From Guard to Wife: My Journey in the Shadows of the Justice System

There’s something seriously wrong with a system that says it wants rehabilitation… and then turns around and blocks the very tools that make rehabilitation possible. Since October 2025, my husband has been trying to get a book. Not just any book-but Writing My Wrongs by Shaka Senghor. A man who went into prison at 19 for murder, spent nearly two decades inside, including years in solitary, and came out transformed. A man who now mentors others, speaks on criminal justice reform, and proves that people are more than the worst thing they’ve ever done. And Arizona Department of Corrections decided that book is “too dangerous.” Too dangerous… because it “promotes prison violence.” Make that make sense. This isn’t a gang manual. This isn’t some how-to guide for chaos. This is a story about accountability. About facing your past. About breaking cycles. About a man who took full responsibility for his actions and chose to become something different. Isn’t that exactly what they say the...

I have a court order that says I can speak to my husband. Not loosely. Not “maybe.” It was clearly ruled that we are allowed to communicate as long as we don’t discuss our case. That order still stands. But the prison didn’t come out and deny it. They did something else. They found a loophole. According to them, we are still allowed to communicate. Just not through phone calls, not through visits, not through video. The only thing they’re allowing is written communication. So on paper, they get to say they’re not cutting off contact. They can point to that and act like they’re following the rules. But here’s what that actually looks like in real life. My husband writes me, and the letters don’t come. I write him, and my letters get refused or never make it to him. He follows protocol exactly the way he’s supposed to. He submits requests. He asks to speak to staff. He does everything “right.” And then we’re told he hasn’t reached out. How is he supposed to reach out when the very s...

  There’s something I can’t shake today. And honestly… it makes me sick. I just read about a correctional officer at the same prison my husband is sitting in right now —Lewis Prison Complex—who was caught smuggling heroin, fentanyl, and cell phones into the facility. Not using. Not struggling. Not trying to survive addiction. Smuggling. Trafficking. Profiting. Investigators didn’t just catch him once either. This wasn’t some “bad decision” moment. This was a full investigation—months long—with surveillance, evidence, and tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs tied to it. Let me say that again… A man with a badge, authority, and access was bringing poison into a prison —into a place already filled with men fighting addiction, trauma, and survival every single day. Now here’s the part that I cannot wrap my head around… My husband is serving seven years for doing drugs. Seven years. For addiction. For a battle that started when he was a child—before he even had ...

Expectations are powerful, but by themselves they don’t change systems. People can expect better outcomes. They can talk about reform, stability, rehabilitation, and long-term success. Public conversations can shift dramatically over time. But until expectations are tied to accountability, institutions rarely feel the pressure to adjust their structure. Arizona Department of Corrections operates within a framework where success has historically been measured through control: facility stability, rule enforcement, and population management. As long as those elements remain intact, the system can present itself as functioning properly. But expectations reshape that framework when they begin asking different questions. Instead of asking whether prisons maintain order, people start asking whether incarceration actually reduces long-term harm. Instead of focusing on disciplinary metrics, they start examining reintegration outcomes. Instead of assuming the system works because it exists,...

Systems can tolerate criticism for a long time. They can absorb reports, hearings, and waves of attention. What becomes much harder to manage is when the public begins expecting something different from the system itself. Expectations reshape the environment institutions operate inside. Arizona Department of Corrections , like most large correctional systems, has historically operated within a public expectation built around control. Containment. Discipline. Order. As long as those elements appeared strong, many people assumed the system was doing its job. But expectations evolve. When people start asking whether incarceration actually produces long-term stability — not just short-term control — the evaluation changes. The question becomes less about how strictly the system operates and more about what outcomes it produces once someone leaves. That shift alters the conversation. When voters, policymakers, and communities begin measuring success differently, institutions eventuall...

Outrage is powerful, but it’s brief. A story breaks. A statistic circulates. A moment captures public attention. People react strongly, conversations spike, and for a short period it feels like the issue has finally reached a breaking point. Then attention shifts. That cycle happens across almost every major system. The difference between temporary pressure and real structural change usually comes down to one factor: whether the attention fades or continues. Arizona Department of Corrections , like most large institutions, is built to withstand temporary spikes in criticism. Public attention rises and falls quickly, but institutions operate on longer timelines. They know that most public outrage eventually moves on to the next issue. Sustained attention works differently. When the same questions keep appearing — in reports, in community discussions, in oversight meetings, in journalism, in advocacy — the issue stops being a temporary controversy and starts becoming part of the in...