Dear Reader,

One aspect of prison that is often overlooked is the impact incarceration has on relationships. Whether married, dating, or divorced, the divide between imprisoned people and their loved ones affects individuals on both sides of the fence. 

Not only do crimes harm the victims, but an offender’s bad decisions also bleed out to impact everyone in their circle. Just think of how many women are left to be single parents, forced to care for their children and run the household totally alone.

For this column, a man I’m calling Francis was kind enough to share his experience of losing contact with his children. He knows better than most how prison creates insurmountable distance between people and their families. 

Francis had a wife when he was first imprisoned. They were estranged but decided to remain in contact for their children’s sake. But as Francis’ time in prison dragged on, his wife began dating again. Over time, her new partner expressed that her loyalties should no longer lie with the father of her children. 

“She basically told me that I can only talk to my children by letters,” Francis said. “No more phone calls. No private conversations. She wanted to read my letters to them to monitor our conversations. Her new partner didn’t want me meddling in their relationship.”   

I’ve been inside long enough to know that this type of behavior isn’t uncommon. Many relationships become strained through time and distance. 

Francis has two daughters, “daddy’s girls,” he called them. He told me that in his letters to his children, he never asked about their mother or who she was dating. 

“That’s her business,” Francis said. But he has a lot of issues with the rules his wife imposed. In his view, it boils down to fairness. Her rules were “extreme” and “unreasonable,” he said. 

It sounded to me like Francis was struggling with no longer being able to call the shots, but he argued otherwise. 

“I understand that it’s basically her way or the highway,” Francis said. “But that doesn’t make it right. Before her new partner—before she fell under someone else’s influence—things were all right. Now, it’s like she’s trying to completely replace me.”

Francis and I had a long talk about expectations, namely that he can’t expect anything to go his way, especially now that his wife is moving on.

“That’s the hardest part for me,” Francis said. “She’s essentially crossing me out of her life.”

Guys who’ve been inside a while often tell new guys that they should imagine their family portrait with their faces cut out. Married guys are advised to get divorced before it’s too late. People who are dating are imparted with the wisdom not to question their partners about where they’ve been or how they’ve been spending their free time. The gist is, loosen the reins. Let go. Prepare to be jealous and get over it because jealousy means nothing when you can’t physically be there for your partner. Instead of trying to dictate your partner’s every action, focus on being there for them mentally and emotionally. 

Francis isn’t new to prison, but the hurt he feels is. 

“What happens if my letters start getting rejected too?” he implored. 

Sadly, once someone outside begins pulling away from their incarcerated loved ones, it spells certain doom. Prisoners know the feeling of being ghosted better than anyone. Yes, some have committed horrible crimes, caused unimaginable hurt, and maybe even deserve imprisonment. But shouldn’t there be a line between imprisonment and total estrangement?

Many imprisoned people become estranged the moment a verdict is reached.

Eventually, some of Francis’ letters to his children were returned to him. Other letters didn’t receive a response. He feared his kids were too young to understand that he was being alienated from their lives and that they would assume he abandoned them. Sadly, these kinds of things happen all of the time inside. In fact, many imprisoned people become estranged the moment a verdict in their case is reached.

“I was living in a make-believe world, I guess,” Francis said. “I actually thought I could still be a father to my children.” 

Francis inevitably projected the pain he felt onto his children. Rather than simply acknowledge that it was his relationship with his wife that was over, he began to do exactly what he said he wouldn’t: He used letters to his daughters to sow subtle acts of manipulation. 

“I’ll never turn my back on you, no matter what happens,” he wrote. Over time, the girls began to blame their mother. 

“I know I messed up,” Francis admitted. “I was trying too hard. I wanted my girls to choose me. I wanted them to demand that their mother not let me go.”

Letting go is the hardest part of being a parent in prison. Francis sees now that he was, as he said, being a “dumbass.” Instead of being grateful for the opportunity to maintain contact with his children, he pushed for more than their mother was willing to give. 

“All I could think about was our vows: ‘For better or worse,’” Francis said. “Vows are just words, and promises only go as far as intentions. I wanted her to know how bad she was hurting me, and even though I wasn’t trying to push her away, I guess I did it anyway.”

Most incarcerated people hold onto hope like it’s their only connection to the outside world; they hold onto it like it’s an addiction, and sometimes it squeezes the life out of the things they do have. Or it makes them incapable of seeing what’s in front of them. 

“I was willing to ruin everything because it wasn’t going my way,” Francis said. “I see that now. I wanted my wife to feel what I felt. I wanted her to be the one to make the hard decisions. I just didn’t really think she’d do it.” 

Regardless of whether they are free or incarcerated, people are people. Emotions control their motivations—and in prison, even the smallest insecurities are amplified. In “Beyond Good and Evil,” writer and philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote, “Whatever is done from love always occurs beyond good and evil.” 

Right or wrong, good or evil, every incarcerated person has the need to be loved and accepted.  But sometimes, how they go about it is shaped by fear, insecurity, aggrievement, or a deep sense of loss—and that makes all the difference. 

Editorial Team:
Tina Vasquez, Lead Editor
Carolyn Copeland, Top Editor
Rashmee Kumar, Copy Editor

The Right to Write (R2W) project is an editorial initiative where Prism works with incarcerated writers to share their reporting and perspectives across our verticals and coverage areas. Learn more about R2W and how to pitch here.