Season 2 and Helpful Tools to Alleviate the Stress of Having a loved one in Prison

 

Visiting a loved one in prison is very stressful because you don’t know if you’ll be able to see or be allowed to visit your loved one, what the visit is going to be like, how the guards are going to treat you, and how hard it is to see and leave your loved one. Welcome to Season 2 of Prison: The Hidden Sentence. In this season’s first podcast, Julia Lazareck shares what it was like to visit her brother in prison. She also speaks with Jolyn Armstrong from The FOTA Project (Families of the Accused) who shares her story and tools to help alleviate stress. You can learn more about the effects of incarceration on families and gain helpful information from the Prison: The Hidden Sentence book. Books can be purchased on Amazon.

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Season 2 and Helpful Tools to Alleviate the Stress of Having a loved one in Prison

Welcome to Season Two that will be filled with more stories from people affected by incarceration. Information for the outcarcerated, those on the outside that are serving their sentence with their loved one and ways to prepare for your loved one to come home. I’ve taken the information that I’ve learned from personal experience and from speaking to hundreds of other people that were affected by incarceration and put it into a book of the same name, Prison: The Hidden Sentence. When my brother was incarcerated, I was serving the sentence with him. However, I didn’t realize it. There are millions of people out there serving the sentence on the outside and not talking about it. I was one of those people and it wasn’t until my brother served his sentence that I started talking about it.

I want to kick off the second series by sharing a part of my story about my visits, things that I didn’t talk about in the book. My brother was sentenced to a life sentence after being convicted of having sexual relations with a minor, something that he denied until the day that he died. He died in prison from hepatitis C after serving fifteen years. We’ll never know what happened and that’s not what I’m here to talk about. Any assault is not acceptable and I’m not condoning what did or did not happen.

My purpose is to bring to light the plight to the families and friends on the outside. I visited my brother as much as I could over the years. However, the 3,000-mile flight and cost made it hard to visit a lot. All of the years were hard. I’d like to tell you about a visit with him after he’d been incarcerated for six years. Even though it was many years ago, I still remember it clearly like yesterday. From speaking to others, things haven’t changed much and you may be able to relate to this too.

“I enter the building. There are two female officers in the control room. They take no notice of me. There’s supposed to be officers at the check-in table. I’m told at 8:15, they show up at 8:30. While I’m waiting, a young woman walks in all smiley and bubbly. She says that she goes to a state college and tries to visit her friend once a month. It’s a four-hour drive. She says that they’re just friends. She says that she comes up here so often that the lady at the gas station knows her and always gives her change. You can only bring $1 and $5 bills into this facility.

Sometimes the change machine doesn’t work so it’s best to bring $1 bills. She also says that she always wears flip-flops and the guards always tease her. This morning, it’s cold out and she’s wearing uncomfortable boots. She said that’s all that she had in the car. It reminds me of the time when a woman was dropped off and the guards wouldn’t let her in because she was wearing shorts. If you’re wearing something that the guards don’t feel is acceptable, they can deny your visit. For this woman, luckily, I had my suitcase in the car and I gave her a pair of jeans that she could wear over her shorts so that she could visit her friend.

I get checked in and I’m the first person in the waiting room. The loud clank of the door closing does not bother me anymore. I don’t cry while I’m waiting anymore. Although I’m not religious, I say a prayer for strength before my brother gets there. On busy days, the vending machines empty quickly. I survey all the machines and I make my selections. I haven’t been here in nine months and I noticed that all of the machines are new. Now, they have fruit and water. I’m pleased with these new selections. I first select Munchos because this is what we always start with. I then get some of the fruit. A new machine with coffee and hot chocolate provides me with a warm drink while I wait.

During previous visits, you had to check out a deck of cards when you got there. Now there’s a table that has toys and cards. There are things that the kids can do when they’re there. I take a deck of cards for us to use. I drink my hot chocolate and play solitaire while I wait. Even though I was there first, my brother arrived second. I noticed that the girl who’s visiting her friend gives him a big kiss and hug when he arrives. I wonder if she wants to be more than friends and that’s why she visits often. It’s not my business.

When I see my brother, I walk up to him and give him a big hug. I make the extra effort of going to him instead of waiting for him to come to me because I want him to know that I’m glad to be there. I selected chairs on the far end of the room, away from the guards. I always try to get as far away from the guards as possible so we’ll feel like we’re having at least a little bit of privacy. Even though the tables are lined up cafeteria-style, they’re very close together. During the first four hours of the visit, we play cards and talk. We catch up on people’s lives, what I’ve been doing, what he’s been doing. He always says that things are the same for him.

Isolation can be as distressing as physical torture. Share on X

Once he starts talking, he does have a lot to say. He works in the law library and he helps a lot of people. He’s a short man. I believe that he gets by on his brains. It’s a tough place to be. I’m sure that the inmates that I see in the visiting room with their friends and family carry a different persona on the inside. I’m now used to the children running around, the couples holding hands, families sitting together and telling stories and laughing. It doesn’t seem weird to me anymore like it did in the beginning. We all smile at each other knowing that we’re all in the same boat.

I’m also used to all the different types of people here. Some of these people, I wouldn’t have given the time of day to in previous years. If there’s a lesson here is that we are all truly the same. Some may make more money, some may wear nicer clothes and some may have closer family ties, but none of that matters here. We all have a loved one in prison that we’re visiting and trying to make the best of our time with them. Nothing else matters at this time. There are no televisions, no radios, no cell phones and no distractions. It’s time to make the best of the only time that you have to spend with your loved one. My brother purchased picture tickets for us. He does this every time I visit.

The photographer arrives with the Polaroid camera and takes two pictures, one for my brother and one for me. We view the pictures when they’re developed and they came out good. I could put my arm around him, but he had to stand straight up with his hands in front of him. He looked kind of rigid, but it’s a great picture for us. I won’t put it up at my house because he’s in his prison uniform, but I will put it in a special place where I can see it. We have to place the pictures on the guard’s desk so we can retrieve them when we leave. After the first four hours, he gets down to business and tells me what he knows that I don’t want to hear. He tells me how miserable and unhappy he is.

He tells me that no matter how much he tries, he can never be right, that this place is intolerable. He talks about the kids in there and how they come in for a year or two and think it’s a game. He tells me about one twenty-year-old who said it was fun. In all my brother’s wisdom, he knows that this young man will be back again and it will not be fun. I try to offer advice on how to make the best of it. I talk about finding his purpose in life no matter where he is. I remind him about all the people that he’s helped in the law library. I know this doesn’t offer a lot of condolence to him, but it’s the best that I can do. He doesn’t tell me how horrible it is on the inside, but I have spoken to others and read a lot of stories written by inmates.

I cannot imagine what life is like, but I try to keep a positive attitude. It’s not difficult leaving on a Saturday because I know I’ll see him again tomorrow. It’s Sunday that I dread when I know that I will not see him again until the next visit. He told me that it’s nice knowing when he’s going to get a visit, but the downfall after I leave is terrible. We discussed me coming to visit more frequently if I lived closer, but he said that it wouldn’t make a difference. That he would be more depressed every time I left. In addition, there’s no assurance he’ll stay at the same facility anyway. They can move him anywhere.

I collect the pictures that we’ve taken this day, and he collects his. He goes back to his cell and I go back to my hotel. I try and understand this life. I remember the first visit. It was tough. The first visit is a test of strength, character and knowing who you are. It helps if you talk to others and learn what the rules are before you visit. On Sunday, I arrived at 8:00 AM and there are already visitors waiting outside the office. The guards are changing shifts and they walk by and say hello. One guard suggests that we sit in our car and wait because they won’t let us in until 8:15.

The gentleman who is waiting tells him that they dropped him off and he doesn’t have a car. The guard walks away. The gentleman tells me, “He’s a mean one.” I guess he’s had encounters with him before. Another man joins us in a few minutes. He’s driven eight hours the night before to see his nephew and he stayed in a local hotel. The next person to arrive is the girl that I spoke to yesterday that drives four hours for the visit. I asked her if she had fun with her friends last night. She said she had too much fun. She was having a rough day.

We make small talk. At 8:15, no guards have come out yet. I go in and ask them if they’re ready for us and they say yes. I tell the people that were waiting in front of me to go in. There are different guards today. They’re not as nice as the guards that processed us yesterday. Now, I have to remove my jacket and my boots. I have to lift my feet and my hair, get patted down, pull out my bra and wait for them to tell me to proceed to the next step. The male guard is having problems verifying my identity. He’s not very patient.

 

I’m finally verified and escorted with the others to the waiting room. I get a hot drink and start playing cards. My brother comes up behind me. He’s the first to arrive this time and I didn’t expect him so quickly. I hug him and we sit down and talk. I tell him what I did last night and we surveyed the vending machines together for breakfast and lunch. This is a routine that we began to establish. Playing cards is new to us. It was very enjoyable so we played another round of Rummy into 1,000 points and he wins again. We make small talk. We caught up on mostly everything. As the day wears on, he gets more bitter. This visit is difficult for both of us. He cannot cry when I leave so he has to become more removed and more angry with the situation to start building his wall.

I talk about my house and ask him questions about the facility and life there. He answers them and adds on to everything how miserable he is. It’s tough for me to listen but I have to. I’m a captive audience. I will not see him for another 6 to 9 months. I not only have to listen, I want to listen. I know there’s nothing I say will help. He’s not looking for answers from me. He’s talking to fill the time and build his wall before he has to return. This is his coming downtime. I am strong when I’m there and I’m proud of myself for being strong. After we finished playing cards, we come up with a schedule for the rest of the day.

The plan is to go through count, go outside with the smokers during the smoke break so that we can enjoy the beautiful day. It’s a lot warmer now. Then we’ll make one last run through the vending machines for his exit meal. That’s what we call it. We’ll talk and then I’ll take off for the airport. The plan goes flawlessly. We walk up to the guard desk to let them know that I’m leaving. I give him one last hug and I tell him I’ll talk to him on Tuesday. I’m doing fine. As soon as I walk away, that’s it. All the strength and willpower are gone. I try not to cry as I leave, but it’s useless. It’s too hard to leave, but at least he didn’t see me cry.

The guard that escorts me out, she knows. She said, “It’s hard to leave.” I nod my head and sign out. She says goodbye and tells me to drive safely. I cannot talk. I’m trying to keep my composure. I wave and leave. It doesn’t matter how many years I’ve been coming here. Leaving is the hardest part. I drive carefully and make it to the car rental return. They drive me to the airport and I go through security at the airport. The TSA employees here have the same persona as the guards that I left. I get pulled aside for the full treatment.

As they are wanding and patting me down, I fight hard to keep the tears from falling. It figures that all my strength is tested when I’m the most vulnerable. I make it through security and arrive home safely. Having a loved one in prison and visiting prison can be stressful. I wish I had ways to deal with the stress and tools to help. I’m learning from others and speaking to others of ways to alleviate and help the stress, and tools that could have helped me and can help you too.

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Thanks, Julia. I appreciate it. I’m thrilled to be here.

Radical acceptance is sitting back and accepting where you're at, where your loved one is, and the situation you have to deal with. Share on X

The tipping point was the day I received the phone call from my son and hearing the words I didn’t ever want to hear and that was, “Mom, I tested positive.” That was difficult. That day, the reality hit me. Throughout 2020, wardens across the country had to make drastic changes in how they run their facilities. Most have ultimately locked all inmates in their cells indefinitely, and letting inmates out only for a short period of time once every three days or so to shower and make a quick phone call. Regular testing has been made available. Once or twice a week, many facilities are bringing in National Guard troops to test all the inmates for COVID. Three days later, when the test results come in, the National Guard troops come back and scoop up anyone who’s tested positive and they remove them from the population.

Many prisons are using the SHU or the Special Housing Unit, commonly called the hole to isolate those who have tested positive. These units are set up perfectly for isolation. That’s how we punish those difficult prisoners in our prison system. We isolate them. It makes sense to use these cells for contagious inmates during a pandemic. The problem is that these inmates are being housed in the most severe isolation possible for doing nothing more than catching a virus that they couldn’t avoid. The conditions are harsh. The cells often don’t even have electricity, other than maybe an overhead light, which is turned on and off automatically from outside the cell. Inmates who are being punished in the hole often also lose their phone privileges.

These units rarely have operating phones. Now, our sick loved ones are isolated with no access to music or television, with no access to their coffee makers or anything like that and no way to call anyone. They only have contact with other human beings during maybe food deliveries and temperature checks. The effects of isolation have been extensively studied according to the Journal of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law, isolation can be as distressing as physical torture. That’s my tipping point right there. The isolation that I knew my son was facing, how do we deal with these circumstances our loved ones are in? They may have made decisions in their lives that landed them in prison, but in this case, they did not make decisions that justify isolation and added punishment during an illness that they couldn’t avoid.

Radical acceptance is the first tip I want to share. It’s first on purpose and I’ll let you know why. The reality is the fact is our prison systems were far from perfect before the pandemic. Our loved ones who are incarcerated face all kinds of issues in prison that go beyond what their sentence should be. Work is being done on many fronts to change many aspects of our legal system, but that takes time. If you have a loved one in our imperfect pre-pandemic system, your loved one is now in a worst system, even if temporarily. It’s important to be able to accept the conditions your loved one is dealing with and find ways to make the best of it. Radical acceptance is that. It’s sitting back and accepting, “Here’s where I’m at. Here’s where my loved one is. This is the situation we have to deal with.” Accepting the situation is the doorway to finding peace and serenity without guilt during a difficult time like this.

Especially during this time, during the pandemic, but anytime during a loved one’s prison sentence, there may be long stretches of time where you can’t hear from them. They can’t contact you. The pandemic is a real concentration of that. If they’re in the SHU and they don’t have access to a phone, but also if the prison is on lockdown for any reason or if they’ve been transferred and you don’t know that. There are stretches of time where you’re not going to be able to hear from them or know what’s going on with them. You have to have that patience to understand the information will come. It will come, it will be there.

 

In the meantime, what can we do when we’re stressed out when the phone doesn’t ring or when we check the mail and there’s not a letter? What can we do to be okay during those times? Over the top patience I think is a virtue that we need to embrace during these times. There is an exercise that I teach a lot of my clients. I call it the power of threes. There’s a real reason for that. It’s three easy steps, done three repetitions of each. Julia, would you mind doing a bit of this with me?

I use this with my clients, especially this is helpful if you suffer from panic attacks, which I hear a lot of people, the stress level is high when you’re worried about a loved one who is incarcerated. It can lead to panic attacks or near panic attacks. This is helpful at any time when your anxiety is high. In the power of threes, the first one is to take three slow, deep diaphragmatic breaths. I’m going to explain diaphragmatic to you because it might not make sense otherwise. Oftentimes, when people take a deep breath, you’ll notice your shoulders going up as your lungs fill, but with a diaphragmatic breath, your shoulders stay relaxed and low and instead, your stomach moves out. This opens up your lungs to the bottom part of your lungs. It’s very deep and cleansing as opposed to the raising of the shoulders where it can cause an increase in stress. Shoulders low and three deep breaths. Put your hand on your stomach to remind you for your stomach to move out.

Taking those deep breaths already knocks the intensity down of any stress level. The next step is simple. Number two is to name three things around you using descriptive language. I look at the room around me. I have a window, there’s a business sign across the street from me and it’s red. In this room, I see a shiny black camera and there’s a printer with some paper in it. Three things that are around me. It’s not the things, but I described them. I’m not paying attention to what they look like. That’s step number two. It’s breaking that stress cycle in your brain and it’s bringing you back to where you’re at.

Step number three is to name three qualities about yourself. It’s important that these are qualities and not criticisms, which we’re all good at. I am a great listener. I am very patient and I am annoyingly positive. That’s the whole exercise. Three slow, deep diaphragmatic breaths, hand on the stomach, name three things around you and describe them, and name three qualities about yourself, the power of threes.

Anytime you feel your stress level rising when it’s dealing with our prison system or in any other case, stop and practice the power of threes. It’s an easy thing to keep in your pocket. One thing that this helps with in this situation when we’re supporting somebody in prison is if we can maintain a more even stress level, it’s easier for us to remain upbeat when we are able to talk to our loved ones. Do this as often as you need to between calls and it’s going to help you find that calmness. When the call comes in or when it’s time to write a letter, you’re able to be positive and upbeat, and supportive.

Accepting the situation is the doorway to finding peace and serenity without guilt during a difficult time like this. Share on X

That’s another tip because staying in touch with your loved one is super helpful with a stress level, with maintaining your own calmness too. When you know that you’re staying in touch with them and they’re staying in touch with you. In this case, especially if they don’t have access to phones now, we haven’t been able to visit our loved ones in person for a super long time and even video visits aren’t great. In the places that they are available, the technology is not great for some reason. Writing letters is the way to go now. It’s consistent. It’s the way to stay in touch. When we think about our loved ones in prison during times of high stress, mail is important to our incarcerated loved ones.

It’s a very important thing for them. During times of high stress or when they’re ill or things are going on, it’s even more important. A lot of prisons have it set up so that you can type in an email. It feels like an email on your end and then the guards print it up and give it to the inmates during regular mail distribution. That makes it a little bit easier for us on the outside. It’s where a lot of us are more comfortable, typing an email rather than writing a letter. Another thing that I have found is super fun and the people that are around my son’s age, the twenty-something crowd, they will message me on Facebook or any other messenger with different memes, jokes and things like that.

I’m able to print those out and send them to my son. It ties him into the social world that he’s been cut off from. That’s a super helpful thing, especially if there are a lot of young people in your loved one’s inner circle. You can easily have them send you or print them out themselves and send them directly to their loved one. With all of the technology options we have, there’s something to be said about pen to paper. Times when I can sit down, take a pen, and write my son a letter on paper, there’s a calming aspect to that for me. On a selfish note, it calms me down. It feels way more personal for me and for him. Because I do that less often than sending the email in, there’s a specialness about it that is nice. I would say humor is super helpful as well in letters. Keep that in mind as you’re writing to your loved one.

The fourth tip on a practical level is stay informed. When our loved ones are able to call us and communicate with us, it’s easier to stay informed. If a period of time goes by and you haven’t heard from your loved one, and especially during times of a pandemic, the stress level is a little bit higher, we need to know what’s going on with them. You can call the prison and ask about your loved one’s condition. Ask, “How are they doing? I’m concerned. I haven’t heard from my loved one lately. I need to check on them.” This is specifically if you’re reading this during the COVID-19 pandemic and you’re still having issues or if your loved one has an illness that you are worried about their health, I would suggest calling the prison and saying something like this, “I’m John Doe’s mother,” or whatever your relationship is, “I’m concerned for his health. I need to speak with medical for health information.”

That is the key to get to the next step and find out specifically about their health. They’re going to ask for their incarceration number, their DOC number. Have that handy, use their full name and their number and ask to speak with medical about their health information. Know that if your loved one is incarcerated, medical will not talk to you if they don’t have a medical release on file. If you have not had this conversation with your loved one yet, have this conversation right away. If you can’t talk to them directly, write them a letter and make sure they put a medical release on file so that medical can talk to you about your loved one. That’s something that I suggest the minute a person goes to prison that a medical release is signed. If you want to do power of attorney too, I would suggest that as well, so that you can support them a little bit easier. That’s what I would say. The prison staff understands that we’re concerned and that our loved ones often can’t stay in touch with us now. They are willing to answer questions that you have.

 

It was not that long ago that he tested positive. I’ll take a step back. Leading up to that, there had been a massive outbreak in the facility that my son was in. He had been in isolation where he was only out of his cell once every three days. I was hearing from him about every three days for a couple of months leading up to that, “Mom, I tested positive,” phone call. He made that one phone call to me and then I didn’t hear from him for 1.5 weeks. That’s when I called the prison and it was scary waiting, first of all, knowing how serious this is, and any serious illness in prison is scary. When I called the prison and asked them, I was able to speak with medical, they told me my son is young and healthy.

The worst of it, he had a sniffle. He did lose his sense of smell completely, which hasn’t returned and some congestion and then the loss of smell. Now, he’s back in secondary isolation. He’s getting out every day. He’s out of the SHU. He’s getting out every single day for a shower and a phone call and then back in his cell. He’s doing as well as can be expected.

Thank you, Julia. Thanks, everyone.

Important Links:

• Prison: The Hidden Sentence
• theFOTAproject.org

About Jolyn Armstrong

Jolyn Armstrong is the founder of The FOTA Project (Families Of The Accused). When her son was arrested, she discovered that the few support resources for the traumatized families of people serving prison sentences were difficult to find. That’s why she launched The FOTA Project with her husband, Jim. FOTA’s mission is to provide emotional counseling, support, and guidance for the families of people who have been accused of a crime or who are incarcerated.

 

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