Leaving day is always special. I find it so beautiful that people put a lot of effort into leaving day, unlike the day you arrive. When you look at the ID badges, which were taken on arrival days, you can see the weight, pain, stress, and anxiety, and it is only a headshot. This is the opposite polarity of the day someone leaves. They spend a whole lot of time prepping their outfits, getting hair, makeup, and nails done. You not only want your family to know that you were okay, but it also represents the transformation to FREEDOM.

With the stars aligned I went back to the Rec Department and expressed my interest in taking over the class. A few weeks later...I host a packed Sunday night Dancerize class. I spend most of my week listening to music and making up routines while I am working out.

See, my co-worker is a middle-aged Caucasian woman who was a former banker. The books tell a story quite foreign to her middle-class, midwestern upbringing. Numerous racial and social class issues are touched upon in the book that were enlightening to her, including diversity, violence in inner-city neighborhoods, and police brutality. She stated that her eyes were opened to all of these issues. I was able to share some of my personal experiences as a teacher, Black American, and mother of Black girls. It was a rich and eye-opening conversation for both of us.

My second, and favorite part of my day, was the face-to-face visit I received from my husband. As a part of his multi-state holiday visiting tour, he added KY as a stopped and visited me. I was really happy. The last time I saw him face to face was on the morning he dropped me off here. Sure we have video visits, but it was not the same. There were two things that stood out for me during our visits: the way his eyes light up when he sees me and his consistent desire for me to remain happy, rested, and peaceful when I return home. 

The highlight of my day was my video visit with all my girls. I got to see all five of them in one place. For them I am so grateful. I really do miss them, a lot. Especially on holidays like this, it really makes you appreciate your family more. Next year this time I will be home and I plan to really do it big; Kris Jenner style. 

Although we have some cool things planned for tomorrow I still miss the traditional things I do with family and friends. My intention for myself over the next couple of days is to remain grateful and present. To focus on my family here, create memories with them, and to feel the love that is all around me. I pray that my family on the outside will do the same. Although we will not be together physically, they are connected to me in a way that miles couldn’t separate.

Although I do not always give myself a lot of credit, so much has changed since I walked into that gate. Not only do I look different, I feel so much better. Every time I look at my ID Badge, which was taken the first day I arrived, I am reminded of that day. I can see the sadness and pain in my eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. So even if the text was not on the badge stating "INMATE" my eyes alone showed that I was "in prison."

10 am count was delayed as the officers went door to door telling us not to take showers. What we feared was coming to reality. We were about to lose water. After going to the cafe' to get our grab-and-go meals (bologna, pb&j, bread, chips, and two bottles of water) we learned that we may be without water for 14 days or more.

A couple of days ago the unit manager came to our floor and gave us a warning. She stated that she had received numerous complaints about the noise on our floor. She told us that if it continued she was going to move our entire floor to the bus stop. The bus stop is not a real room. It is an open space that houses over 20 inmates. It is wide open and in the middle of the building. It’s called the bus stop because it was never designed to be a permanent space, only a stop until new inmates receive their permanent rooms. Basically, it is the worse place to live in the building. No doors. No privacy. No peace. 

This is not the first time this has occurred since I have been here; a parent learning that their child passed away from suicide. It is actually more frequent than one could imagine. Even when I was telling my bunkie about what happened she told me about another girl on our hall who also lost her child to suicide. 

All day I received birthday wishes via email. I even had a video call with my family and a call with my best friend of over twenty five years. I had love coming from every angle. My 45th may not have been in the ideal place, but it was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Today, I waited to hear the outcome of my daughter's father/co-defendant’s sentencing. It was important to me because this is something that directly impacts my young child. My mind raced as I thought about how I would one day have to explain to her why she no longer received texts or visits from her father; a conversation no mother wants to have with her daughter. My hopes were that I would be returning home before his departure to at least close the gap of time enough to minimize the impact on her. This, however, is not the case. Sadly, my youngest angel will navigate the world for a short period of time with two incarcerated parents.

I was taken back to my Jazzercise days. I thought about why I loved it, and it was because of the instructor I had. She was so into the workout and just had fun. That is what I decided to do. I let all of the judgements and insecurity go and I just went in the moment. It was almost like time stood still. I never even looked up at the clock, I just danced, smiled and taught the participants.

In true military fashion, Captain hit the floor early this morning. And when she stepped out of her door the lights came on so that she could see her poster. When I tell you her tears flowed for what seemed like twenty minutes. She was so happy. She said, “This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long time. You all are stuck with me for life.”

One thing I have noticed is that the ladies who have left [this place] all seem to go through a stage of anxiousness; mainly because they have no idea what they want to do or what they are going to do once they get out. As a matter of fact, I have been asking a lot of people here what they feel is missing, and many say re-entry prep. They feel like we take classes just to check a box, but overall they are not being given the tools and skills to help them re-enter society successfully.

When I first arrived, my body was in so much pain. My knee hurt, my wrist was swollen, and I was overweight. I came up with a term to describe the weight I put on, “case weight.” So many women spoke about how much weight they had gained once they caught their cases. That was me too. Once I found out that I was under investigation and could possibility go to prison, mentally, emotionally, and physically I fell apart. Honestly speaking, I did not want to live. I wore my anxiety and pain on my body.

There had to be at least twenty of us standing outside waiting for the girls. When they opened the car door and stepped out, we were going crazy. Jumping, waving, clapping, and of course...crying. Not just me, ALL OF US. There was not a dry eye out there

After three months, I finally get to see my girls. OMG! I am over the moon right now. There is so much I want to say and to talk about. I can't wait to hear about everything that has been going on in their lives.

This Monday, I noticed myself getting a little irritated and moody. I decided to leave my room and find a space where I could work on my business plans. I also got in a workout and journaled. I kept wondering why my mood had shifted and I really could not put my finger on it. At first I thought I was jealous, so I explored that emotion. But, that wasn't quite it. After having a conversation with my friend, I realized that I may be more of an empath than I may have realized.

We had a situation/conversation/disagreement, etc. about the use of the N word and who is allowed to use it; not me per se, but the individuals on my hall. More specifically, some of the Black girls on my hall found the use of the word offensive coming from one of the Puerto Rican girls. This sparked a small debate. I, in true PhD form, needed some facts.