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Illustration by James Bonilla

This holiday season, PJP editors asked formerly incarcerated writers how the holidays have changed for them since they left prison. Read the other perspectives here.

As a child, my family celebrated the holidays in a big way. I remember the eggnog and fruitcake, the glittering lights and the candlelight service on Christmas Eve. I remember the tree stayed up all year.

I was adopted into my family around Christmastime, so that was always special.

As I grew older, and the family fractured, holidays began to mean less and less until they meant nothing at all. Immediately before my incarceration, I was in free fall. I was twice divorced and stealing money to live. Every day was hollow; I was numb. I lived alone, had few real friends, and did what I could to hide my criminal behavior. My self-worth was in the graveyard, and I sometimes wished my physical self was there too.

While incarcerated, I was scared and mostly kept my head down. But over time, I turned to writing to do the introspective work that would help me build good character. It became my catharsis, and I began to imagine the person I wanted to be. Over time, I developed real friendships. I started to interact with others and build my confidence. 

During those years in a Colorado prison, I mostly lived on state pay: $15 a month to purchase hygiene products, coffee and writing supplies. I rarely had the funds for the fancy stuff, like a bar of Dove soap or a bottle of Suave shampoo and conditioner. 

One December, one of the OGs on the yard — a woman 25 years into a life-without-parole sentence — arrived at my door and handed me a package, then quickly walked away. I was confused because we weren’t exactly friends, though we were both peer mentors and lived next door to each other in the incentive unit. 

She must’ve noticed that I’d gone several weeks without a canteen order. Having limited funds herself, I later learned she had saved up and over time collected shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, toothpaste, soap and lotion — for me. 

Today, almost four years since I left prison, I occasionally return to that profound moment. Her generosity illuminated the kindness and camaraderie that can develop in the crucible of prison, where we share experiences and build bonds, no matter where we started. These days, I am happily married, with a stable career, but holidays will always be when I remember my community inside. In some ways, I wish I was still there.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

JoyBelle Phelan is a writer in Colorado. She was the first woman at La Vista Correctional Facility to be published in Colorado’s The Inside Report statewide prison newspaper. She was later appointed the managing editor of the paper at Denver University Prison Arts Initiative.

Phelan was incarcerated twice for a total of seven years and passionately believes that no one should be remembered for their worst decisions. She is using her lived experience to challenge the perception of prisons for women and the reentry experience. She continues to work with incarcerated writers in Colorado prisons, providing a writing mentorship program. Phelan is a former PJP staff member, a graduate of the 2023 Dream Justice cohort and a 2022 TEDx San Quentin speaker.