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

    So here’s the funny part... I never even publicized that last blog. Didn’t share it. Didn’t tag it. Didn’t whisper a word about it. And yet — 15 reads . Fifteen. And believe me, I know who some of y’all are. One of you in particular is a walking, talking pot-stirrer with a PhD in Drama and a full-time job in Everyone Else’s Business. You got so little going on in your own life that mine has apparently become your favorite reality show. But here’s the thing — I’ve been out of your orbit for almost two years . As of June 5, 2025, to be exact. Two years of peace, growth, and rebuilding what you had no part in breaking. So tell me, with all due disrespect — What the hell are you still doing here? I don’t talk about you. I don’t check your pages. I don’t mention your name. Hell, I forgot you existed . Meanwhile, you? You're clocked in like you're earning a salary — watching my posts, reading my words, and running back to whisper about what you think it all means. You ...

"I understand I am in prison and in being here have given up my rights to certain things, however, one would think that you would still receive basic needs such as toilet paper." — Tammy, FBOP Inmate Let’s talk about what’s really happening inside our federal prisons — not the carefully scripted press releases or the PR-friendly narratives, but the truth straight from the mouths of those living it. Tammy, currently incarcerated in a federal Bureau of Prisons (FBOP) facility, has been battling a months-long crisis that no one on the outside wants to believe is real — a shortage of toilet paper . Not iPads. Not flat screens. Toilet. Paper. Since last Tuesday, she has received one roll. That’s it. Yesterday was supposed to be issue day — nothing. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Instead, she and 271 other women were expected to share 192 rolls total. Basic math, right? That’s 80 women who don’t get anything — unless you count napkins and paper towels, which is what Tammy has resorted...

  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 ...