting in with the other kids, being tired, withdrawn, protective of my sisters. Bruised, late, problematic at times, phases of bedwetting and little to no parent interaction with the school. I don’t recall a single parent’s evening that my parents attended at primary school. None of these professionals who saw me on a daily basis at school thought that I was a child at risk of significate harm? They thought I had dyslexia, yes. I didn’t. They thought I slept heavy because I had phases of bed wetting, ok. But none of them raised any concerns over my welfare, my development or my safety? Through 5 or 6 years of this kind of behaviour in primary school, not one teacher considered the possibility that I was a child being abused, neglected or harmed?
Age 11-12 I started high school, often late, truanting, not doing homework, disruptive, tired. I don’t recall a single teacher throughout any time in my school days, asking me what was going on at home? I of course wouldn’t just tell them of my own back, because as far as I was concerned, my life was normal. At the age of 11,12,13 and so on, we don’t consider how our environment or circumstance will affect us in life. I was merely trying to survive. I remember going to the doctors and having a thyroid check around age 14, to see if that explained why I was always tired, my thyroids were fine they said, offering no other communication, asking no other questions or no other explanation as to why I was always tired. I was probably tired of life. Probably because I was a child experiencing significant harm to my development, wellbeing and safety, that every single teacher and doctor couldn’t see? Every professional that I came into contact with, missed?
I was often skiving school because I was so tired, I remember once leaving school to go to the common where I fell asleep for a few hours. I can remember now, waking up and thinking oh my god, have I really just fell asleep on the common? I had numerous detentions for skiving, nobody asked me why I was doing it, why was I so tired, what was going on?
In my later school years, I was going out clubbing, underage, often bumping in to teachers, I could probably name 5 straight of the top of my head. None of them raised any concerns as to why a 14-15yr old girl was out on a school night, drunk in a night club at 1-2am? I had my first tattoo, age 14. I remember showing it off around school, even to teachers. None of them raised any concerns as to why a 14yr old girl had come into school with a tattoo? By no means am I blaming anybody for my behaviour however if I look back at so many people seeing me on a daily basis and none of them even attempted any intervention of any kind, it’s sad. Sad for me on a personal level but utterly disgraceful in terms of child safeguarding policy. I was a vulnerable CHILD. A young girl living in hell, not only at risk of but actually experiencing harm, abuse and neglect EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY and guess what, not one of these professionals raised any concern that I was a child at risk of harm?
When I was 16 I was constantly ringing, turning up to the office of my mum’s drug worker, expressing concerns over mental health issues, providing evidence, explaining risk concerns. No one listened, no concern still, over my own wellbeing or safety. I was 16 and a child, being ignored when expressing serious, heart breaking concern of my mother.
Is in not the case, that all of the professionals knew I was at risk, knew I was experiencing these things, knew I was in need but chose to ignore it? Labelling me as a teenage rebel, a naughty girl, the black sheep was easier that recognising I was a CHILD, easier than flagging up a situation of a child at risk of harm and easier than dealing with a very troubled and traumatised young child.
As I look back on my life as a 27 year old woman, it’s becoming easier for me to recognise and understand how my experience, my life choices, my mistakes and my successes have built me into the person I am. I am happy, I am driven, I am pursuing education and opening up new paths for my future all of the time and I hate to look back on my life and think, What If? So, I won’t.
Maybe I am hoping, through this brief story of safeguarding, a professional may consider viewing these ‘rebels’ these ‘black sheep’ these ‘troubled teens’ as CHILDREN. Vulnerable, traumatised, exploited, neglected CHILDREN. Who don’t cry out for help, who don’t open up, who don’t seek support because they are merely trying to survive and are not considering how their experiences as children will shape their lives.
A lot of people could have, should have, and I am sure did, realise I was a child at risk of harm. None of them did anything, at all to intervene, to support or help me.
When I was sentenced to a prison term with no pre-sentence report, as the sole carer of my daughter, the judge had no consideration for the safeguarding, welfare or potential risk of harm to my child. When will this cycle stop?


My Contribution to the Westminster Legal Policy Forum.

I could come here and tell you story after story, from my own personal experience of being under the supervision of a probation officer, who time after time did everything she could to ensure through out my prison sentence I endured set back after set back, more trauma, more frustration and ultimately, no support, encouragement or rehabilitation what so ever, from the so called systems that took me in, owed a duty of care to me and for the two years I was in prison, the only thing they did for me was house me, feed me, have me take part in thinking skills programmes, that I didn’t need to do and ultimately, release me with £46 and my licence conditions in hand. On this, were 6 general conditions. I am going to read you the 6th.

“You must be well behaved. You must not commit any further offences or do anything that would ruin your chances of rebuilding your life and cause you to be sent back to prison”.

With all of the well known and well documented failing of the probation service maybe we all need to realise, that probation for the most part, is where a sentence is beginning to come to an end. In my case, after a custodial sentence. By the time a person is leaving prison, they should have been equipped with the resources they need, to enable them to adhere to the 6th condition on their licence. I don’t need to stand here and tell you that almost every prisoner being released from the absolute chaos of our prisons today, has not been rehabilitated, they have not been supported to change, the resources are simply not there for people, in the worst times of their life, to access.

I would be brave enough today, and stand here in front of you and say, before people even come into contact with the probation services, they have already been massively failed by many other services and systems that claim to have been put into place to protect, care and support people with serious vulnerability in society. This simply is not happening. With the probation service being under massive scrutiny I think we really need to consider and act on the failings that happen prior to a person coming into contact with The Probation Service. We need to ask ourselves, why are the courts sending women to prison, with no pre-sentence report, knowing she is the sole carer of a child. Why has the use of community sentences for women dropped by almost 50% in the past ten years? In 2016, 8447 women were sent to prison. 70% of these women were serving a sentence of 6 months or less. That is only enough time to lose a family home, to lose their caring responsibility of their children and cause more harm that what ever good prison could possibly offer which in a sentence of 6 months or less is no good what so ever. If we consider why so many women are committing petty crime like theft, we need to understand their life in poverty, with drug addictions and the majority with mental health problems. And then, judges need to realise that prisons are not places that can treat addiction or mental health problems, so this would completely disregard the supposed ‘rehabilitation’ aspect of a prison sentence, it would also completely disregard the supposed ‘public protection’ aspect of prison.

So, what are we using prison for? If a woman goes to prison for theft, for less than 6 months, there is no concern over public protection and there is no chance of rehabilitation, so why are so many women in prison now?

I see and hear, every day of budget cuts and no funding for services to help and support the rehabilitation of offenders. I also see and hear of government plans to build new super prisons and spend so much money on recruiting prison staff. The prison and probation service are collapsing right in front of us. People who work in the prison and probation sector go home at the end of their working day. They have a choice as to where they live, where they eat, when they eat, and what they do for a job. The men and women who are being ‘cared’ for and ‘rehabilitated’ in those failing systems, have no choice as to what happened to them. We are putting the lives of real people, with real problems, in the hands of prison and probation staff who have more concern over ticking boxes on various risk assessment forms, concern over personal safety in prison due to the massive staff shortage and volatile environment and more concern over managing high risk offenders at 139% capacity with 15 minutes, per week per offender, including paperwork. The concern for rehabilitation, for housing, for health care, for personal well being and development and for the end of what in many cases is a revolving door, in my opinion is non existent in our current justice system.

When people are being released from prison in a much worse state than how they entered, we have to ask ourself, what is our prison system doing? Instead of giving people the chances, opportunities and resources needed to be able to live in the community without reoffending, we are enabling the constant and overuse of prison, we are taking away service after service which supports rehabilitation and we are exploiting vulnerable, broken and unstable lives.

If courts are abusing their power, if the prison system is neglecting its duty of care and replacing rehabilitation with ignorance, punishment and an ineffective regime , it is no wonder the probation service simply cannot cope with the amount of chaotic lives they have to attempt to manage in the community.

We are incarcerating too many people, who don’t need to be in prison. We aren’t releasing people from prison, who could be, should be but won’t be released any time soon. We have over 3000 IPP prisoners, still in our prisons today, with no end in sight. Despite IPP sentences being abolished in 2012, we still have over 500 prisoners, who were given a tariff of less than two years, still in prison today, with over 250 of them having served 8 years over their original tariff. We have the highest rate in Europe, for prisoners serving Indeterminate sentences, and recently the media brought to attention the case of James Ward, who was given a 10 month IPP tariff far arson, with mental health problems, self harming and really struggling to cope in prison, why on earth was this young man in still in prison still 2017. Through interaction with men serving IPP sentences, we hear of reports put to a parole board stating things such as, concerns over managing the person in the community. Truth be told, the probation service today are struggling to manage every single offender in the community. If we have sentenced people to a prison term with no release date, they rightly so adapt to a life in prison, with the assumption that following and obeying the rules of the system with speed up the process of them retuning home, to the people who love them and will support them in the community. For a system for force a man to accept life in prison with a no date to ever return home, and then state in a report that they can’t be managed in the community is utterly ridiculous. We have given these men no hope, they do what they need to do on a daily basis to survive in a prison, which is their home and this really needs to be addressed.

The majority of services we have in this country for anybody involved in the justice system are not fit for purpose and are failing massively with drastic consequences. We need to stop using prisoners for profit. We need to invest in community sentences, houses, health care, education training and employment for people leaving prison. We need to support new initiatives from people with lived experience of the system failing and we need to stop blaming the probation service who are the last point of call for offenders who have probably been failed their whole life by services not working.

The Former prisoners, who have been released and rehabilitated through their own sheer determination not to be broken by a system so forcefully and vigorously hindering our progress, the former prisoners who are able to and want to offer support, encourage change and enable these things to happen, should be offered the opportunity to work alongside the prison and probation service, in paid mentor roles, to ease the current stain and pressure that the services are under. I see every day, former prisoners, with so much talent, potential and motivation to change the system for the better, for everyone. I don’t see, the prison or probation service, reaching out for any help or support from us, unless unpaid. We aren’t here, advocating for change, critiquing the system and addressing failings we have witnessed, just to pass the time. We want change, we need change and I am sure I say this on behalf of many former prisons who are on the same journey as me, we won’t stop until we achieve this change. For our own rehabilitation, for our communities and for the greater good of everybody who is somehow involved in the any part of the criminal justice system.





Perspective on Life at 10yrs old.

I havn’t blogged for a while…I have pondered over the last few days whether or not to expose certain flaws I am seeing on a daily basis. With mishaps that people are brushing off as ‘these things happen’. I have decided to wait with this one and see what happens… not because I want to but because the outcome of waiting will have more of an impact than me being impatient, as usual!
What happened to me today was something that I couldn’t leave, without writing it down. It was a moment that brought tears to my eyes, tears of pain and tears of joy and I don’t know in what order.
I was driving home today after collecting Crystal (my daughter) from school. We were having a general conversation about her day, I ask her did she eat all of her lunch? she says she can’t remember, I ask her what did she learn at school today? she says she can’t remember! She asks, mummy when we get home can I have a packet of crisps? I ask her, will you eat an apple?…. Same shit, different day! (I didn’t say that to her).
It was after that, she said “Mummy, I feel upset”. With her little voice sounding so vulnerable and her eyes filling up with tears. I asked her what was wrong with her and after a long pause she proceeded to talk about her perspective on life at ten years old, she said “I am just thinking about life, like why I am here? Will I just live and then die and just go to school in-between because I don’t want to just live to die and that makes me sad that I don’t know why I am here”.
This little girl caught me so off guard with such a complex issue and conversation, I told her that we are all here for a reason, and at the age of ten the reason is to enjoy being a child, enjoy being looked after by a parent that loves her and enjoy being with her friends and learning at school….she then said “Well, if that is true how come some children don’t have parents who look after them and some kids at school don’t like school!?”.
Why can’t I have a ten year old who wants to get home and play with lego or who’s only concern is what excuse she can use to get out of doing her homework but then I realised, on a daily basis she hears and sees me unpick every bit of information I have, she listens to me explain things, understand things and question things and today I have realised that at ten years old, she is doing the same and that makes me so proud of her.
I told her that sometimes parents are unable to look after, see or speak to their children due to circumstances that can not be helped. The ins and outs of what ever the circumstance doesn’t need to be spoken to Crystal right now. She went on to say “well, my aunty works in a bank and is a dogs mummy, and you are my mummy and you spend time helping me and helping everybody and my daddy makes parts for aeroplanes but I just go to school and I don’t think I have a reason to be here so today I spent my play time helping the dinner lady with the little kids at school”.
I told Crystal that I am very proud that she spent her time helping out with the little kids at school and its funny because I can remember being her age and at lunch time I used to go onto the little kids playground and help the dinner lady look after the little kids. I reminded Crystal that she is super talented in art, story telling, cartoon drawing and being annoying, and as long as we nurture her talents, during the progress of her life, she will find her purpose and the reason why she is here. She laughed and said “Ok mummy, as long as me being annoying and annoying you is a reason for me being here, that’s ok. What flavour crisps have we got at home!!??”.
I can’t stop thinking about why my child is wondering why she is here, but for my own peace of mind and so one day, Crystal can read this or listen to me read this to her, I am going to give my ten year old a perspective from her mother as to why she is here….

Crystal, if ever you need a reason to be here, for my own selfish reasons I am going to say you are here to keep me sane. Every morning I wake up and see you, I have a reason to battle on with another day. When I am tired, drained and upset, you sometimes say “Mummy, I will tuck you into bed tonight because I know you are so tired because you work for me and you always tuck me in”. If I sometimes shout at you for something little, because I am already annoyed about something else, when I apologise to you, you say “no worries mumma, I know you love me really, if you didn’t you would have sold me on ebay by now, can you actually sell kids on ebay?”.
You’re existence brings laughter, love and life into every person you meet. You are clever, cute, funny and a pleasure to live with, despite the fact that you somehow always need a poo when I am in the bath, I am sure you do that on purpose!
During your life, you will find your own reason for being here, until then, just know, the reason you are here now, is to keep your mother here, to keep her fighting, to keep her smiling and you are showing her the most important thing in life is laughing, at home, in our pjs, to stupid videos on youtube of kids guessing the ages of adults!
On your journey through life, in self discovery, in the realisations of this harsh world and all of the amazing places, people and experiences you will endure on the way, I will be right by your side or watching you from a distance (like I do when you play outside and I curtain twitch, and you get annoyed!).
Tomorrow, I hope you just want to go to school, come home, clean your room and watch a film to save me the stress of wondering why you are wondering about life! Save that for me, in case you haven’t realised it yet, mumma is working on a master plan.

Crystal, Love you Girl!

What do you have left, when it’s all gone?

They say, you don’t know what you have until its gone, maybe that is true but maybe what you have isn’t good for you, maybe its not enough for you, maybe its not pushing you, driving you or enabling you to grow… maybe what you lost was a job or a home, a family or a partner. Maybe you lost love or a friend. What if you lost it all?


I want to take myself back to a dark place, a cold late November evening in 2011. I was only 21. I arrived at HMP Eastwood Park with nothing but the white shirt, black trousers and heels I stood in. Blood shot eyes, tear soaked hair tied up on my head and a heart beating so hard it caused me physical pain. I was being processed into prison for a crime committed over two years before this date. Prison was going to be my home for the next two years. The memory of this evening isn’t clear, I recall a resounding thought in my head that kept repeating, years…..years……..years. I kept taking deep breaths and telling myself I didn’t get weeks, I didn’t get months, I got years. Still to this day, I struggle to come to terms with that. Even though I have completed my sentence, my license and moved on considerably with my life.
I lost my daughter, I lost my home, I lost my sisters. I lost my friends, I lost my job and in turn I lost myself.
What do you have left when it’s all gone?
‘Born alone, Die alone’ is a phrase often heard in the inside of a prison. It’s a tattoo you often seen on many a girl’s body. A message or reminder that we came into this world alone and we leave this world alone. These words probably ring in my head at least once a day, every day. When I am driving in my car and nobody knows where I am, when I am walking to uni with my headphones in, mentally planning my week, when I look at my phone at 8pm and realise nobody has text me today to see how I am, when I wake up alone at 6am for the tenth month of the year. This alone thing is real to me.
That is what prison gave me, when it took everything else. Time to be alone, to understand myself, to learn to be ok with feeling lonely, because like every good feeling in my life quickly passes, so do the bad ones. Being alone so long meant I overcame the feeling of loneliness and instead being alone turned into being safe, being powerful and in control of my thoughts, actions and intentions.
For two years I lived with no wifi, no internet access at all. No mobile phone, no sky TV or Netflix, no Spotify, no laptop, no ipod, no tablet. I lived with no family, no cuddles, no affection, no love. I lived without my nickname id been called since birth, I lived without hearing the words ‘mummy’ every day. I lived without happiness, without support, without encouragement. I lived without possessions, without money and for a period of time I even lived without hope.
What did I live with? I lived with sleepless nights, cold nights, noisy nights. I got to sleep to the sound of women crying, I got woken up by women screaming and I lived with women broken. My ears and heart got used to hearing stories of trauma, neglect and systematic failure.
It wasn’t for a few days I heard this, it wasn’t for just a few months I heard this. It was for years. It has been my whole life. Take away my freedom, take away my possessions, my family, my money, my home, my job, my name, my clothes…….take it all away, what did I have left when it was all gone? When I lost myself, when I was already damaged, broken and vulnerable and then I lost everything in the world that I owned and everyone in the world that I loved, what did I have left?
I had a fire in my soul. Losing myself and then having so much time alone, helped me to define, shape and develop and new me. New beliefs, new dreams, new ambition and a whole set of new life guidelines, developed in a prison cell that are still a major factor in my day to day life 4 years later.
Who am I with no money, no car, no home, no job, no family, no possessions? I am a bright, happy, feisty, 27 year old woman, who cares about people. I have morals, empathy for people who struggle with life, passion for change in a system I have witnessed failed and a great deal of gratitude for the small things in life. The people who smile at me when I pass, even if I don’t smile back. The people who start a conversation with me, because I often don’t start talking to people I don’t know. The people who stop their car in rush hour, to let me pass, even though they are probably late.
When prison took all I had, it taught me to be happy with nothing. I wasn’t going to be miserable for two years. Now I am able to find happiness in humanity, rather than with possessions. I find happiness in my home, with my child, lay in bed colouring in, rather than spending money taking her out. I find happiness in being able to not fit in, to not want to spend loads of money on shit that I really can’t afford to impress people who probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day anyway. I find happiness in my ability to embrace being alone, rather than feeling lonely, or needy, or that I want something more.
I have life, I have freedom and I have a daughter who tells me every day that she loves me and that she is proud of me. Maybe one day I will have more than what I have now, maybe one day I’ll have less than what I have now but my life and happiness will never again be defined by possessions, material things or anything that could be taken away from me.
What do you have left when it’s all gone?