The Vicious Cycle of Being a Prison Wife: My Role as His Rock

- by DeAnna

Being a prison wife is a job that no one could ever truly understand until they walk a day in your shoes. Every day, I wake up with a heavy heart, searching for my husband in the empty space beside me. I roll over, hoping to feel his warmth, but the bed remains cold. And so begins another restless night of sleep that never truly rests.

The constant countdowns, the promises of release dates, they change like the wind. One day, his out date is set—bright and promising, a beacon on the horizon. But then, the prison system, fickle as it is, decides that the out date has changed, once again, without any explanation or reason. It feels like they just adjust it based on their mood for the day. Another setback. Another disappointment. Yet, I have to stay strong, remain hopeful, because what else is there to hold on to?

Each morning, I face another day of being his rock, the one he leans on, the one who smiles and says, "Everything will be okay." But inside, the worry never stops. It’s constant—like an echo in the back of my mind that never fades. I spend my days researching the prison system, scouring through emails, trying to uncover any violations they’ve committed against him. I fight the endless battles, even if it’s just to protect him from the inside.

I worry about his basic needs. Is he eating? Are they providing him with enough food or even safe food? Is he getting proper medical care, or is he left to suffer without the help he desperately needs? I wonder if he has enough clean clothes to wear or if he's forced to wash his things with a bar of soap in the toilet or shower. I think about the days when he had to fight to make sure his items weren’t stolen by someone else who took advantage of his vulnerability. And every week, I find myself replacing something else for him, whether it’s something stolen, worn out, or damaged.

The uncertainty never stops—when will the next lockdown come? Will he be safe? Will I get that dreaded phone call telling me there’s been a riot or something worse happening on the inside? It’s a constant fear, one that never truly lets you go.

And yet, despite all this, I put on a brave face every single day. I show up with a light-hearted voice, offering him my smile through the phone, telling him everything’s okay, even though inside, my heart is heavy with concern. Because he’s worth it. He deserves that smile, that strength, even when I feel like I'm crumbling inside. I do it because he needs me to be his constant, his stability, his rock.

And I keep going, day by day, loving him through the pain, the uncertainty, and the worry. Because no matter how hard it gets, he is worth every second of it. And as long as he’s behind those walls, I will be here, holding on, loving him with everything I’ve got.

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