Skip to main content

When “I Hear You” Isn’t Enough: What It Really Means to Support Someone in Prison


There’s something I’ve learned in this journey standing beside my husband while he’s locked down. And no, I’m not talking about sending money or buying quarterly packages or making sure he has socks on commissary. I’m talking about emotional support. The kind that doesn’t show up in a bank ledger, but shows up in someone’s soul.

My husband wrote his sister the other day. Poured his heart out. Told her how he felt completely forgotten by his family. Explained how he was facing going back to max—23 hours a day locked in a box. How isolating that is. How heavy that feels. How even though he knows he’s made mistakes, he still hopes someone out there cares enough to ask how he’s really doing.

Her response?

“I hear you. Love you.”

That was it.

And I’ll be real with you—he was devastated.

See, here’s the thing people don’t get: my husband doesn’t need sympathy. He needs connection. He already knows he messed up from 13 years old to 25. He knows the choices he made landed him exactly where he is. What breaks him down isn’t the sentence—it’s the silence.

Let me ask y’all something:

Do you actually know what’s going through his mind?
Do you have even the slightest clue why he started using drugs to begin with?
Why he relapsed?
Why he’s been in and out of prison all these years?

No. You don’t.

Because you never cared enough to ask. You’re too busy scrolling my blogs, judging from the sidelines, calling me a liar—while everything I write comes straight from his mouth. Things he’s finally been able to open up about because he knows I’m not here to hurt him. I’m here to love him.

And hear me loud and clear—I am his WIFE. His rock. His world. I am the one person in his life who has taken the time to talk to him, listen to him, understand him.

Is it always easy? Hell no. Loving a man who’s been through what he has isn’t some fairy tale. He’s complicated. He’s stubborn. Sometimes he pushes back harder than I think my heart can handle. But is he worth it?

Abso-fucking-lutely he is.

And y’all are missing out on the man he’s becoming because you can’t see past the man he was.

You said to him yourselves, “We have our own families now.”
Well, newsflash—so does he.

He’s a married man now. And in that, he’s found his real family. The one that doesn’t turn their back when things get hard. The one that holds on even tighter when everyone else walks away.

So while you sit back and watch from a distance, questioning me, questioning him, just know:

We don’t need your validation.
We don’t need your approval.
But he deserves better. And whether you show up or not, I always will.

And go ahead—share this with everyone. Post it. Print it out. Screenshot it. Whatever gets it across. Because in the end, I won’t back down. I WILL keep telling his story. I WILL keep standing beside him mentally, emotionally—through every milestone he faces, good or bad.

And here’s the real truth:
In the end, I’m the one who wins.

Not because it’s about proving anything to anybody else, but because I love him—fully, fiercely, unconditionally. And he not only knows it. He feels it.

Actions speak louder than words. Always have. Always will.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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 lates...

Until You’ve Walked Through Those Gates, Sit Down and Be Quiet

-By DeAnna You see memes like this floating around all the time — the ones that crack jokes about how “good” inmates supposedly have it. You know the ones: they talk about sex three times a day, reading books, working out, and then “complaining” about prison life. People laugh, hit share, and feel smug because they think they know something about what it’s like inside. I used to be one of them. I used to think prison was “right.” I believed it was what people deserved if they broke the law. I repeated the clichés: “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” “Three hots and a cot.” “They’ve got it easy in there.” And then… I worked there. Let me tell you something: until you’ve walked through those locking gates — hearing that buzzer, watching that steel door slam behind you, feeling the air shift from free to suffocating — you don’t know a damn thing about prison. Until you’ve seen the reality — the mace, the gas grenades, the cell extractions that leave blood on the floor, the...

Two Years for Corruption. Seven Years for Addiction.

  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 ...