Finding Freedom in Prison
“You are sentenced to 20 years.” Those are the words I heard from the judge in January 2019. The ride back from the courthouse to the jail was long and lonely, just watched as everything I knew passed by me in silence. Arriving back at the jail where I had just spent the last four months was different this time. It was final. This time, I wasn’t getting out. Entering through the sally port, they took the heavy, tight chains off of my ankles and the cuffs off of my hands. They put me in a small cell by myself to make sure I was mentally stable after getting such news. All I could hear was the guard’s keys and her asking me if I was OK, then the sound of the big metal door slams and locks. I was standing on a cold concrete floor, looking at the off-white concrete walls. Off-white only because they were dirty.
Left to my own thoughts, my life over, remembering all the ways I had been selfish, entitled, irresponsible, and just a complete and utter menace to society. This did nothing for the low self-esteem that already existed within me. Going straight into self-protection mode is how I coped, blocking out of my mind everyone I had ever loved and or hurt. The pain I had caused was too much and far too great for me to bear. Eventually making my way back to the dorm with the rest of the women. This was my life, eating three meals a day that sometimes didn’t even look like food I had ever seen, but it was food, and I was hungry, so I learned to like it. The guards counted us 6 times a day. Most of the girls there came and went. Some even came and went a second and third time. I learned to stay to myself and do my own thing, not getting attached to anyone because they would leave, and there I would be. This went on for about 2 1/2 years until, one day, I heard my name over the intercom system. With my name, there were the words bed and baggage. I knew what this meant. I was going to prison. It was bittersweet. I was going to get a little bit more freedom, but I was content where I was. Right now, things were familiar. The privilege of choice was not an option for me; I had to go. I felt the mixed feeling of being excited and scared at the same time in every inch of my body. Never having been to prison, I had just heard stories and got a few tips from the girls who had been there before. They told me to stay to myself and not to have a girlfriend because if you do, it would be nothing but drama.
When I got there, I quickly learned that was true. Prison is like a small town. Except in this town, it’s only women. Most of the women are not there because their crime was an accident. I was walking among some people who had committed horrific crimes. Murderers of parents, grandparents, and children. Robbers and acts that are so awful I can’t describe them. So, unlike the towns most people know, the town I now was a part of was fenced in with barbed wire on top of the fence. Inside the town were people who didn’t know how to live in the world and act appropriately. As soon as I got into the gates, all eyes were on me. I know now what they were thinking. Who is the new arrival? That I was fresh prey, literally. Because of my previous life on the streets and what had been told to me, I knew not to get into anyone’s business. Don’t share my opinion. Don’t make eye contact. Be quiet; short answers are the best. So that is what I did. At this point, just wanting to do my time and go home is what was most important. Inside this small town of prison, there is a very small community of people who want to do something different. They want to recover and learn how to live a better life. Learning this, I immediately got into a substance abuse program, SAP for short. This was a safe place behind all the wire that surrounded me. At the time, I only wanted to be there because it was more controlled and structured. If you weren’t in the program, you were not to be in the area. I was willing to do and try anything that would get me away from trouble. The program is 6 months long, so that meant I only had six months before I was to be thrown to the wolves again. I learned while in this program that if I got honors (good points for behaving), I would go to another dorm of only women who also had honors. To me, this meant safety. A relief that slowed down the jackhammer that was in my chest. So, I played the role and did what I was supposed to do. To my surprise, I started to learn things about myself, things I never realized before and ways to work through them. My hurts, habits, and hang-ups that led me on this road of misery were, for the first time in my life, starting to rise to the surface. I had no other choice but to work through and deal with them.
While in the program, I did make one friend; her name is Rhonda. Rhonda loved God. If someone asked her how she was doing, she would always say, “I’m blessed.” At the time I didn’t understand that. She was in prison–how was she blessed? Spending 24 hours a day seven days a week with her, anything and everything she would talk about was about God and how he would want it. Thinking to myself, yeah, yeah, yeah. In one ear and out the other. I didn’t know at the time that even though my mind didn’t know what she was talking about, my heart was taking it all in and storing it up to be brought out later.
Six months passed quickly, faster than any of the time had in the past three years. I was learning so much. Graduation came, and it was time to leave once again. I had no choice. Arriving at the honors dorm. It was big. Three hundred people in the unit, all with honors, but still not letting my guard down because the reality of what a lot of them are capable of is still reality. Each room had a bunk bed, so everyone had a roommate. My roommate was an elderly woman. She had already been there half her life. Not knowing anything about her, only that she seemed sweet until I found out she wasn’t. Asleep on the top bunk, I would wake up to her standing at the bed facing me and just staring into my eyes when I would open them. What could be done, nothing? We were locked in the room. So I just lay there awake night after night. Until about a week later, not to my surprise, only my shock, she had been hiding a razor in her stuff and went to the day room and cut a girl’s hair off. Staff came in and searched all of her belongings, finding the razor blade along with the girl’s hair that she was saving. She moved out, and another girl moved in. Two weeks passed, and I heard my name over the loudspeaker again. This time, though, I didn’t know why. I was to report to a building called Operations. The only thing I knew of this building is that when you’re in trouble, that’s where you go. Fear went through my body like a lightning bolt would go through the sky. Except it didn’t disappear–I felt it the whole walk there. When I arrived, I was told to pack my stuff because they were moving me again. Not to another dorm but to a different prison. Anxiety replaced fear. I was moving to Western Kentucky. It was 3 1/2 hours away, and I didn’t even have time to call my family. They just packed us up, put us on a bus, and shipped us out like cattle. No choice.
A little over 3 1/2 years of being locked up and tossed around. No one discussed anything with us. If you had any questions, they were not answered. There was never any explanation for why anything was happening. I was expected to do what I was told, how I was told, and when I was told, being dehumanized, to say the least. I had learned to just walk with the herd like an animal.
When I first arrived, I was scared all over again. I came to find out that this prison was the best thing that could have happened to me. I got into some classes and met some good girls. See, this prison wasn’t behind a fence; it was a work camp. Only the female prisoners who had really good behavior got to go there. It was a third of the size of the prison I had just come from. I was able to work a real job. Taste a small slice of freedom after so many years. This is when I started to thank God. In the beginning, it was a small thank you. I saw that the girls here were really into God, and they really seemed happy. I wanted that. I wanted what they had. A true sense of peace. So, I did what they did. I watched Joel Osteen, Steven Furtick, and Joyce Myers, not just listening to the messages, but hearing them. Everything that has been happening is all connected, and I knew God was preparing me for something greater. Helping people the way I had been helped over all these years, starting with the help I got from the Wanda Joyce Robinson Foundation when I first got to jail four years earlier to everything I learned in the programs. Realizing God never left me, I just wouldn’t open the door to let him in. When I finally let him in, things got brighter, brighter in the way I saw things, felt things, heard things, and even the way I spoke.
Everything Rhonda had been saying came back to me. I decided to read the Bible and read it all the way through, digging deep, as deep as I could on my own. The Celebrate Recovery program came to prison, so I joined. I started to do everything the way God would want me to do it and trusted him to guide me in this new journey. One day, while on the track walking, trying to be positive and improve my life, I came across the song called Changed Man. Hearing the words from this song put all my thoughts into perspective.
oh so lost, now I’m found
Now I see what love can do
Be the light, and change the world
You are more than a conqueror
Don’t give up, you’re not alone
Keep on pushing cause you’re oh so strong
Yeah, I made it
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, I made it
Now I’m living free, doing me, loving life like I’m
supposed to.
This is me, this is who I am, and what I have become–true peace and freedom are what I have found through God. I found freedom while I had no freedom. I am now out of prison, so the beginning of this paper is the end of one story, and the end is the beginning of another.
-Looking back yeah my past was blue
oh so lost, now I’m found
Now I see what love can do
Be the light, and change the world
You are more than a conqueror
Don’t give up, you’re not alone
Keep on pushing cause you’re oh so strong
Yeah, I made it
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, I made it
Now I’m living free, doing me, loving life like I’m
supposed to
Leave the past behind, don’t rewind like I told you.
Cathy was one of our first families to receive in person visitation with her daughter because of Wanda Joyce Robinson Foundation efforts. She now works in the Wanda J office, a weekly reminder of full circle moments and the importance of the work we do. We appreciate her being brave and sharing her story here.