After I hold a session in the prison or juvenile hall, I try to I make an effort to debrief the experience with myself. Being in a heavy setting for a long period of time tends to leave me feeling exhausted beyond belief. Could it be the simple fact that I’m in a completely locked down facility that is drab to nauseam and filled to the brim with people who are screaming for their lives, literally and figuratively? Likely. But as someone whose empathy often carries a detriment to my own mental and physical health, I HAVE to talk about. Throughout my personal experiences, interviews with psychologists, endless behavioral health textbooks, and my own research, I’ve learned about the significance of Vicarious Trauma and how important it is to address it before it takes you out.
The best way I have found to do this is through voice memos. On my way home from a session, I will turn on my phone recorder and ramble about the experience I just had. I haven’t listened to any of these memos until today – I randomly chose this entry, cleaned it up (a lot) and thought I’d share.
Recorded on December 16, 2024 after leaving the prison; all names are changed for confidentiality.
It has been some time since I’ve debriefed this way. My debriefing looks a little different, mostly writing about it but tonight it feels important to talk to myself in the car like a weirdo. Anyway, it is December 16th, 2024.
I’m on my way home from [prison] after a session. It’s definitely one of those days where it was kind of hard for me to get motivated or excited about going inside tonight.
My body kind of feels like it’s shutting down on me; like I’m getting some sort of sickness feeling. My ears hurt, my throat is scratchy, but it’s been about a week and it hasn’t really surpassed that.
I finally started feeling better today. I’m not sleeping and that’s definitely an issue but overall, I’m entirely spread too thin and I’m thinking about Christmas and scenarios that may or may not happen – which was actually a topic of conversation in the session tonight. We dove into the “what ifs” in life. I always feel guilty about sharing any struggles I’m having because how dare I? How dare I even remotely complain about life when I’m able to leave and they have to stay?
They shared their “what ifs” as more like: What if I never parole? What if life in prison really means LIFE in prison? What if I never reconcile with my family? All these really scary and legitimate concerns they have. But what was interesting is that they quickly turned it around to what if I do get out of prison? What if I do graduate? What if I do see my family again?
I’ve never committed a felony crime, and I’m not incarcerated, so what do I say? I struggle with this often. Do I lie and say all is good and move on? Or should I be honest and tell them that I’m having a really hard time and can’t really think of a time where my stress wasn’t completely maxed out and my body is so damaged from things I’ve done to it? I don’t share too much during group because it’s not about me, and let’s be honest, it’s still prison, and remaining as vague as possible is important for my safety. But really, I think negatively plenty on my own and so do they.
I think I know that they don’t want me to sugarcoat things, and I know that they don’t want me to censor what I’m feeling. They’re not stupid. actually, they are some of the most academically and emotionally intelligent people I know. I feel like I’m doing them a disservice by not being genuine or not being as vulnerable and open as they are [within the boundaries of protecting my personal life]. I’m trying to work on being more honest with myself, but I’m also very aware and conscious of never being so out of touch by trauma dumping and falling victim to naivety.
As I continue these programs, I’m noticing more and more how out of touch some people [volunteers] can be when interacting with the incarcerated. Don’t get me wrong – most [definitely not all] are going in for the right reasons and doing wonderful work in advocating for prison rehabilitation and healthy human connection. Others are social justice warriors who prefer their ego to be continuously stroked by a vulnerable population. [No one I currently work with behaves like this – but someone who has entirely too much presence in the prison does. Thankfully, I got out of that nightmare ASAP]. BUT, I do notice the fine line that is often blurred between respecting an incarcerated person as a human being but still respecting that unfortunately, they are incarcerated with many rules, restrictions, and repercussions they have to deal with on the daily. This is prison. A crime was committed. Geez – not to get all serious here, but it bothers me sometimes. Maybe it’s my background in working on the custody administration side that gives me a little extra understanding or, I guess, reality check? Anyway, that can be something I can ramble about later. Yeah, I need to write that down…
So, the group that we have right now is really amazing and productive. There are usually two guys [incarcerated] that take turns facilitating, and they’re so incredibly different in many ways – specifically how they were raised and what their journey to prison and journey in prison looks like. However, their experiences are also parallel with similarities in a lot of ways. Both are essentially serving life sentences, and both have had very challenging childhoods from what they’ve shared.
Let’s start with [A].
What I admire most about [A] is although you can see in his body language that he likely wants to burst from the inside out – he is completely engaged, listens entirely, and interacts with every single prompt he shares at every single session. He makes the most effort to reach any and every person who has either been in group consistently or someone who is joining us for the first time. He makes the most incredible efforts to accommodate everyone’s feelings while making sure that everyone has the group’s undivided attention and is completely heard.
[A] wants to do so much good, so bad. He’s working towards a better life and still has a ton to learn, as we all do. I don’t doubt that whatever is put in front of him – good or bad – in this life, he’s going to make it work. I do worry about people like [A] who have so much optimism and expectation of a successful life when the outside world is truly fucked. I don’t know – and again, this is me being entirely too realistic and not as hopeful in my own life. He’s doing exactly what he should be doing to prepare for redemption, reentry, and living honestly. All with a shitload of hope.
Then, there’s [B].
He’s very, very young and very different from [A] in a lot of ways. I’d say that he’s a 20 something-year-old young man and also an optimistic being. He’s hopeful, he’s happy, he’s accountable, engages incredibly but not too delusional, and will share when he’s having a hard time.
He makes an effort to talk to every single person in the room, even if it’s for just a second with complete eye contact and the real feeling that he’s listening [something to be aware of in prison when divulging any information]. His attention to detail is pretty impressive – especially when he notices someone is showing body language that screams discomfort. He gently pushes others to participate but in a way that makes you want to share a story. While he’s as light-hearted as could be, he’s deeply hurt by his past and often shares the challenges of watching the world go by while he’s inside. ]B] is physically present less than [A] and apologizes profusely when he returns after missing a session. In juvenile hall, most time when a youth isn’t present, they have other obligations or they were released. In prison, it’s more of an eerie feeling – kind of a “don’t ask, don’t tell” situation. Which reminds me of a third person that I’m actually pretty worried about.
We’ll call him [C].
I have yet to have an actual conversation with him because of how recluse he is. He’s attended a few sessions and will speak on some topics (mostly when asked to participate) but never really pushes back.
Like many newcomers, I can tell they aren’t too stoked on being there whether it be a social insecurity, the fact that myself and another female facilitator are there, or they just simply have a hard time sharing anything. All of which are super valid. But I try to make it a real point to acknowledge that I see that they’re there and thank them for coming. [C] is small in stature, tattooed, very mysterious. He’s very quiet and completely bound into himself. He very candidly let everyone in the group know that he is having a hard time in prison; particularly now because of the holidays, and he’s away from his family. He also felt comfortable enough to let us know when he’s sober and when he’s relapsed. Most often, we can tell before he tells us, but I appreciate his honesty. I can’t help but feel like he falls through the cracks; forced to just exist in this system when really he needs proper help.
Regardless, he shows up and often doesn’t stay the whole session. Tonight, he was visibly agitated [restless not aggressive], visibly uncomfortable, he was very pale, he very well could have used recently, or maybe going through withdrawal – I don’t know. He didn’t tell us this time. Not sure if that’s concerning or not.
Substance use is rampant in and out of prison. In my county alone, it seems that there are constant reports of very young children, including babies, being exposed to Fentanyl and it killing them. Babies! It finds its way inside the innocent and any and all bystanders.
It leads to my constant worry of what this line of work will do to me but then I have to check my fucking self and acknowledge the importance of getting at least one fucking person out of the most destructive parts of life; just as I needed someone to do for me. I have to at least try, right?
I’m involved in a couple different programs right now – aiming to do my part in this life – mentoring myself through this work since I have yet to meet someone I can trust and feel guided by who shares the dual respect for humanity and the system [still acknowledging the many flaws]. I’m spread too thin and I’m feeling it. I continuously choose to take on as much as I can, mostly because I have the hardest time saying no, but because it’s easier to try and find answers or solutions for others since I can’t seem to find them for myself. I say this a lot but I sure do wish I had some sort of confirmation on the direction I’m taking. It’ll come in time.
Anyway, that was today’s session and I’m starving.
E
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