An Imago Dei Volunteer

Its 28 years ago since I left prison a free woman, it would have been impossible for me to comprehend any possibility of ever returning by choice to prison back then.

Part of me even today as a 54-year-old counsellor with all my Clinical experience and personal healing journey, I still feel shame, responsibility and guilt for the crimes I committed. Another part also knows that wherever opinion may fall my experiences as a 21-year-old non-violent offender were not acceptable, helpful for either my younger self or Society in general. I would like to say things have changed significantly but there is still much work to do.

It was November 1991, I had spent 3 days in a police cell and then I was taken to court and remanded in custody. My drug offences included overseas travel and the prosecution said I would be a flight risk. I was remanded to Holloway prison, a 3-hour road journey, handcuffed in the back of a prison van contained in a metal holding box. I had the same clothes on that I had been arrested in. I felt dirty tired, hungry, anxious, but most of all afraid. I am a middle-class, white woman, my clothes and jewellery were expensive, and I stood out. I felt like an alien. The reception area was stark with white walls. Everything looked dirty. The walls were scuffed, the tables unwiped. it smelt of cabbage, sweat, and dirty hair.

Some of the women were withdrawing from Heroin, and others were quite clearly mentally unstable. Some were just staring into space. Others seemed to have friends there and were familiar with the officers.

Everyone, waiting.

There is a lot of waiting in prison. There were women of different nationalities, and a vast age range. The youngest person I met in Holloway was fourteen years old, the oldest in her eighties. The eldest was in there for not paying her poll tax.

My parents were stereotypical, white, middle-class people. I was so scared of what they would say if they found out I was in prison. I didn’t even call them. I felt very alone. There was no one to tell me what to expect and I felt afraid to ask anyone. An inmate approached me with a blue, plastic plate of congealed liver casserole. She looked at me and looked at the plate, then apologised; “Sorry tea was at 4pm “. it was around 7pm by that time. The smell of the liver reached my already assaulted senses. The smells, the sounds of doors banging, locks turning, people shouting, crying or screaming - this was my first impression of prison.

When my name was finally called, I was told to strip, then one officer shouted out to another officer my proportions, and any defining marks. My fingerprints were taken, and then a mug shot. I looked hopefully at some showers behind the desk. She caught my eye and said, “Sorry, the showers are not working”. The officer advised me to leave my jewellery in my personal property ‘for safety’. I was allowed to keep my Channel Number 5 perfume for some reason.  I sprayed it liberally every day for as long as it lasted; to this day I cannot bare the smell of Channel Number 5. I was given a toothbrush and some soap, and sent to D3.

In the reception wing they gave me a number TV1734 which is burnt into my memory. I had been “processed”. The room I was given had three other women in it. Two withdrawing from drugs, the other one sobbing uncontrollably for her children.

This was the start of a seven-year cycle of prison; offending, prison, drugs, acting out past trauma, and trying to self-soothe in a maladaptive way. I had no rehabilitation, therapy guidance, or support. When my parents eventually found out they were distraught, but not very helpful as they kept shaming and blaming me for where I had ended up.

The way I started on my recovery journey in 1999 was when one person believed in me and kept giving me support and affirmation. I was one of the lucky ones. My background meant I had an education and a family. I was able to become functional again as I healed from my past childhood trauma which was significant, but not even recognised or studied in the 90’s.

The reason I volunteer at Imago Dei is because had I had someone to guide me and believe in me when I was initially in prison, I doubt I would have lost so many years to addiction and disfunction. I do not feel good going into prison; many difficult feelings come up for me which I would rather not feel. I want to use everything that I have to help women recover and feel worthwhile. For them to know they matter, they have a place in society, and that whatever they have done it will not define them for the rest of their lives. The hardest comment I have had to hear from an inmate is that, “They feel like a monster”. Sometimes its hard for our humanity to bear.

The things I love about volunteering on the Flourish Course is that we get to give others hope. More importantly, it is my honour to share my journey and the tools I have which may help, along with testimonies of other’s redemption. I see the women I meet find hope, self-esteem, and a new sense of purpose. The women on the course move me every time. It never feels like enough to me, but we do what we can, wherever we can, and then we pray.