"You Do You, But Don’t You Dare Rewrite Someone Else’s Trauma"

 

Family and trauma. Two words that should never sit next to each other, but somehow, they often do.

You ever notice how a single event can shatter an entire household in different ways? You put ten people in the same room, and you’ll come out with ten different versions of the same explosion. Some remember the fire, others only the smoke. And some? Some will swear nothing ever burned at all.

That’s the thing about trauma—it’s personal. It’s not up for debate, it's not a roundtable topic, and it's definitely not yours to discredit just because your memory paints it in softer colors. Maybe you blocked things out. Maybe you weren’t the target. Maybe you just weren’t paying attention. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
“Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” – Matthew 7:1

When someone finally has the strength—the courage—to speak up about what they lived through, it’s like watching them strip their soul bare in front of the world. And what do some family members do? They throw stones at it. Whisper behind backs. Toss around the word “liar” like they own the rights to the truth.

Well, newsflash: truth isn’t one-size-fits-all. Trauma doesn’t play by your rules. And your guilt, your denial, your absence? That’s not a valid reason to try and silence someone else’s voice.

If you weren’t there in the darkest hours—if you weren’t the one being screamed at, beaten down, humiliated, or abandoned—then you don’t get to say how someone else should feel about it. You don’t get to be the moral police of someone else's healing journey.

“Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.” – Proverbs 14:10

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” – Galatians 6:2

I’ve watched a man I love unravel the pain of a childhood no one protected him from. I’ve heard the raw screams through a prison phone line, the breakdowns mid-sentence, the “I can’t take this anymore” aftershocks that trauma still sends, years later, while he's locked behind concrete and steel, trying to piece together who he is under all that damage.

He remembers. All of it. Every moment. Every silence. Every betrayal. He lives with it. And the worst part? The people who should’ve stood by him are the ones who now stand furthest away.

So if you’re one of those people, let me say this with love, but without any apology: YOU DO YOU.

Be angry. Be defensive. Keep rewriting history if that makes you sleep better at night. But don’t you dare look someone in the eye—or worse, tell others behind their back—that their version of the story isn’t valid. That it’s not real. That it’s “dramatic” or “exaggerated.” Because unless you wore their skin, felt their fear, cried their tears… you simply. do. not. know.

“They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace.” – Jeremiah 6:14
“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” – Philippians 2:4

And don’t pretend like you're feeling “guilty” for not being there back then if all you’re gonna do now is ghost them again. Because all that does is reopen the same wounds they were barely starting to scab over.

Me? Hate me if you want. Talk all the mess you want because I speak up, because I share his truth, because I won’t back down. I’ve got thick skin, bigger shoulders, and a fire in my chest that won’t go out. I’m the one here—every single damn day—picking up the shattered pieces while the rest of you stand at a distance and pass judgment.

I choose to be the one holding him up. Through the tears. Through the trauma. Through the 15-minute calls that always end too soon but never end the pain.

You don’t get to judge that. Not him. Not me. Not any survivor who has the guts to open up.

So yeah. You do you.

But don’t ever forget:
He lived it.
He still is.
And you? You left.
So think twice before you speak.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.” – Proverbs 31:8

#EppersonEmpowerment #PowerOfOurVoicesLLC #SpeakYourTruth #FamilyTrauma #TraumaSurvivors #HealingIsNotLinear #BiblicalTruth #MentalHealthAwareness #YouDoYouButStayInYourLane #FromGuardToWife #RealTalkRealPain #PrisonAdvocacy #WeWillNotBeSilenced #StandByYourPerson #BiblicalJustice #SurvivorsDeserveSupport

Another FBOP Failure: Tammy's Story — When “Funding” Becomes a Death Sentence

 

Here we go again. Another woman, another broken promise behind razor wire. Another excuse that starts with “funding” and ends with neglect.

Tammy’s story is not new. It’s not unique. And that’s the biggest tragedy of all. Because her life—and her vision—matter. And so does every other person sitting in a Federal Bureau of Prisons (FBOP) facility, hoping for even the most basic human care.

Recently, Tammy reached out to share what’s been going on at her facility, and I think it speaks for itself:

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"Recently I wrote about how the BOP seems to be broke. They took away several items at food service due to funding—like the salad bar (which, by the way, was just plain lettuce mix and generic dressing), they’ve limited eggs (maybe understandable with the bird flu), and removed extra items like beans and rice.

What I didn’t mention, but probably should have, is that my prison doesn’t even repurpose leftovers. They literally throw away pounds and pounds of food daily from our kitchen.

Today I went to get bras again. Turned down. ‘Funding not available to purchase bras at this time.’

But that’s not even why I’m writing. Yesterday I got called to medical to see the eye doctor. His first question: ‘How are the new glasses working for you?’

My answer? ‘I don’t know. It’s been a year and I still haven’t gotten them.’

Then came the real bombshell.

He told me I have macular degeneration with edema. That I was supposed to be sent to a retina specialist. That I should have seen him every 3 months. That none of that happened. And if it doesn’t happen soon, I could go blind in my left eye.

He said he was walking my file to my doctor that same day and re-entering the orders.

Can anyone say lawsuit? I can.

This facility cannot take care of the people housed here. I keep hearing 'funding, funding, funding.'

That’s not the problem. The problem is mismanagement and overcrowding.

If the courts used other methods of incarceration for low-level, non-violent offenders or people with 18 months or less—like probation or ankle monitors—and actually implemented the First Step Act and the Second Chance Act the way they were intended, so much of this mess could be avoided.

I don’t even know what to do anymore. I’ve been incarcerated for 20 years, about to start my 21st. I had a 110-year sentence. Recently, I got 70 years taken off. With good time, I have about 12.7 years left.

I just hope things improve between now and then… I’ll keep you posted."

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And we hope she gets to keep her sight so she can see that freedom.

Let that sit for a minute.
The system failed her not once, but repeatedly—and nearly irreversibly.

Let’s be clear: "Funding" is the fallback word agencies use when they don’t want to take responsibility. But when basic needs like bras, food, and preventing blindness go unmet, it’s no longer a funding issue. It’s willful neglect. It’s abuse under the color of law.

Overcrowding didn’t happen by accident. It’s a policy choice. The FBOP has the tools to relieve it—First Step Act, Second Chance Act, compassionate release, home confinement—but too often they let those tools rust. And people like Tammy suffer for it.

I’m watching women in federal prisons be told they can’t get underwear or see specialists because the budget’s tight, while the very agencies running those prisons waste millions in overtime, contracts, and administrative bloat.

Where is the accountability?

Where is the outrage?

I’ll tell you where it should be—right here. In our voices. In our advocacy. In our refusal to let Tammy’s story become just another name in the file.

Tammy—you’re not forgotten. Not today. Not ever. You keep posting. And I’ll keep sharing. We’re building something louder than silence.

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#EppersonEmpowerment #PowerOfOurVoicesLLC #FBOPFailure #PrisonReformNow #MedicalNeglectIsAbuse #JusticeForInmates #HumanRightsBehindBars #FederalBureauOfProblems #MacularDegenerationMatters #OvercrowdingKills #ThisIsWhyWeFight #FirstStepActNow #SecondChanceAct #AccountabilityBehindBars #WeSeeYouTammy #SystemicNeglect #ReformNotExcuses #IncarceratedButNotInvisible #PrisonVoicesMatter #WomenInPrisonDeserveDignity

Today, the fight for my husband’s freedom took a major leap forward. And I need you with me now more than ever.

This morning, my hands trembled a little as I sealed three large envelopes—each one packed with 43 pages of truth, testimony, and a desperate plea for mercy. These weren’t just documents… they were pieces of our story, pieces of our hope, and pieces of Ryan’s heart.

Those three envelopes are now officially on their way to:

• The Department of Justice
• President Donald Trump at the White House
• His administration committee in New York

These clemency packets represent everything we’ve been fighting for—every sleepless night, every tear shed, every prayer whispered. They are now out of my hands and into the hands of those who have the power to change the course of Ryan’s life forever.

And now, we wait.
And we pray.
And we hope with everything we’ve got.

Advocating for Ryan isn’t easy—because telling the truth about his past means reliving pain that most people wouldn’t survive.

Ryan grew up in a home where trauma was woven into the walls. Addiction, dysfunction, and survival became second nature to him before he ever had the chance to become a man. Prison became his “normal”—his only sense of structure, his only place of comfort, twisted as that may sound.

And yet… here he is today, choosing to be different. Choosing to heal. Choosing to rise.

He’s no longer clinging to toxic family ties that helped destroy him.
He’s no longer stuck in the cycle of drugs, hustling, and running from the law.
He’s now a husband—my husband. And he’s learning every day that there’s a life beyond those prison walls and broken streets.

He’s building something new with me—a life rooted in faith, accountability, love, and purpose.

His belief in God has been growing stronger by the day, and with it, a fight inside of him that I’ve never seen before. That fight is real. That growth is real. And the man he’s becoming deserves to be seen—not as a criminal, but as a soul who finally knows his worth.

So now, we ask for one thing: prayer.

Pray that these letters are read by the right people.
Pray that Ryan’s story pierces the hearts of decision-makers.
Pray that the chains of judgment break under the weight of mercy.

This isn’t just about policy or politics—it’s about redemption. It’s about a man who never had a fair chance finally finding the strength to live differently. And it’s about a system that should recognize when a person is no longer who they once were.

To everyone who’s been walking this road with me—thank you. Your support means everything. Your encouragement keeps me going. Your prayers lift us up. And your belief in second chances is what gives stories like ours a fighting shot.

I’ll keep you all updated every step of the way. And no matter how this turns out, please know this—we will never stop fighting for freedom, for fairness, and for the kind of world where transformation is not just possible, but honored.

#ClemencyForRyan #SecondChancesMatter #EppersonEmpowerment #FromGuardToWife #PowerOfOurVoices

Stalking Me But Can’t Stand Me? How Pathetic.

Let’s go ahead and call it for what it is — pathetic.

You don’t want to be in my life. You don’t want to talk to me. You’ve made it crystal clear that you want nothing to do with me.

So why in the world are you still stalking everything I do online like it’s your full-time job?

Seriously. You can’t stand me, yet you’re glued to every post, every update, every word I type. You’ve turned lurking into an Olympic sport — and for what? So you can run back like some messy little informant to say, “OHHHHH look what DeAnna wrote now!”

Are you really that bored? That bitter? That empty inside?

It’s actually sad. Truly. Because while I’m out here living my life, building something with purpose, advocating for change, healing, loving, growing — you’re stuck in the shadows, obsessed with a life you’re no longer part of. You’re not watching to support me. You’re watching to gossip. To judge. To "report back" like you’re in some 7th grade clique.

It’s laughable, really. You want nothing to do with me but dedicate energy to following me like a loyal hound. I’ve left you alone. I’ve moved on. I’ve minded my business. But here you are, still pressed.

So let me make it plain for the ones in the back:

If I’m so irrelevant to you, stop watching me.
If you don’t want to talk to me, stop clicking my name.
If you don’t like me, stop obsessing over me.
And if you're stalking just to play messenger for others — congratulations, you're not a friend, you're a puppet.

You don’t intimidate me. You don’t impact me. You don’t matter in the narrative I’m writing for my life anymore.

So go ahead, take another screenshot. Copy/paste this too while you're at it. Hell, print it and hang it on your fridge if you want — because I said what I said, and I stand on it.

Enough is enough. Your obsession is showing. And it’s not cute — it’s sad, desperate, and honestly… beneath even the worst version of me.

---

"Some people watch your life like it’s their favorite TV show — but still swear they’ve changed the channel. If you don’t like the program, stop tuning in. I’m not performing for you — I’m just living free."

"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." — Exodus 14:14

Because while they’re busy stalking, snitching, and scrolling — God’s still elevating. And I’m still rising.

Inside the Lewis Bachman Unit: A Call for Reform

The Lewis Prison Complex, located in Buckeye, Arizona, comprises eight units, including the Bachman Unit, where my husband is currently incarcerated. This unit houses inmates under protective custody, ranging from minimum to medium security levels, with a capacity of 752 inmates across four dormitory-style buildings. (corrections.az.gov)

Systemic Issues Plaguing the Facility

Over the years, the Lewis Complex has been marred by numerous incidents that highlight systemic issues within its walls:

• Contraband Infiltration: In January 2025, a correctional officer named Berman Comon was arrested for allegedly smuggling drugs and contraband cellphones into the Rast Unit of Lewis Prison. Comon, who had served as a counselor for 11 years, reportedly received $5,000 per trip to bring in the illicit items. (abc15.com)

• Inmate Unrest: In November 2018, surveillance footage revealed inmates in the Rast Max Unit setting fires outside their cells, leading to the evacuation of the entire unit. This incident underscored significant lapses in prison management and security protocols. (abc15.com)

• Healthcare Deficiencies: A 2022 federal court ruling found that the Arizona Department of Corrections, Rehabilitation & Reentry (ADCRR) was "deliberately indifferent" to the substantial risk of serious harm due to inadequate medical and mental health care, affecting all prisoners. (prisonlegalnews.org)

Personal Advocacy and Systemic Inaction

As an advocate for my husband's well-being, I have tirelessly reported various concerns to the ADCRR's Constituent Services:

• Drug Proliferation: Despite highlighting the rampant drug issues within the facility, little to no action has been taken to curb this menace.

• Inmate Abuse and Harassment: Reports of physical abuse and harassment by both staff and fellow inmates have been met with indifference.

• Unauthorized Cellphone Use: Inmates have been known to use contraband cellphones to harass families of other inmates, a serious breach of security that remains unaddressed.

• Medical Neglect: The lack of adequate medical care continues to be a pressing concern, with inmates' health deteriorating due to neglect.

• Theft During Protective Custody Transfers: Inmates moving to protective custody often find their belongings stolen, adding to their distress.

Unfortunately, contacting Constituent Services often feels like shouting into the void. The process typically involves forwarding complaints to wardens, whose responses are then relayed back without any tangible action. This bureaucratic loop offers no real solutions, leaving families frustrated and inmates vulnerable.

Ignored Safety Concerns for Families

The disregard for security isn't just limited to inmates—it extends to their families as well. I am a former correctional officer with legally filed paperwork to keep my personal information confidential. Yet, I am required to put a return address on every envelope I send, which is then tossed onto my husband's bunk at random times during mail distribution. Because of this, letters have been stolen off his bunk, meaning my name and address now float around the prison. This has resulted in other inmates attempting to contact me, locate me, and harass me—simply because I married an inmate.

Being a former CO married to an inmate is already frowned upon, but the blatant disregard for my safety is unacceptable. The ADCRR has failed to address these concerns, putting not only inmates but their families in danger. The fact that outside individuals can be tracked down due to the prison's negligence is not just alarming—it’s a severe security failure that demands immediate attention.

A Plea for Transparency and Accountability

The issues at the Lewis Bachman Unit are not isolated but indicative of broader systemic failures within the Arizona correctional system. It's imperative for the ADCRR to prioritize transparency, accountability, and the humane treatment of those in their care. Families like mine deserve assurance that our loved ones are in a safe environment conducive to rehabilitation, not one that perpetuates harm.

Conclusion

The challenges within the Lewis Bachman Unit are multifaceted and deeply rooted. Addressing them requires a concerted effort from prison authorities, state officials, and the community. By shedding light on these issues, we hope to pave the way for meaningful reforms that ensure safety, dignity, and justice for all inmates and their families.

#PrisonReform #JusticeForInmates #EndPrisonAbuse #ADCRRFailings #PrisonAccountability #ProtectFamilies #CorrectionsCorruption #HumanRights #TransparencyNow #StopTheNeglect #PowerOfOurVoices #EppersonEmpowerment

Exposing the Deadly Reality at La Palma Correctional Facility: How Many More Have to Die?

For years, La Palma Correctional Facility in Eloy, Arizona, has been a hotspot for controversy, yet little has been done to address the rampant corruption, officer misconduct, and systemic failures that have turned it into a living hell for those incarcerated within its walls. Most recently, another inmate has died—one of many whose deaths could have been prevented if those in charge had taken real action instead of covering up their negligence.

On January 2, 2025, I fought to have my husband moved out of La Palma due to the sheer volume of drugs flooding the yard, which were being brought in by correctional officers. I reported specific names to the Special Security Unit (SSU), thinking that doing the right thing would bring change. Instead, my concerns fell on deaf ears. Now, here we are, with more inmates losing their lives—many of these deaths are suspected overdoses, yet little to no investigation ever seems to result in actual change.

A History of Negligence and Deaths

This latest tragedy is just one in a long line of disturbing incidents at La Palma. Reports are coming in daily from loved ones of those incarcerated, detailing medical neglect, excessive force, and dangerous living conditions. Just last week, one inmate developed an infection in his hand. Medical staff ignored it until it became so severe that he had to be hospitalized, diagnosed with cellulitis, and is now septic. He will spend six weeks in an acute care facility, completely cut off from his family. His suffering could have been prevented if medical staff had taken action earlier.

Another inmate was found dead in his cell early this morning. Five-on-one assaults are becoming a common occurrence, and yet the administration remains silent. How many more families need to receive that devastating phone call before someone intervenes?

The Corruption Runs Deep

La Palma Correctional Facility has been in the news for years. It previously held California and ICE detainees, but both contracts were pulled due to mistreatment and horrific conditions. If history is any indicator, the current Arizona Department of Corrections contract should be next. But we can't wait for more deaths before action is taken.

The reality is that officers are not only failing to keep drugs and violence out of the facility—they are facilitating it. Inmates and their families report that certain correctional officers bring in narcotics, creating an environment where addiction, extortion, and violence thrive. Yet, despite repeated complaints, nothing has been done.

Enough is Enough: It’s Time to Take Action

We cannot allow this to continue. Families are losing their loved ones, and the Arizona Department of Corrections is turning a blind eye. We need real, systemic change, and it starts with exposing the truth about what is happening inside La Palma.

We need:

• Immediate independent investigations into the deaths occurring at La Palma Correctional Facility, with transparency and accountability.

• A crackdown on correctional officers bringing drugs into the facility—including criminal charges and termination for those found responsible.

• Proper medical care for all inmates so that preventable deaths and illnesses don’t continue to pile up.

• Public awareness and protests to put pressure on those responsible for overseeing this facility.

We are calling on everyone with a loved one at La Palma to speak out. If you have information, share it. If you have lost someone, demand justice. If you care about human rights, get involved. This facility has hidden behind closed doors for too long, and the bloodshed has to stop.

What You Can Do Right Now:

✔ Contact Arizona Department of Corrections Leadership and demand an independent investigation. ✔ Reach out to the media to expose what’s happening inside La Palma. ✔ Join us in organizing a protest against the corruption and negligence that have plagued this facility for too long. ✔ Check on your loved ones and encourage them to document and report any abuse or negligence they witness. ✔ Follow our page: Power of Our Voices, LLC for updates, advocacy efforts, and ways to get involved. ✔ Contact us at info@powerofourvoices.com if you have any information or need support.

#EppersonEmpowerment #JusticeForInmates #ShutDownLaPalma #PrisonReform #StopTheNeglect #AZDOCExposed #PrisonAccountability #HumanRightsMatter #EndTheAbuse #ExposeTheTruth

If you are reading this and you have power to make change, don’t sit in silence. If we don’t fight for the lives of those behind bars, who will?

Prion Wife Struggles

Being a prison wife is not for the weak. It is an emotional roller coaster, a test of patience, love, and endurance. There are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable, when the walls of the prison aren't just around him but around me too. The waiting, the isolation, the judgment from those who will never understand—it's a constant battle. But the hardest part? Loving someone who has been broken beyond what most can comprehend.

I married an addict. Not just any addict, but a man whose entire life has been shaped by trauma, by abandonment, by a pain so deep that it has dictated every decision he's ever made. His mother walked away. His father fed his addiction instead of his soul. His family left him to fend for himself, failing to see the little boy crying out for love, for safety, for someone to care. And when the world has done nothing but turn its back on him, how could he possibly believe that I would stay?

Every day, I fight against his demons alongside him. Every day, I remind him that I am here, that I am not another name on the long list of people who have given up. But the trauma runs deep. It whispers lies to him in the quiet of the night, convincing him that I am just another person waiting for the moment to betray him. And so, the accusations come.

"You're a whore." "You're a liar." "You're unloyal."

Words cut deep, but I know where they come from. I know that this is his fear talking, his pain lashing out. He is an inmate, a man trapped not just behind bars but behind years of wounds left untreated. He is fighting against shadows that no one has ever helped him face. But I see the man behind those scars. I see the man who, despite it all, still has the capacity to love, to hope, to dream of something better. And that is why I stay.

But as if that isn’t enough, I also have to be the brunt end of his parents and what they did to him. His mother, who abandoned him and left him to drown, says things like, "I want nothing to do with him. I love him, I will pray for him, but you can tell him I said I want nothing to do with him." And then, with the same breath, she has the audacity to say, "How DARE you say I abandoned him? I never did that!" But yet, that’s exactly what she did, and that’s EXACTLY how he feels. Then there's his dad, the man who introduced him to his first hit of meth, telling him, "Tell 'your cousin' that I am not the monster your wife is making me out to be."

What the actual fuck?!

It is hard. It is painful. It is tremendously tiring. Some days, I wonder if I have anything left to give. But then I remember: this is not just his battle. This is our battle. With God's help, I will win over the demons that torment him. I will win over the fear, the pain, the trauma. Love is not just about the easy days. It is about standing in the storm, refusing to walk away when every force in the world tells you to run.

Many will never understand this life. They will never understand why I choose to stay, why I continue to love a man who has been consumed by so much pain. But they do not see what I see. They do not see the heart that still beats beneath the weight of his past. They do not see the man who, despite everything, still longs to be whole.

This life is not for the weak. But for those of us who choose it, for those of us who refuse to turn our backs—there is strength in the struggle. There is beauty in the brokenness. And most of all, there is love worth fighting for.

The Hard Truth About Addiction – A Message Everyone Needs to Hear

There are moments when you come across something so powerful, so brutally honest, that it stops you in your tracks. When I read these words from Brian Togun, I felt like he had put into words what so many people struggling with addiction have felt but couldn’t articulate. His message is raw, real, and necessary. I want to share it in full because he could not have said it ANY better, and the world needs to hear it.

Follow Brian Togun here: Brian Togun on Facebook

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Brian Togun:

"I remember before I tried drugs, I asked people what it was like. They said ‘it’s like a burst of energy, a rush that takes your breath, it’s the best feeling ever, I don’t know how to explain it really.’ And they were right, but now if someone were to ever ask me what it’s like, I would tell them…

It’s like spending every single penny you ever had on drugs.

It’s like going days without eating even though you were starving, but you needed dope more.

It’s like having to lie to every family and friend you had ever had.

It’s like waking up hating yourself from the shame and guilt.

It’s like going into withdrawal every 8 hours unless you had more dope to do. (And you usually didn’t.)

It’s like never attending any family event because you were too high or too sick.

It’s like everyone eventually stopped inviting you to events. And even talking to you.

It's like crying yourself to sleep every single night because your children got taken.

It’s like knowing you have one more chance to get better before your child gets adopted and still choosing that bag.

It's like asking others how your own blood child is doing.

It's watching everyone around you succeed and yet you’re crumbling.

It’s like everything was on your drug dealer’s time. If they said five hours, you’ll wait five hours in a car.

It’s like stealing everything worth value for dope. No matter how sentimental it was to you, or someone else.

It’s like losing so much weight you can’t fit into any of your clothes.

It’s like losing everything you’ve ever owned in your entire life.

It’s like nobody believing a word you said, even if it was the truth.

It’s like being a prisoner inside your own head.

It’s like contemplating suicide every single day.

It’s like never being scared to die, because that’s what you wanted.

It’s like trying to shut your brain up for even five minutes. It was worth that little time of peace.

It’s like seeing your family cry for you to stop, only for you to leave and go get high. Because stopping wasn’t an option. It wasn’t possible.

It’s like you’d do absolutely anything for more. And you did.

It’s like everyone hating you no matter where you went, because they knew you were a drug addict.

You'll miss out on your children and they'll be grown before you know it. You'd kill for your child and do any and everything for them, yet you won't be able to get clean for them and we actually turn out to be the ones who hurt them the most.

It’s like overdosing and going to get high right after.

It’s like walking into rehab 100 pounds with the clothes on your back and being scared to death.

It’s like giving your ENTIRE LIFE AWAY.

So if you’re ever curious like I was, please at least know the truth. CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT, and it WILL KILL YOU TOO.” 💯😔👌

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The Truth Hurts, But It Can Also Heal

This is what addiction is. Not the glamorized version people sometimes joke about or justify. It’s a prison, a slow death, a thief that takes everything and gives back nothing but pain.

But here’s the other truth—recovery is possible.

I know this firsthand. I am married to an addict. Meth, opioids, alcohol—you name it. I have watched the cycle of relapse, incarceration, and abandonment play out over and over again. I have seen people turn their backs on my husband in his darkest hours, writing him off as just another lost cause. But I refused to do the same. I stood by his side through the worst of the worst, through multiple prison sentences, through the heartbreak of watching him lose himself to addiction.

I won’t sugarcoat it—loving an addict is one of the hardest things you can ever do. It will test every part of you. It will break you. It will force you to look at love in a way the world doesn’t teach us. Real love, unconditional love, doesn’t walk away when things get ugly. It doesn’t abandon someone just because they have fallen. Real love fights. And when someone is drowning in addiction, they need that fight more than anything.

Addiction is a monster, but love is stronger. Love is healing. And I am living proof that standing by someone through the depths of their struggle can help them find their way back. My husband is more than his addiction. He is a man worthy of redemption, and every single day, I remind him of that.

Sin will always take you farther than you wanted to go and keep you longer than you wanted to stay. Quit settling for the counterfeit and grab hold of the only thing that will fill that empty hole in your heart: a true heart change from Jesus and the lifestyle change from the conviction power of the Holy Spirit.

If you’re struggling, if someone you love is struggling, please don’t wait until it’s too late. There is hope. There is help. And most importantly, there is freedom in Christ. Jesus saves.

#JesusSaves #AddictionAwareness #RecoveryIsPossible #TruthHurtsButHeals #HolySpiritConviction #UnconditionalLove #LoveHeals

The Resilience of Surviving a Prison Marriage

Prison is more than just bars and razor wire—it is an evil force that sinks its demonic claws into anyone connected to it. It doesn’t just punish the one inside; it punishes those who dare to love them. My husband and I are living proof of the resilience required to survive a prison marriage. We aren’t just battling time—we’re battling a system designed to break us both.

Two Separate Lives, One Marriage

Being married to someone in prison means living two separate lives. My husband is fighting to survive inside, navigating a world where trust is non-existent, and danger lurks in every corner. Meanwhile, I am on the outside, fighting a different kind of battle—staying alert to those who seek to harm me, ensuring that our love withstands the weight of the system that wants to crush it.

He is forced to exist in two realities: the hardened world of prison, where vulnerability is a weakness, and the world we’ve built together, where love is his only refuge. But being married to a former correctional officer makes him a target. He is called a traitor. He is manipulated emotionally, threatened, and even physically harmed. His loyalty to me has become another weapon for them to use against him.

The Outside Battle

On the outside, I am not safe either. People are watching, waiting, searching. The stigma of our love has made me a target. Those who hate our marriage, those who don’t understand it, they see me as the enemy. I have to stay vigilant. I have to protect myself. And still, I stand firm. Because this is not just a fight—it is a war for our future.

Why I Walked Away from Being a CO

I quit being a correctional officer to advocate for the humanities of prisoners. In the academy, I was taught to, and I quote, "hate all inmates equally." But I refused to let that mentality define me. I understand that some deserve to be incarcerated, but not all. People like my step-father, who molested me for 16 years, are allowed to roam the earth freely with no reprimand, but an addict like my husband is forced to live in this cruel world of imprisonment. And yet, in the eyes of the system, I am seen not only as "law enforcement" that automatically hates them, but now, after our arrest, as "law enforcement gone bad." I am fighting daily for the truth in all of that—on both sides.

It is a wicked system, one that is consistently swept under the rug when challenged. Despite my husband attempting suicide due to the emotional burdens he carries, despite them denying me visits because I was a former CO and am now considered HIGH RISK to the prison as a visitor—because I know the internal ways—it all "maths," if you will. And it is so corrupt, it is sickening.

Not an Easy Life, Not an Easy Fight

This life is not for the weak. It is not romanticized fairy tales or hopeful endings tied up with a bow. It is pain. It is fear. It is resilience. And yet, through all of it, I choose him.

Not the man in a prison cell, not the man being forced to play a role to survive—but the real man. The sober man. The free man. The man who loves me, fights for me, and will one day walk beside me in a world that can no longer keep us apart.

Because at the end of it all, he is worth it.

#PrisonMarriage #SurvivingPrison #LoveBeyondBars #StrengthThroughAdversity #EppersonEmpowerment #PrisonReform #FightingForTruth

Trapped in a World That Doesn't Understand: Living with Agoraphobia, Panic Disorder, and Extreme Introversion

 

Imagine waking up every day with a constant, invisible force gripping your chest. The mere thought of stepping outside your door feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, heart racing, lungs refusing to fill, hands clammy with the terror of the unknown. Now, add to that an overwhelming need for solitude—a desperate craving to avoid the noise, the people, the expectations that drain every ounce of energy from your soul. This is my reality. This is what it’s like to live with agoraphobia, panic disorder, and extreme introversion in a world that refuses to understand.

Society loves to throw out quick fixes: "Just go outside more." "You’ll feel better if you socialize." "Push through it." "It’s all in your head."

And let’s not forget the classic: "It’s not that big of a deal."

But let me tell you something—it is a big deal. It’s a battle I fight every single day, a war raging between my mind and my environment, and every dismissive comment only sharpens the blade of anxiety that’s already at my throat.

Agoraphobia and Panic Disorder: The Unseen Cage

Agoraphobia isn’t just about not wanting to leave my house. It’s not laziness, it’s not stubbornness, and it sure as hell isn’t a choice. It’s a deep, paralyzing fear of losing control in public, of being trapped somewhere with no escape, of being humiliated when the panic takes over. And panic disorder? That’s the cruel beast that waits in the shadows, striking without warning, making even the safest places feel like death traps.

"When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy." - Psalm 94:19

I don’t get to decide when my heart will start pounding like it’s about to explode. I don’t get to choose when my vision blurs, my throat closes, or my body convinces me I’m dying. And yet, the world expects me to just "deal with it."

Extreme Introversion: More Than Just Shyness

Then there’s the introversion. Not the "Oh, I like to read books and stay home on Friday nights" kind of introversion, but the extreme kind—the kind that makes every social interaction feel like an exhausting performance. The kind that makes casual small talk feel like running a marathon. The kind that means I need solitude like I need air to breathe, not because I hate people, but because my energy is drained by constant interaction.

And yet, the world demands I be "more social." It scoffs at my need for space, tells me I’m "too quiet," "too reserved," "too weird." People assume I’m rude when I don’t engage the way they want me to. They don’t understand that I’m not ignoring them—I’m surviving them.

Now, Take Away the Only Safety I Knew

Now, take away the only safety and protection I know by him being in prison. I stay inside my 28' trailer, usually in the dark until the late hours, complete silence just listening to the clock tick on my wall, which I never use to tell time, but just to hear the tick of the second hand to stay calm. My world has shrunk to the size of this small space, where I exist more than I live, held together by the rhythm of a clock that no one else notices. The loneliness is deafening, the silence an unwanted companion that both soothes and suffocates me.

The Panic and Anxiety of a Telephone Conversation

As if the weight of daily existence weren’t enough, there is another unseen battle I fight—having a physical telephone conversation. The very thought of answering or making a call sends my anxiety into overdrive. I am far more comfortable communicating through text, Messenger, or email—though even then, I sometimes "go MIA" when I’ve hit my limit. But an actual phone call? It feels like suffocation, like an inescapable confrontation that I’m being forced into against my will.

And yet, friends and family refuse to accept this. They insist that I "need" social interaction, that I should "just answer the phone," that it will somehow help me. But it doesn’t. It only intensifies my anxiety, drains me even further, and pushes me deeper into isolation. They don’t see that forcing social expectations on me does more harm than good. I don’t need the forced interaction—they need to respect my boundaries.

The Damage of Misunderstanding

The worst part of all of this? The misunderstanding doesn’t just hurt—it makes everything worse. When people minimize my struggles, when they dismiss my fears, when they act as though I could simply choose to be different, it amplifies my disorders.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." - Psalm 34:18

It adds layers of shame to my anxiety. It deepens the self-doubt. It makes the isolation feel suffocating.

If I could "get over it," don’t you think I would? If I could step outside without my heart hammering, without my mind screaming that something terrible will happen, don’t you think I would? If I could be social without feeling like I’m drowning in an ocean of expectations, don’t you think I would?

What I Wish People Knew

I don’t need tough love. I don’t need someone to "fix me." I don’t need someone to drag me outside and force me into situations I can’t handle.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." - Deuteronomy 31:6

What I need is understanding. Compassion. Acknowledgment that my struggles are real, that they are valid, that they are not some dramatic overreaction. I need space to navigate this on my own terms, at my own pace, without the added pressure of meeting the world’s expectations.

If you know someone like me—someone who struggles with agoraphobia, panic disorder, or extreme introversion—please, for the love of everything, stop telling them to "just get over it." Instead, ask them what they do need. Give them the grace to exist as they are. Understand that their world may look different from yours, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

Because the truth is, the world doesn’t get to decide how hard this is for me. The world doesn’t get to define my battles. And the world sure as hell doesn’t get to tell me that I’m not trying hard enough.

I fight every single day. And that? That’s more than enough.

#AgoraphobiaAwareness #MentalHealthMatters #IntrovertLife #PanicDisorderSupport #FaithOverFear #EppersonEmpowerment

The Ugly Truth About Drug Addiction: How Meth and Fentanyl Steal Souls

 

When you look at my 26-year-old husband, you can see the life that is taken from him when using.

Drug addiction isn’t just a bad habit or a series of bad choices—it’s a soul-stealing disease that strips away everything that makes a person whole. The world loves to paint addiction as something people just fall into, something they can simply walk away from when they’ve had enough. But the truth? The truth is that addiction doesn’t just take—it consumes. And meth and fentanyl are two of the deadliest thieves out there.

Meth: The Master Manipulator

Methamphetamine, better known as meth, is one of the most sinister drugs in existence. It starts off like a best friend, promising energy, euphoria, and confidence. It makes people feel invincible, like they can take on anything the world throws at them. But that high comes at a cost—a cost higher than most ever realize until it’s too late.

Meth doesn’t just change behavior; it rewires the brain. It destroys dopamine receptors, making it impossible for the user to feel pleasure without it. Relationships become secondary. Food, sleep, hygiene—all irrelevant. The drug becomes god, demanding absolute devotion. And in its wake, it leaves paranoia, hallucinations, violent outbursts, and an emptiness that no amount of chasing can ever fill.

It robs people of time. They wake up after days of use, unsure of where they’ve been or what they’ve done. It turns love into suspicion, kindness into anger, and humanity into something unrecognizable. Meth is the ultimate master manipulator—it tricks the mind into believing it’s the only thing that matters, and by the time a person realizes they’re trapped, they’re already deep in the grip of hell.

Fentanyl: The Silent Executioner

If meth is a master manipulator, fentanyl is the executioner. It doesn’t play games—it kills. This synthetic opioid is up to 100 times stronger than morphine and 50 times more potent than heroin. A dose as small as a grain of salt can shut down a person’s breathing in seconds. And the worst part? Most people don’t even know they’re taking it.

Fentanyl is laced into everything—heroin, cocaine, fake prescription pills, and even meth. Dealers mix it in because it’s cheap and highly addictive, ensuring repeat customers. But repeat customers don’t get a chance to come back when their first hit is their last. Parents are burying their children. Spouses are losing the loves of their lives. Friends are finding bodies instead of texts back. It is an epidemic fueled by deception, and the people selling it don’t care who it kills as long as it keeps the money flowing.

For those addicted to it, the withdrawals are beyond brutal. It doesn’t just make them feel sick—it makes them feel like they are dying. Their bones ache, their skin crawls, their stomach turns inside out, and the depression that comes with it feels like suffocating under an ocean of despair. It’s why so many relapse—not because they want to keep using, but because the alternative feels impossible to survive.

The Soul Theft of Addiction

Meth and fentanyl don’t just take away physical health—they steal everything: dignity, hope, love, and identity. They turn fathers into strangers, mothers into ghosts, and children into statistics. They rip families apart and leave nothing but chaos and devastation behind.

My husband, Ryan, fights this battle every single day. Meth and fentanyl tried to take everything from him—his freedom, his mind, his life. They got close, but they didn’t win. Not yet. But the war isn’t over. Addiction never fully lets go; it lurks in the background, waiting for a weak moment to sink its claws back in.

For those who love someone fighting addiction, the pain is just as deep. Watching someone disappear before your eyes, seeing the light in their eyes dim until it’s gone, is a grief that never ends. You love them, but you can’t save them. You can beg, plead, cry, and scream, but until they choose to fight, all you can do is pray that they come back before it’s too late.

Breaking the Chains

Recovery is possible, but it is a fight unlike any other. It’s more than just putting down the pipe or the needle. It’s learning how to live again—how to feel, how to cope, how to function without the crutch that has controlled every decision for years. It’s rebuilding trust, regaining self-worth, and facing the wreckage left behind.

If you’re in this battle—whether as someone addicted or someone who loves an addict—know this: You are not alone. It’s ugly, it’s painful, and it’s unfair, but there is hope. There is life beyond addiction. The road is long, but it can be walked. One step, one choice, one breath at a time.

Meth and fentanyl steal souls. But they don’t have to win.

And this, this man right here, 100% sober, is who I fight for now, and will continue to fight for EVERY SINGLE DAY!

A Message of Hope

For the addict fighting every day: "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." – Psalm 34:18

For the loved ones fighting for them: "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." – Matthew 11:28

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If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, don’t wait. Reach out for help. Find support. Because every second counts, and every life is worth saving.

#EndAddiction #RecoveryIsPossible #HopeForAddicts #FentanylKills #BreakTheChains #YouAreNotAlone #EppersonEmpowerment

Loving ALL of him

There is only one person in this world who knows every single side of Ryan—me.

I know the addicted him, the one who struggled in the darkness, consumed by a battle so few understand. I know the sober him, the man who fights every day to reclaim his life, his future, and the dreams that addiction tried to steal. I know the inside-of-prison him, the one who has learned how to survive in a world designed to strip him of humanity, where every day is a test of patience, willpower, and the ability to hold onto who he really is. I know the outside-of-prison him, the man who longs for freedom, for redemption, for the chance to build something real and lasting beyond these walls.

I know the vulnerable him, the man who lets his guard down with me, who isn't afraid to show his fears, his worries, and the deep wounds he carries. I know the pretending-to-be-strong him, the one who wears a mask for the world because sometimes, showing weakness feels more dangerous than staying silent.

I know the him his family expects him to be—the version of himself that they created in their minds, the one who has had to fit into their expectations, whether fair or not. And I know the him his family has both built up and torn down, the pieces of him they have chosen to see and the ones they have ignored.

But through all of it, through every single version of Ryan, I am the one person who has never walked away.

I love him. Not just the best parts of him, not just the parts that make sense to the world, not just the pieces that are easy to love—I love him in his entirety. I love him unconditionally, without judgment, without hatred, without regret, without disappointment. I love the man, not just his potential, not just his success, not just his good days. I love him for his soul, his truth, his heart, even the parts that have been broken by life.

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." - 1 Corinthians 13:7

Because I took the time to know him.

I know the skeletons in his closet, the secrets he keeps locked away, the wounds so deep that most people would turn and run if they saw them. But I don’t run. I never have, and I never will. Because when he lets those skeletons out, when he lets me see the parts of him no one else has ever stayed long enough to understand, I see the truth—the truth of a man who has fought battles no one should have to fight, who has survived pain most people couldn’t imagine.

And I see the man he is becoming, the man he always had the potential to be.

The difference between me and everyone else in his life? I don’t love him for who I want him to be. I don’t love him for who he used to be.

I love him for exactly who he is, in every single form, in every single version.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." - 1 Peter 4:8

And that kind of love? It doesn’t waver. It doesn’t fade. It doesn’t run.

Because real love—the kind that lasts, the kind that heals, the kind that breaks cycles and rewrites stories—that kind of love is unconditional. And he has that in me.

Our journey began in a way most would never expect. We met in 2023 while he was in prison. I was on the side of the law, taught to see men like him as criminals, to believe that their past defined them. He was an addict facing time, caught in the grips of a system that never saw the man beyond the mistakes.

When he came home, it was a learning experience for us both. For him, it was learning how to stay sober while building a life with a woman 23 years older than him—a woman who had never been in trouble with the law, who had lived by faith, and who had fought her own battles of trauma and pain. And for me, it was seeing firsthand what the life of a recovering addict truly looks like—not the dramatized version from television, but the raw, painful, and unfiltered reality.

Addiction is ugly. It is demonic. And now that I have witnessed it with my own eyes, I know that it is something I can never fully explain to anyone who hasn’t lived through it. It is not a story on a screen, it is not something that can be romanticized or simplified—it is real. It is the most demonic thing I have ever encountered.

But in the midst of it all, I see his heart. I see the man who desperately wants to be more than his past. I see the man who wants to be a godly husband, who longs to lead our family with love, to break the cycle that has followed him for so long. He wants to know what it means to live a life filled with love and trust, to finally see the good in the world instead of only the bad—because the bad is all he has ever known.

"Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate." - Mark 10:9

And I am here, beside him, through it all. Not just as a witness, but as his partner. His love. His safe place.

Because this is what love truly means.

#EppersonEmpowerment #LoveWithoutJudgment #BreakingChains #AddictionRecovery #FaithAndLove #UnconditionalLove #GodlyMarriage #PrisonToRedemption #RealLove #FromGuardToWife

How Could You Leave Us? – The Song That Shatters My Heart

 

Some songs aren’t just songs. They are stories—living, breathing memories wrapped in melody. How Could You Leave Us? by NF isn’t just a song to my husband. It’s his past, his present, and the battle he still fights every single day.

And every time I hear it, it breaks me. Because I know what it does to him. I know what it reminds him of. And I know that despite everything, he still longs for the love of the people who walked away.

A Childhood No Child Should Have to Remember

My husband was 12, almost 13, when his mother left. But before she did, she left wounds so deep they still bleed today. He remembers everything—the screaming, the cheating, the fights that never stopped.

He remembers his mother bashing his father over the head with an iron frying pan.
He remembers sitting in the shower with his dad while the blood ran down the drain.
He remembers the hatred in their voices, the venom in their words.

That was marriage to him. That was love. That was the blueprint for what it meant to be a husband.

"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." – Proverbs 22:6

But what happens when the way they are trained is nothing but pain? When the only thing they are taught is that love means chaos, violence, and betrayal?

The First Time He Got High

When his mom left, his father fell apart. The drinking got worse. The drugs got worse. The anger got worse. And there was no one left to shield him from it.

Then came the day that changed everything.

His father called him over, the way a father might when showing his son how to throw a football or tie a tie. But this wasn’t a lesson in life—it was a lesson in destruction.

"Come here, let me show you how this feels."

That was all he said before pushing the needle into his son’s arm.

And when it hit?

He looked at his father, 13 years old, and said:

"This is f**ing amazing. I won’t ever stop."*

And he didn’t—for twelve years.

Because by then, what else was left?

"Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged." – Colossians 3:21

His father didn’t just provoke him—he destroyed him. He introduced him to the very thing that would hold him captive for over a decade. And his mother? She wasn’t there to stop it.

Abandoned Again—By Everyone

Even after all of that, even after she left him to drown in a world of violence, addiction, and self-destruction, he still wanted his mother. He still needed her.

But she wasn’t there.

Not when he was a scared, broken teenager.
Not when he was too high to function.
Not when he was trying to claw his way back to sobriety.
Not when he was arrested.

She never even spoke to him again.

When I was released from jail, I called her. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to understand that her son had relapsed, that he was arrested, that he needed her. And her response?

"You can tell him I want nothing to do with him, but I will pray for him."

That was it. That was her goodbye.

She didn’t ask if he was okay.
She didn’t ask if he needed help.
She didn’t ask if he still loved her.

She just walked away. Again.

And not just her—his brother and sister did too.

They all left him behind as if he was nothing more than the addiction that had been forced onto him before he even had a choice. They walked away like his pain was too much for them to carry, as if the easy way out was pretending he didn’t exist.

"But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever." – 1 Timothy 5:8

The people who should have been his family turned their backs. And now, the only ones standing beside him are his grandmother and me. We are the only ones fighting for him, the only ones reminding him that he is more than his past, more than his trauma, more than what they left behind.

A Toxic Bond He Can’t Break

But no matter how much his mother abandoned him, no matter how much his siblings pretend he doesn’t exist, there is one person he still won’t let go of—his father.

Even though he knows his father is toxic.
Even though he knows his father still uses.
Even though he knows his father is part of the reason his life spiraled in the first place.

He still feels like he has to protect him.

Because that’s all he’s ever known.

That bond—twisted, painful, destructive—is the one thing that still has a hold on him. And as much as he wants to build a stronger relationship with God, as much as he wants to pour into our marriage and heal, the trauma of his past keeps pulling him back.

He’s stuck between who he was raised to be and who he knows he can become.

"Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close." – Psalm 27:10

But how do you let go of the only love you’ve ever known, even when it’s been nothing but pain?

The Song That Says It All

Every time How Could You Leave Us? plays, I watch him disappear into himself. He doesn’t just hear the lyrics. He lives them.

"We needed you, I needed you..."
"You left us here alone, I guess that made you feel better..."
"Sometimes I think about like, maybe if I’d gone with you, you’d still be here..."

The words are his story. The loss, the anger, the questions that will never have answers.

And if his mother ever truly listened to it—really heard it—maybe then she would understand what she did to him.

Maybe then she’d see that the boy she abandoned wasn’t just an addict.
He was her son.
And he deserved so much more.

But even if she never does, even if she never sees the damage she’s done, he is not alone.

He has me. He has his grandmother. And more than anything, he has God.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." – Psalm 34:18

And I will be here, every day, reminding him that he is not what they made him. He is not what they left behind. He is loved. He is worthy. And he is so much more than their choices.

💔 #HowCouldYouLeaveUs #NF #ChildhoodTrauma #AbandonmentHurts #BreakingGenerationalCurses #Healing #AddictionRecovery #FaithOverFear #YouAreEnough #EppersonEmpowerment #PrisonWife #PowerOfOurVoices #GodsPlan #OvercomingTrauma #LoveNeverFails #GenerationalHealing #ToxicFamily #FatherWounds #HealingThroughFaith

The Hidden Abuse Inside Prisons: What They Don’t Want You to Know

 

There’s something the prison system doesn’t want you to know. Abuse, neglect, and corruption are not exceptions—they are the rule.

I know this because I worked on the inside.

As a former Correctional Officer (CO), I was taught that these men weren’t human. They were numbers. They were garbage. And we were trained to “hate all inmates equally.” That was the job.

Every day, I watched the system break people. Not just the men behind bars, but the families who loved them, the few staff who actually cared, and, eventually, me. I walked away from that life, but the truth still haunts me.

Now, I speak up—not just as someone who worked inside, but as a prison wife, an advocate, and someone who refuses to stay silent.

Because people need to know what really happens behind those walls.

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The Dehumanization of Inmates: You Are Just a Number

In prison, inmates are not treated like people. They are numbers, statistics, bodies taking up space. And when you start seeing human beings as nothing more than a bed count, it becomes easy to neglect, abuse, and forget them.

The most disturbing example of this? The food they are given.

I still remember walking into the prison kitchen and seeing the massive cardboard food boxes stacked up. Printed in bold, black letters on the side:

“NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION.”

Yet, this was what the inmates were fed. Rotten meat, moldy bread, watered-down portions that wouldn’t keep a child full, let alone a grown man. I watched men lose weight rapidly, become malnourished, and get sick from the very food they were given to survive.

And when they got sick? That’s when the real nightmare started.

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Neglect That Kills: The Reality of Medical Care in Prison

One of the most horrific realities I witnessed was how easily people died inside—not from violence, but from sheer neglect.

I cannot tell you how many times security walks were skipped, rushed, or faked. Officers would sign off on headcounts without actually checking the cells.

This meant that when someone was sick, suffering, or even dying in their sleep, they might not be discovered until hours later—if at all.

I remember an inmate who had been begging for medical care for weeks. He had an infection that could have been treated with antibiotics, but medical staff ignored him, and officers dismissed his complaints as “faking it.”

One morning, he didn’t get up for count.

He had died in his sleep.

And do you know what happened next?

The prison covered it up. They called it natural causes.

No one was held accountable. No policies changed. Just another number, just another bed emptied, ready to be filled with the next unlucky soul.

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The Fear of Speaking Up: Why Inmates Stay Silent

People always ask: “Why don’t inmates report abuse? Why don’t they demand medical care? Why don’t they fight back?”

Because inside prison, speaking up can get you killed.

• If an inmate files a grievance against a CO, that officer—and their buddies—will make their life a living hell.
• If an inmate complains about a medical issue, they’re ignored or put on suicide watch just to shut them up.
• If an inmate’s family calls in to request a wellness check, officers go to the cell, glance inside, see “living, breathing flesh,” and walk away. Then, the inmate gets targeted for being a problem.

Suicides inside prison aren’t rare. What’s rare is them actually being investigated.

Some inmates aren’t found for hours after taking their own lives. And when they are? It’s quickly labeled as a “personal decision,” never mind the inhumane conditions that pushed them to that point.

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Families Who Fight Back Are Silenced

The prison system not only punishes inmates—it punishes anyone who dares to advocate for them.

I have personally received condescending, dismissive responses from prison officials when trying to advocate for my husband’s most basic needs.

Take this email I received from a Deputy Warden when I pushed for my husband to receive the work boots he needed:

Dear Mrs. Epperson,

I wanted to inform you that I have spoken with Officer McHerron, who is aware of the need for boots and has already made arrangements to address the matter.

Additionally, I have discussed this situation with both the Officer and your husband in person earlier today. I encourage you to advise your husband to channel his concerns through the appropriate channels within the unit. For effective communication, it is essential that he engage directly with us. While no one is perfect, including my staff, we take great pride in resolving matters efficiently at the lowest level. His active participation is crucial to the success of the rehabilitative process.

Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

No name. No accountability.

Sounds professional, right? Except it’s all for show.

This email was sent on January 16th. It is now weeks later, and my husband still doesn’t have his boots. His personal items were ‘lost in transfer,’ and he was forced to repurchase everything himself.

And the grievance process? A joke. Even when a CO4 assured me she was “looking into it,” she admitted it could take months for resolution—if it even happens at all.

This is the reality. Families who advocate are ignored, inmates who push for change are retaliated against, and no one is held accountable.

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So, What Can We Do?

The system wants us to believe that prisoners deserve this treatment. That abuse, neglect, and corruption are acceptable because of the crimes they committed.

But here’s what I know: No human being deserves to be treated like this.

✔ Independent oversight—Prisons cannot investigate themselves.
✔ Better medical care—Inmates deserve basic human dignity.
✔ Accountability for CO misconduct—No more covering up abuse.
✔ Support for families—Because strong families reduce recidivism.

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💥 It’s Time to Speak Up

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Doing Time on the Outside: The Reality of Being a Prison Wife

"So I know prison wives get a lot of heat from people that don’t understand the life. It’s sad. But we struggle too. We’re serving time too. As much as I love and trust my husband, I will always fact check. These men are survivors with survivor mentality. They’re not in prison for being stand up men 😂 in fact, mine went in a liar and addict. In order to save money, I ask questions. If protecting myself and going behind his back to confirm, oh well. I’ll protect me since he didn’t, wouldn’t and couldn’t… and this is a safe place for LO’s to be able to come together and gather facts without shaming and blaming. A lot of times people will say 'why be with him if you don’t trust him?' That’s fair. But has anyone been in love before 😂 None of us woke up one day and said I’d love to marry a felon. Yet, here we are. I wake up everyday hoping he’d change his lifestyle 🤷🏼‍♀️ I just want women to know it’s okay to be a little on edge. A little apprehensive and untrustworthy. It’s okay to doubt them. It’s okay to seek out support. And it’s definitely okay to not be a constant bank. In my last group, I can’t tell you how many women were played for years, the guy gets out and cheats or leaves her. The prison game is a real thing. And I for one will never discourage against love, however if he’s a cheater and a guard’s putting out, he’s cheating. If he’s an addict and it’s available, he’s high. Don’t make excuses and be aware that’s all. We’re all here to support each other."

She literally could not have explained it any better, and I stand behind her words 100%. She is right! We love them, and that is WHY we protect them and do the time with them as loyal, faithful, loving prison wives. Unless you live it, you will never understand it, but PLEASE keep your judgment to yourself! Who is one to judge another human being? NO ONE! GOD is the only one who can judge. And just because they are an "inmate" does not mean they are a bad human being! We ALL make mistakes, the ones on the outside are just "lucky enough not to get caught and persecuted" for them. So STOP JUDGING and START HELPING!

Prison wives get a lot of heat from people who don’t understand this life. It’s sad, really. We struggle too. We serve time too. Our lives revolve around a system that wasn’t designed to accommodate love, marriage, or families. But we endure it because we believe in the men we love. We stand by them, support them, and push for their growth. But let’s get real—being a prison wife isn’t blind devotion. It’s love with wisdom, loyalty with awareness, and trust with verification.

One of the most common misconceptions outsiders have is that we’re naive, gullible, or “settling” for less. That couldn’t be further from the truth. We don’t love our men because they’re perfect; we love them despite their flaws. We don’t turn a blind eye—we fact-check. Why? Because these men are survivors. They’ve learned to navigate a brutal system. They’ve made mistakes, and some are still unlearning the survival mentality that landed them there in the first place. That doesn’t make them evil, and it doesn’t make us fools. It makes us realists.

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard, “If you don’t trust him, why are you with him?” That’s fair. But has anyone ever been in love before? Love isn’t about blind trust. Love is about honesty, accountability, and the willingness to work through the hard truths. None of us woke up one day and said, “I’d love to marry a felon.” Yet, here we are, choosing to love men who—just like all of us—are growing, evolving, and trying to be better.

As prison wives, we walk a fine line between hope and reality. We want to believe in our men, and for many of us, we have every reason to. But we also have to protect ourselves. We’ve seen the stories. Women who gave everything—money, time, loyalty—only to be left behind when he got out. Women who excused red flags because they believed “he’d change.” The prison game is real. It doesn’t mean every man is playing it, but it does mean we have to be smart.

And let’s talk about money. We are not banks. Love is not transactional. Yet, so many of us feel the pressure to constantly provide, to fill commissary accounts, to pay for phone calls, to send packages, to support them in ways they never supported us before incarceration. It’s okay to set boundaries. It’s okay to say no. Loving someone doesn’t mean carrying their financial burden alone. And if he loves you, truly loves you, he’ll understand that.

At the end of the day, we do this because we love them. We endure the judgment, the loneliness, the system, the stigma—because we see them for more than their mistakes. Because we know that they are more than the DOC number assigned to them. But let me make one thing clear: Just because someone is an inmate does NOT mean they are a bad person. We ALL make mistakes. The only difference? Some get caught. Some don’t.

So to those on the outside looking in—keep your judgment to yourself. If you’ve never walked this road, you have no idea what it takes. Instead of criticizing, start listening. Instead of assuming, start learning. And instead of shaming, start supporting. Because at the end of the day, love isn’t about the easiest path—it’s about choosing the person you believe in, no matter where they are.

To my fellow prison wives: Stay strong. Keep your head up. Protect your heart, your mind, and your resources. And never, ever apologize for loving the man you chose.

We do the time too. And we do it with strength, dignity, and love.

“Judge not, that you be not judged.” – Matthew 7:1

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