Beyond the Bars: How Families Carry the Weight of Incarceration

When a person is sentenced to prison, they aren’t the only one serving time.

Across the nation, families are living through a quiet crisis. Grieving the absence of loved ones, holding their families together, raising children in uncertainty, and navigating the complex emotions that come with incarceration. Through a series of candid conversations and reflections, I invited people to share what it felt like when someone they love was locked up and how their lives have been shaped by it ever since.

What emerged is a raw and deeply human portrait of the other side of incarceration: the people who wait.

The Initial Shock: Heartbreak, Grief, and Guilt

For many, the moment their loved one was taken into custody was a moment of collapse.

“It honestly felt like he died,” wrote Hannah Thompson, whose husband was incarcerated in 2023. “I completely crumbled.”

Bette DeBose remembered the day her son was arrested vividly. He had just been water baptized at church. Police arrived and took him away in wet clothes. “I had a very hard time living life after that,” she said. “I felt guilty for doing anything enjoyable.”

Sandy L. Matter's son was 24 when he was arrested for a double homicide while under the influence of 17 different substances. The trauma rippled through the family: her mother died by suicide just days before his sentencing. “It has forever changed my life,” she said.

Parents spoke often of guilt. Robin Watson, whose son is incarcerated, said she spent a year wondering where she went wrong. Another mother says it wasn’t until her son wrote her saying she was the best mother he could have asked for that she began to believe it wasn’t her fault.

The shock of incarceration often comes with no warning and no handbook for what comes next.

The Long Haul: Endurance, Isolation, and Emotional Numbness

As the months turn to years, many family members described entering a state of emotional suspension.

“You just go numb to every day and look forward to the end,” said Tia Casciano, whose husband has been incarcerated for over a year.

One woman, who experienced both her father’s and later her son’s father's incarcerations, described it like this: “When my dad got locked up, I was mad. Stayed mad. When my son’s dad got locked up, I was numb. Still numb 18 years later.”

Michelle Hunter, who has stood by her partner for eight years, said the COVID-19 lockdowns nearly broke her. “I didn’t think I would ever see him again. That was a rough two years.”

Even for families with strong bonds, the distance and restrictions take their toll. One partner described the pain of missing everyday gestures—the good morning kiss, the bedtime routine, the ability to parent together. “Life just goes numb,” she said. “And you learn how to move forward daily just being there.”

Children Left Behind: The Echo of Incarceration

The pain of separation is perhaps felt most deeply by children.

“When you hear your baby ask, ‘When can we pick Daddy up? Is he a bad guy?’—it pulls on your heartstrings,” said Tia Casciano.

Linda Hofstetter shared the story of her granddaughter, incarcerated at 19 and now serving a sentence until 2051. While inside, she gave birth to a baby girl who is now 8. “She misses her mom so much,” Linda said. “She’s being raised by my son and daughter-in-law. She’s a joy, but she grieves.”

Our children often grow up with questions that don’t have simple answers and without the presence of a parent who may still be trying to grow, heal, and change from behind bars.

Faith, Love, and Resilience

Amid the loss, many spoke of strength they didn’t know they had and love that endured.

Shirlana Barnes Mays said incarceration led her closer to God. “In some ways I found myself. I found the strength I always had but never recognized.”

Michelle Hunter, who first knew her partner only vaguely before his incarceration, now calls him the love of her life. “He’s my soulmate. I’ll fight for him until the end.”

Madisen Rae, who was 18 when her father went to prison for manslaughter, said her own journey was filled with anger, addiction, and grief. Now sober, pregnant, and in a healthy relationship, she describes her bond with her father as strong—different, but meaningful. “I grieve who he once was,” she said, “but I love who he has to be now.”

These stories show that while incarceration separates, it can also refine and strengthen what matters most.

Calling for Change: Families Demand Better

Many participants were not just surviving the system—they were demanding that it change.

“There’s no rehabilitation,” said Bette DeBose. “They sit in cells for 22 hours a day, no air, bad food, and everything costs money. We have to do better. Put them in school. Teach them a trade. Let them grow food. Anything that prepares them to come back to society.”

Her frustration is echoed in other voices. Linda Hofstetter advocates tirelessly for her granddaughter, whose sentence she calls unusually harsh.

From revoked visits to excessive phone call fees, many described a system designed to punish everyone connected to the person inside.

Grief, Grit, and the Unseen Sentence

What these stories show is that incarceration doesn't just remove someone from society—it echoes through every person who loves them.

From children growing up without a parent, to mothers writing letters and making calls year after year, to partners fighting to maintain connection and hope, the cost of incarceration is paid over and over by those on the outside.

“We survive this because we must,” one woman said. “And in our surviving, we keep the people we love alive in the world.”