My testimony

The first time I walked through a grocery I could only go down one aisle, the cereal aisle. It took me a good 45 minutes to leave that aisle. The first time I went out to a restaurant, I couldn't look at the menu, couldn't decide what to eat. The first time I took a ride in a car, after wanting to go to Starbucks (of all places), I had to have the car pull over to the side of the road so I could throw-up in someone’s yard. Having not experienced motion like that in so long, I could not handle it, it made me sick to my stomach. The first time I tried to take a shower by myself, I had to call my mom in to talk to me, so I wouldn't panic about being alone. I couldn't sleep without a light on. Couldn't even go to the bathroom with out the door open. I panicked when too many people were around me, always looking over my shoulder. I even unintentionally jabbed my mom in the stomach when she unexpectedly came up behind me to me to give me a hug. I felt so uncomfortable in my skin and in the world that I wanted more than anything to be back behind bars, to be in a place that had become my comfort zone. I felt like everywhere I went I had had a scarlet letter on my chest, labeling me as a felon.

When I was released from prison I was blessed enough to have a family that was able to help me get back on my feet. Not many women or men have this. Even though I had all the help that was necessary to get back on my feet financially and physically, it wasn't enough. I didn't know where I belonged. I moved into an apartment with my youngest sister. It should have been perfect. I had years to plan it all out in my head. How I was going to be this great older sister, and make up for all the time I missed in her life -- her graduation and senior prom, the years she spent as a senior officer. I was going to be the perfect older sister I should have always been. But nothing worked out that way. I spent the first year of release in torment, not knowing what to do or why the expectations I had for myself were not working out.

I was incarcerated after finishing my junior year at the University of Washington, studying to go to med-school. I spent four years incarcerated at the Washington State Corrections Center for Women. Though I wouldn't voluntarily go back, I can honestly say the time I spent behind bars was the best experience of my life. I was able to figure out what was important in life. Being stripped of all my possessions, and losing my identity in the world, forced me to recognize where my identity came from and what really mattered in life. I now am able to look back at my experience and use it as a tool to help others. I volunteer as a mentor for Rebuilding Families, an organization that works with women releasing from prison to help them re-establish themselves in society. I am able to relate to them in a way that not many people can. I help them to look at reality and establish a plan for housing, employment, transportation, medical and food assistance, and develop a plan so that they may be successful and not want to go back to prison.

Many women have spent years in prison; it becomes their comfort zone and the easy way out is going back. Once released they would rather go back to prostitution, selling drugs or whatever their lifestyle was before prison, than struggle to establish a life free of crime. It is hard to live in this society as it is, and even harder if you feel like an outcast and are trying to establish yourself as a respectable member of society. It is hard to feel like a victim and to ask for a hand-out. As a woman being released from prison, I can testify to the difficulties and share with you the challenges this world presents. This world is not an easy place to live, whether a felon or not. It becomes easier when you have help. I challenge myself and others daily to reach out of their comfort zone and help those they might normally look past.

Dawn