By Staci Matlock
The New Mexican
Michelle Cruz sat at a bus station in Phoenix after her final day of a two-year sentence in a federal prison on a drug conviction, anxious to get back to Albuquerque and her 13-year-old son. She hadn’t seen him since she entered prison; she had only talked to him on the phone.
After an hourslong trip by bus and cab, she finally arrived at a relative’s home where her son was staying. She was told he couldn’t go home with her until she got permission from the court.
Suddenly, the enormity of life after prison hit her.
“I was overwhelmed. How was I going to get my son back? How was I going to get a job? Who would hire me?” Cruz, 50, said during a recent interview at Almas de Amistad in Albuquerque, an Amity Foundation campus for women who have been to prison or are trying to overcome an addiction. She works there now as a receptionist and administrative assistant.
Each year, thousands of New Mexicans face the daunting task of returning to their families and communities after serving time in prison. They often lack the skills, confidence and support to turn their lives around. Cruz was one of them. Now, working as a mentor through Almas de Amistad and another nonprofit, Wings for Life, she’s helping other former inmates face those struggles and build new lives.
Without help re-entering communities, said Ann Edenfield, founder of Wings for Life, many former inmates end up back in prison or watch as their children follow in their footsteps.
Decades ago, Edenfield’s first husband went to prison, leaving her to raise four children on her own. She was ostracized from two churches at a time when she most needed her faith community. “No one teaches you how to deal with that,” she said. She launched Wings to help strengthen the bonds between inmates and their families. The 30-year-old organization hosts family days in prisons and other special events. It also helps inmates prepare for life on the outside.
There are more than 7,2oo inmates in New Mexico prisons and 16,450 others on probation or parole. “Studies have found for every inmate, 33 to 38 other people are directly impacted,” Edenfield said. “In New Mexico, 10 percent of our kids, at least, have a parent in prison. It’s 19 percent for Native American kids and 18 percent for Hispanics.”
Like Cruz, former inmate Gary Pennington works with Wings, sharing his story and tips with prisoners and those who have been released.
Pennington had 33 years in a federal prison in Oklahoma on a murder conviction to consider his future. He was paroled in 2011 and walked out with a degree in psychology, years teaching other inmates and a talent for repairing houses, a skill he now uses to support himself in Albuquerque.
Two practices as an inmate helped him the most when it came to reintegrating into society: staying in touch with people outside of prison and constantly learning.
Pennington was 21 when he was convicted of murder. He spent years replaying the moment in his head, wishing he could take it back — the moment when he and a woman struggled over a gun and it went off, killing her.
Once he was in prison, he resigned himself to doing everything he could to prepare for the moment he got out. “My mother was adamant that I spend my time being productive in prison,” Pennington said.
He learned carpentry, plumbing and any other skill offered. He read magazines and took online courses through a community college so he knew about the changes happening beyond prison walls. When he entered prison, desktop computers were barely entering the mass market; by the time he left, everyone was walking around with smartphones in their pockets.
Pennington stayed in touch with people. “I wrote to everyone. Friends, politicians, former neighbors,” he said. “Every time I completed a class or earned a certificate, I wrote letters. People wrote me back, encouraging me. Sometimes they just sent me silly cards. It all helped.”
Those connections helped him feel less isolated while he was in prison and when he got out. He encourages inmates to write regular letters and notes to their families and friends. “On the outside, they have moved on. If you don’t stay in touch, they grow and you don’t,” he said.
He also urges inmates and those who’ve just left prison to try to have a positive attitude. “It’s hard for me because I fight depression,” he said. “But you have to feel good about yourself when you are doing a job.”
He also encourages them to look people in the eyes.
Outside of prison, looking someone in the eyes is a sign of confidence. Inside prison, looking someone in the eyes is a sign of aggression or challenge, Pennington said, so prisoners learn to avert their eyes.
“A lot of people from prison do that. They learned to do that to stay safe,” he said. “I educated myself not to do that. I knew one day I would be out.”
Cruz wasn’t so prepared. Like many former inmates, she was on probation when she finished her prison sentence. She lived in a halfway house, working on the requirements to regain custody of her son.
“I was a mess. I cried all the time. I became suicidal,” Cruz said.
“When you are on probation, you can’t rent a place,” she said. “Nobody wants to hire you. Because you can be found in violation at any point, companies don’t want to spend the money to train you.”
A friend told her about Almas.
There, she found a community of women with similar experiences. Many, like her, had lost custody of their children. The office had a kitchen where women could prepare food. There was a washing machine and dryer and a play area for children so the moms — and sometimes dads — could attend therapy or parenting classes. Most of all, there were people who understood Cruz’s struggles at a deep level.
Many were on the other side of those struggles, working on college degrees, building résumés, finding jobs, getting their kids back.
Even those who aren’t successful at keeping a connection with their kids find support. Lalannie Pettway, 57, was a nurse before she became hooked on drugs and ended up in prison.
“I didn’t get my son back,” said Pettway, who now works with inmates and probation officers. “There’s a part of me that had to make a choice. Did I want to be a better human being whether or not I got my son back? The answer was yes.”
Cruz said mentoring by people like Pettway and Almas de Amistad Director Mary Stanton was crucial to helping her change her life. Stanton, a former math and science teacher who is a recovering addict and an Amity alumni, said women coming out of prison face additional pressures.
“The barriers that women face when they return from prison are different and really greater than what men face,” Stanton said. “There’s an added layer of shame, one kind of imposed on them in this society. You can be a bad boy, but you can’t be a bad girl.”
At Almas, the women help motivate each other to do more and be more than they thought possible, Cruz said. “We’re constantly learning.”
The New Mexican
Michelle Cruz sat at a bus station in Phoenix after her final day of a two-year sentence in a federal prison on a drug conviction, anxious to get back to Albuquerque and her 13-year-old son. She hadn’t seen him since she entered prison; she had only talked to him on the phone.
After an hourslong trip by bus and cab, she finally arrived at a relative’s home where her son was staying. She was told he couldn’t go home with her until she got permission from the court.
Suddenly, the enormity of life after prison hit her.
“I was overwhelmed. How was I going to get my son back? How was I going to get a job? Who would hire me?” Cruz, 50, said during a recent interview at Almas de Amistad in Albuquerque, an Amity Foundation campus for women who have been to prison or are trying to overcome an addiction. She works there now as a receptionist and administrative assistant.
Each year, thousands of New Mexicans face the daunting task of returning to their families and communities after serving time in prison. They often lack the skills, confidence and support to turn their lives around. Cruz was one of them. Now, working as a mentor through Almas de Amistad and another nonprofit, Wings for Life, she’s helping other former inmates face those struggles and build new lives.
Without help re-entering communities, said Ann Edenfield, founder of Wings for Life, many former inmates end up back in prison or watch as their children follow in their footsteps.
Decades ago, Edenfield’s first husband went to prison, leaving her to raise four children on her own. She was ostracized from two churches at a time when she most needed her faith community. “No one teaches you how to deal with that,” she said. She launched Wings to help strengthen the bonds between inmates and their families. The 30-year-old organization hosts family days in prisons and other special events. It also helps inmates prepare for life on the outside.
There are more than 7,2oo inmates in New Mexico prisons and 16,450 others on probation or parole. “Studies have found for every inmate, 33 to 38 other people are directly impacted,” Edenfield said. “In New Mexico, 10 percent of our kids, at least, have a parent in prison. It’s 19 percent for Native American kids and 18 percent for Hispanics.”
Like Cruz, former inmate Gary Pennington works with Wings, sharing his story and tips with prisoners and those who have been released.
Pennington had 33 years in a federal prison in Oklahoma on a murder conviction to consider his future. He was paroled in 2011 and walked out with a degree in psychology, years teaching other inmates and a talent for repairing houses, a skill he now uses to support himself in Albuquerque.
Two practices as an inmate helped him the most when it came to reintegrating into society: staying in touch with people outside of prison and constantly learning.
Pennington was 21 when he was convicted of murder. He spent years replaying the moment in his head, wishing he could take it back — the moment when he and a woman struggled over a gun and it went off, killing her.
Once he was in prison, he resigned himself to doing everything he could to prepare for the moment he got out. “My mother was adamant that I spend my time being productive in prison,” Pennington said.
He learned carpentry, plumbing and any other skill offered. He read magazines and took online courses through a community college so he knew about the changes happening beyond prison walls. When he entered prison, desktop computers were barely entering the mass market; by the time he left, everyone was walking around with smartphones in their pockets.
Pennington stayed in touch with people. “I wrote to everyone. Friends, politicians, former neighbors,” he said. “Every time I completed a class or earned a certificate, I wrote letters. People wrote me back, encouraging me. Sometimes they just sent me silly cards. It all helped.”
Those connections helped him feel less isolated while he was in prison and when he got out. He encourages inmates to write regular letters and notes to their families and friends. “On the outside, they have moved on. If you don’t stay in touch, they grow and you don’t,” he said.
He also urges inmates and those who’ve just left prison to try to have a positive attitude. “It’s hard for me because I fight depression,” he said. “But you have to feel good about yourself when you are doing a job.”
He also encourages them to look people in the eyes.
Outside of prison, looking someone in the eyes is a sign of confidence. Inside prison, looking someone in the eyes is a sign of aggression or challenge, Pennington said, so prisoners learn to avert their eyes.
“A lot of people from prison do that. They learned to do that to stay safe,” he said. “I educated myself not to do that. I knew one day I would be out.”
Cruz wasn’t so prepared. Like many former inmates, she was on probation when she finished her prison sentence. She lived in a halfway house, working on the requirements to regain custody of her son.
“I was a mess. I cried all the time. I became suicidal,” Cruz said.
“When you are on probation, you can’t rent a place,” she said. “Nobody wants to hire you. Because you can be found in violation at any point, companies don’t want to spend the money to train you.”
A friend told her about Almas.
There, she found a community of women with similar experiences. Many, like her, had lost custody of their children. The office had a kitchen where women could prepare food. There was a washing machine and dryer and a play area for children so the moms — and sometimes dads — could attend therapy or parenting classes. Most of all, there were people who understood Cruz’s struggles at a deep level.
Many were on the other side of those struggles, working on college degrees, building résumés, finding jobs, getting their kids back.
Even those who aren’t successful at keeping a connection with their kids find support. Lalannie Pettway, 57, was a nurse before she became hooked on drugs and ended up in prison.
“I didn’t get my son back,” said Pettway, who now works with inmates and probation officers. “There’s a part of me that had to make a choice. Did I want to be a better human being whether or not I got my son back? The answer was yes.”
Cruz said mentoring by people like Pettway and Almas de Amistad Director Mary Stanton was crucial to helping her change her life. Stanton, a former math and science teacher who is a recovering addict and an Amity alumni, said women coming out of prison face additional pressures.
“The barriers that women face when they return from prison are different and really greater than what men face,” Stanton said. “There’s an added layer of shame, one kind of imposed on them in this society. You can be a bad boy, but you can’t be a bad girl.”
At Almas, the women help motivate each other to do more and be more than they thought possible, Cruz said. “We’re constantly learning.”
Resource :http://www.santafenewmexican.com/life/features/sunday-spotlight-nonprofits-help-ease-challenges-of-life-after-prison/article_397702c5-c4df-59eb-93ed-9f72653e6e4d.html
