So, I've spent most of my life as a passive person. When someone tried to overpower me, I would just curl up in a ball - literally when I was young, figuratively when I was older. I always ran as far as I could from confrontation, which meant never sticking up for myself. However, I could stick up for anyone else. I was a strong advocate and passion showed when I needed to defend someone, but I was unable to defend or stand up for myself.
When I started in recovery 5 1/2 years ago, this was one of the big changes I had. I started to even notice how passive I was, and I started to gain the self-confidence to be able to stand my ground on my own behalf. There were failures, I allowed a supervisor to emotionally attack me for 4 1/2 months before I said, "enough is enough," and in the end was able to speak my mind and come to peace within myself to never allow someone to act that way to me again.
Instead of just being passive for the past several years, I have taken a deep breath, taken a chance, and faced life head on. It was hard and sometimes I didn't like the result - like what's happened to me with school, but at least I know I am not running away. Fear is not stopping me from taking care of myself by being honest, grateful, and giving it over to my higher power when I need to. That is what recovery is all about and I thank god every day for my years of recovery and the gifts it has brought me.
So, for the past few weeks, I have taken a couple steps back. That's what progress is all about - it's not about perfection, but about trying our best. I allowed someone at work to bully me and I did not confront it back. I never asked, "why?" I fell victim. What we know, is that the more we allow someone to step all over us, the more they will. It started with the person just "snapping" at me now and then. Then she started to blame me for things that I know are not true. I figured it was just a bad spell and we'd somehow get past this. But, I was wrong. I should have said something.
Today, everything came to full circle. It always does. Never think that things won't come out sometime later, it always does. The person was being asked about something and she threw me under the bus, claimed I did something I didn't. Something that I knew could result in my being fired. When I learned about it, I took the non-passive route and brought myself directly to the staff member to state the truth about my own actions. I was done hiding from the person who has been unkind to me, I had to stand up for myself. Well, that got us both in the office and when the staff member asked me how the two of us have been working together lately, I spoke the truth. The hard truth - as hard for me as for her - as I was admitting that I allowed myself to be treated badly and I was "spilling the beans" right in front of the person. It was so uncomfortable, but I had had enough. I was not going to be treated like my coworker has some power over me because I never spoke up. So, I finally did. In the end, nothing happened, nothing at all. But I'd accidentally gotten a student in trouble in the mean time - throwing someone under the bus by accident, while speaking the truth. Certainly, not what I was intending. Back at my unit, I walked up the student, who had already been talked to, and told her that according to my recovery program, when I am wrong I promptly admit it. I told the student that it was my fault for bringing her up and that I was sorry. I was trying to make a point and hadn't considered the impact of telling something. She could have gotten in trouble. I'm glad the staff member did not do that. This is not about that student, this is about the relationship between my coworker and myself.
So, while I am telling this student my apology and she is forgiving me, my coworker walks up to me and starts going in at me. She doesn't know that before I left work today, I told the staff member to please plan a time for us all to talk, because relations are really bad between my coworker and myself. Secondly, I said, "and if someone has to go, please let me go... I have four months, she has years." I truly believe that. I LOVE my job, but I will not allow someone to take away my serenity or ability to survive prison day by day and still be able to sleep at night.
After the coworker went off on me, I just walked away. That's what I learned to do when someone is being unreasonable and angry, just walk away. Do not engage. I walked away and I wrote a note. I resigned from my job. It sucks, but it is the right thing to do for me. I can still help students on the side, if they want some help. I have only months left, I don't want this other person to look at me as an enemy and she is really good at math and the students will benefit from her teaching them. I was good too, but I will not allow myself to again be stressed about going to work everyday, because I fear how someone will talk to me. This is the way I will know that I can keep my head up and not be constantly walking on egg shells. It's going to be okay. I am about to deliver the note in person. I do not know the reaction I will get, but I suspect it will be fine. I am just an inmate. I can be replaced.
A blog about a woman sentenced to one year and one day in a federal women's prison camp and was sent to FMC Carswell for a crime related to her history of compulsive gambling.
Highlights
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Friday, March 7, 2014
From Dragonfly: A Communication Move
They'd been telling us for months... then they did the wiring... then the units came in and sat empty... yesterday it happened... They moved the email computers into the housing units. Four per unit - which is a little unfair, as some units have like 100 people and other units, such as mine, has about 300 people. In fact, my current unit is the largest. Last night, the line to use the email took over 45 minutes. In the main hospital, I never waited more than 20 minutes and usually it was much shorter. I have a feeling that the excitement of email at our fingerprints will soon die down, though, once people use up their funds faster. It does cost 5 cents per minute of use, so many people can only use the computer for a short limited time. I try to not be on email for more than 30 minutes - $1.50 - per day. That's approximately $45/month = a lot of money when in prison!
The other thing I've noticed is that all the computers were put into these little desk units that lock. So, now, I realize, email can be taken away from us if people misuse them or are causing a ruckus in the unit. We all get the punishment, even if just a few are causing trouble. I pray that people will see this as the privilege it is and do nothing to get them locked down. For me, writing this way is a great way for all my communication with the outside world. I've slowed on my phone calls. It's just so hard to hear voices, sometimes, and it is also difficult to never be delivering very good news. Plus, the lines for the phones remain insanely long most of the time (except mornings, but I doubt anyone wants me to call at 6am).
Such a simple move of the computers, but it will actually impact my day in many ways. It's amazing how we fall into a routine in our lives - kind of like if that coffee shop you always go to on the way to work in the morning is now closed, you have to shift your routine and sometimes it's difficult. For me, my routine always started with my going to email and waiting for Freckles to meet me about 6:40am for breakfast. But now, there will be no where we are allowed to just "stand" or "sit" to meet one another. After breakfast, sometimes I would go back into email before work and see Lola. Now, there's no where to automatically see Lola in the morning either. After lunch, I usually went into the email room to do personal emails or write, but now it would be in my unit, which is much less convenient and would have longer lines. So, everything changes with this little movement of where email is accessible.
I hear that most the prisons put email in the units. Honestly, I do like it. I feel like it's a little more private, there are doors that separate us between units so we can't just read each others business. We can use it later in the day and during times that we would need a "pass" to access it during the day. There are certainly benefits. I think the only "kink" is with my own head its OCD of not enjoying inconvenient change, but, then again, it's been made into a convenience in a different way. Perplexing as that is, I will still enjoy my time on trulinks.
The other thing I've noticed is that all the computers were put into these little desk units that lock. So, now, I realize, email can be taken away from us if people misuse them or are causing a ruckus in the unit. We all get the punishment, even if just a few are causing trouble. I pray that people will see this as the privilege it is and do nothing to get them locked down. For me, writing this way is a great way for all my communication with the outside world. I've slowed on my phone calls. It's just so hard to hear voices, sometimes, and it is also difficult to never be delivering very good news. Plus, the lines for the phones remain insanely long most of the time (except mornings, but I doubt anyone wants me to call at 6am).
Such a simple move of the computers, but it will actually impact my day in many ways. It's amazing how we fall into a routine in our lives - kind of like if that coffee shop you always go to on the way to work in the morning is now closed, you have to shift your routine and sometimes it's difficult. For me, my routine always started with my going to email and waiting for Freckles to meet me about 6:40am for breakfast. But now, there will be no where we are allowed to just "stand" or "sit" to meet one another. After breakfast, sometimes I would go back into email before work and see Lola. Now, there's no where to automatically see Lola in the morning either. After lunch, I usually went into the email room to do personal emails or write, but now it would be in my unit, which is much less convenient and would have longer lines. So, everything changes with this little movement of where email is accessible.
I hear that most the prisons put email in the units. Honestly, I do like it. I feel like it's a little more private, there are doors that separate us between units so we can't just read each others business. We can use it later in the day and during times that we would need a "pass" to access it during the day. There are certainly benefits. I think the only "kink" is with my own head its OCD of not enjoying inconvenient change, but, then again, it's been made into a convenience in a different way. Perplexing as that is, I will still enjoy my time on trulinks.
From Dragonfly: ...To Accept the Things I Cannot Change
I stopped by my case worker's office this afternoon. I asked her if there has been any update on getting my exit summary completed, so that I can get a date to go home. She had "promised" I'd be out of here before my home confinement date in May, but now, she says that since medical has not completed the paperwork, I'll be lucky to get home by June... and possibly will be here until my actual "out" date of July 2nd. Really!??!??! Any other facility, and I'd be at halfway house or home already. Something is just plain old wrong that they can't seem to complete the paperwork in order for me to get my time at halfway house or home confinement. It is just so frustrating. I heard from everyone - including once I was already here - that people get their time in halfway house and home confinement, but I've seen person after person have to max out their time, here, because of paperwork and bureaucratic b.s. Okay, I'm officially agitated. Even my supervisor asked me today when I am going home. I said, "within the next 120 days," because that's as close to a date as I have. Four more months of this... four more months away from my family, away from my friends, away from trying to get back in school, away from everyone who loves and needs me, just away. Four more months of depending on Traveler, Sporty, and especially Survivor who do so much for me from a distance. I'm away from Super Dog, away from T.S., who will finish her first year of college without me seeing her dorm room, away from my aging grandparents who are not doing too great, away from my father who can barely speak to me by phone and can no longer write me because he simply can't get the words out, away from my scooter "Hope," away from colorful clothing, pedicures, fresh vegetables, wonderful foods, my computer and the Internet, my cell phone and fun games, facebook, and especially my future. Four more months of being locked up with inmates, whose stories scare me more than I can share. I am constantly learning someone's back story and saying, "she did WHAT?!?!?" Life at a camp would be different, but I'm in a high security place with all levels of security inmates, and we are all together, eating at the same tables, studying in the same classrooms, working at the same jobs, and, especially, living in the same rooms.
I can change none of the above things I am ranting about. I really hate that I ranted, but one thing I learned in recovery is to "name it, claim it, and dump it," and that was my dump. It's out there and I can now walk away from this computer and writing this note knowing that at least I am not keeping it all inside. At least I no longer have no real emotions.
Four more months sucks, but it sucks much less than those who have 4 more years, or 40 more. Of course, I did not do anything that would have earned me that much time, but some people's sentences are far too long for their crime, and others are far too soft for theirs. It is all a matter of perspective. Over 4 months I can finish the throw blanket I hastily decided to start crocheting. It's definitely an original (I can see my errors), but it will be cute and warm. It is about 1/20th complete. A bit to go still. I can spend time with the people here that are friends, and perhaps help a newbie that may come along in the near future. We received 60 new inmates yesterday, I heard, and about 300 more are on their way according to inmate.com. I can see some of my students take the official GED, and, hopefully, a few will run up to me and say, "I did it!" I'll have such pride for those students. "Yes, yes, you did! I never doubted that you could," I would say with the biggest smile on my face.
Perhaps the next four months will send me to the camp, although it's been four months since I was told I was going. I tell my case worker, "I don't want to go to camp, I want to go home." She gives a knowing nod, but she, too, appears powerless to get the people who need to do the paperwork to do the paperwork. I'm not the only one in this situation, she tells me, but I know that... it really doesn't make it any easier knowing that others are also caught here because their paperwork is not completed. We should all be leaving - make room for the 300 newbies on their way. Where will they fit in this already beyond capacity place if no one gets released?!?! Ok, that was another vent. I'm going to walk away now. I'm going to make a peanut butter and jelly on a caramel rice cake dinner and drink a sprite. I will read the novel I'm finally finishing, "Gone Girl," that I started before I was incarcerated, but had not had access to until I found it waiting for someone to want it on a trash can lid (where we put things up for grabs) in my unit the other day. I also got a reader's digest today, that, I will enjoy. Interestingly, it is about "dumb criminals" - I think I now know some of those people! The picture has a criminal being held up by a banana - okay, that's funny, given how important bananas are at this place. It will make me laugh. Laughter is good.
I can change none of the above things I am ranting about. I really hate that I ranted, but one thing I learned in recovery is to "name it, claim it, and dump it," and that was my dump. It's out there and I can now walk away from this computer and writing this note knowing that at least I am not keeping it all inside. At least I no longer have no real emotions.
Four more months sucks, but it sucks much less than those who have 4 more years, or 40 more. Of course, I did not do anything that would have earned me that much time, but some people's sentences are far too long for their crime, and others are far too soft for theirs. It is all a matter of perspective. Over 4 months I can finish the throw blanket I hastily decided to start crocheting. It's definitely an original (I can see my errors), but it will be cute and warm. It is about 1/20th complete. A bit to go still. I can spend time with the people here that are friends, and perhaps help a newbie that may come along in the near future. We received 60 new inmates yesterday, I heard, and about 300 more are on their way according to inmate.com. I can see some of my students take the official GED, and, hopefully, a few will run up to me and say, "I did it!" I'll have such pride for those students. "Yes, yes, you did! I never doubted that you could," I would say with the biggest smile on my face.
Perhaps the next four months will send me to the camp, although it's been four months since I was told I was going. I tell my case worker, "I don't want to go to camp, I want to go home." She gives a knowing nod, but she, too, appears powerless to get the people who need to do the paperwork to do the paperwork. I'm not the only one in this situation, she tells me, but I know that... it really doesn't make it any easier knowing that others are also caught here because their paperwork is not completed. We should all be leaving - make room for the 300 newbies on their way. Where will they fit in this already beyond capacity place if no one gets released?!?! Ok, that was another vent. I'm going to walk away now. I'm going to make a peanut butter and jelly on a caramel rice cake dinner and drink a sprite. I will read the novel I'm finally finishing, "Gone Girl," that I started before I was incarcerated, but had not had access to until I found it waiting for someone to want it on a trash can lid (where we put things up for grabs) in my unit the other day. I also got a reader's digest today, that, I will enjoy. Interestingly, it is about "dumb criminals" - I think I now know some of those people! The picture has a criminal being held up by a banana - okay, that's funny, given how important bananas are at this place. It will make me laugh. Laughter is good.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
From Dragonfly: Is Anything Real?
There's such a falacy of living in prison. The reality of the world does not cross over the fences. People develop fake families, fake relationships, pretend to have histories they don't, pretend to have futures they don't. It is honestly hard to know what is truth and what is real. I will give a couple examples.
I have years of work with the LGBTQ community. I have taught about the differences between sexual orientation and gender and tried to help people understand the lives of transgender individuals - why they transition, the difficulty of their lives before and after transition, and how them being transgender has little to do with what their sexual orientation is. Gender and sexuality are SOOOO complicated, yet, here, in prison, it's even moreso.
Yesterday, a woman I know came into my room to ask my roommate to help her become a "boy." I looked to this woman and asked her why she felt she wanted to look like a boy. She responded that she wants a new girlfriend and she wants the girls chasing her. She had a fight with her girlfriend the day before and was looking for someone new. I asked if she felt like a "boy" or masculine, she said, "no." I asked why did she think she needed to look like a boy to get a girlfriend, she said that boy's are chased and taken care of by their "straight" girlfriends (who are only gay for the stay and therefore want some who looks masculine). I asked her why she doesn't just want to be herself and find a girl, she said that she just wants to get "f***ed." I didn't expect that response. So, she cut her hair shorter, borrowed clothing that is at least 3 sizes too big on her, and started to go by a guy's name. She is officially a "boi/boy" here at carswell, yet, on the inside, she is a girl. In fact, at home, she has a husband and 7 children --- and she's still in her 30's. What is real?
Another inmate, whose hair is short and dresses failry boyish, had a whole conversation with the women in the laundry room, yesterday, that she is a woman and proud to be a woman, and only looks the way she does because she is lazy and doesn't want to have to do her hair. This is a woman, who people who just don't understand gender and sexuality, would call, "sir" or "him," even though she would prefer "she" or "her." She passes that well. She has a wife and a child at home and a girlfriend of years here. What is real?
People form incredible friendships here. They share the details of their lives and bond over similarities, laugh over the crazy stories of the past, and cry over missing family and children. They promise to stay in touch once one goes home. Yet, a card or letter almost never comes. Did they already forget how hard it is in prison? Were those friendships real?
People go home saying they will never come back. They go to halfway houses or home confinement. Months later we see them again, most violating the most basic rules of their supervision - sex with other felons, getting pregnant by other other felons, traveling outside their zone without permission, drug dealing, ... they say that the rules are too hard on them - they'd rather just complete their time in prison. I can't imagine ever making the decision to come back to prison. It is not the "good ol' days" when we had no responsibilities. We leave behind everyone we love, and most of the women have young children. What is real?
In some ways, prison life is like taking a step back in time - to the 1940's or 50's - where life was much simpler, and especially was restrictive to women. Women who wanted to work in non-female jobs, had a hard time getting them, and often chose to look masculine, even if they didn't feel that way on the inside. Just wearing pants was off limits, but some defied those rules. Technology was limited, as it is here. In many ways, women's lives were lived by a set of known and unknown rules - especially if they went to college (where women had earlier curfews than men, and den mothers that forbade certain kinds of behavior). But, we live in the 21st century now, and so much has changed. So, perhaps that is what makes living in a place like this so unreal, because almost nothing seems to have changed for the female inmates in prison.
I have years of work with the LGBTQ community. I have taught about the differences between sexual orientation and gender and tried to help people understand the lives of transgender individuals - why they transition, the difficulty of their lives before and after transition, and how them being transgender has little to do with what their sexual orientation is. Gender and sexuality are SOOOO complicated, yet, here, in prison, it's even moreso.
Yesterday, a woman I know came into my room to ask my roommate to help her become a "boy." I looked to this woman and asked her why she felt she wanted to look like a boy. She responded that she wants a new girlfriend and she wants the girls chasing her. She had a fight with her girlfriend the day before and was looking for someone new. I asked if she felt like a "boy" or masculine, she said, "no." I asked why did she think she needed to look like a boy to get a girlfriend, she said that boy's are chased and taken care of by their "straight" girlfriends (who are only gay for the stay and therefore want some who looks masculine). I asked her why she doesn't just want to be herself and find a girl, she said that she just wants to get "f***ed." I didn't expect that response. So, she cut her hair shorter, borrowed clothing that is at least 3 sizes too big on her, and started to go by a guy's name. She is officially a "boi/boy" here at carswell, yet, on the inside, she is a girl. In fact, at home, she has a husband and 7 children --- and she's still in her 30's. What is real?
Another inmate, whose hair is short and dresses failry boyish, had a whole conversation with the women in the laundry room, yesterday, that she is a woman and proud to be a woman, and only looks the way she does because she is lazy and doesn't want to have to do her hair. This is a woman, who people who just don't understand gender and sexuality, would call, "sir" or "him," even though she would prefer "she" or "her." She passes that well. She has a wife and a child at home and a girlfriend of years here. What is real?
People form incredible friendships here. They share the details of their lives and bond over similarities, laugh over the crazy stories of the past, and cry over missing family and children. They promise to stay in touch once one goes home. Yet, a card or letter almost never comes. Did they already forget how hard it is in prison? Were those friendships real?
People go home saying they will never come back. They go to halfway houses or home confinement. Months later we see them again, most violating the most basic rules of their supervision - sex with other felons, getting pregnant by other other felons, traveling outside their zone without permission, drug dealing, ... they say that the rules are too hard on them - they'd rather just complete their time in prison. I can't imagine ever making the decision to come back to prison. It is not the "good ol' days" when we had no responsibilities. We leave behind everyone we love, and most of the women have young children. What is real?
In some ways, prison life is like taking a step back in time - to the 1940's or 50's - where life was much simpler, and especially was restrictive to women. Women who wanted to work in non-female jobs, had a hard time getting them, and often chose to look masculine, even if they didn't feel that way on the inside. Just wearing pants was off limits, but some defied those rules. Technology was limited, as it is here. In many ways, women's lives were lived by a set of known and unknown rules - especially if they went to college (where women had earlier curfews than men, and den mothers that forbade certain kinds of behavior). But, we live in the 21st century now, and so much has changed. So, perhaps that is what makes living in a place like this so unreal, because almost nothing seems to have changed for the female inmates in prison.
From Dragonfly: New "Issue"
I finally decided to wait in the laundry line this morning at 6 am to obtain my "issue." Three pair of panties, three pair of socks, and three bras were given to me. Yay! They use such no-name brands of things that everything pretty much falls apart long before the 6-month issue of new items is given. Luckily, Freckles lives in the main building since she is doing RDAP, so she held me a much closer placement in line than I would have had after limping myself from the housing units to the main building once "chow" was called at 6 this morning. By 6:25am, I was back in my room, getting ready for work, and making my bed. Breakfast with Freckles at 6:40am, finished off my early morning.
I've been reading a lot more, again, now that I am on the upper tier. I read three books this weekend, which was a shock to my roommates. Meanwhile, I also made 3 bracelets for someone and, also, stitched on a plastic canvas a Tasmanian devil for a friend's cup. It was a busy weekend, mostly spent in my room. Lola and I did try to go to indoor rec and play a game, but all the tables were being used.
I also did something I hadn't done since I got here, I walked the track a couple times around. Usually, my legs would not allow for even a short consistent walk, but I felt decent the other night, and it was beautiful weather, and so Lola and myself took 2 trips around the track. That's just 2/3 of a mile, but, still, it's definite improvement. We've promised each other that we will do that more, once it is warmer again. It's in the 20's now - brrrr. Of course, everyone passed us by, it hasn't made my walking any faster, but just sustaining a walk is good news. I have been having a new set of symptoms in my legs - a lot of aching in my ankles, especially when I lie down. I am not worried about it, though, I'm sure it's just another extension of my spondyloarthropathy and enthesitis. Amazing how much pain you can learn to live with, when you have no choice.
I'm teaching a new adult continuing education (ACE) course on employment skills on Monday nights. Last week was the first night, and the students were ecstatic with the content and my teaching. Numerous students told me that I should be a public speaker and I continue to get feedback on the class. Just this morning, while someone was brushing her teeth in the bathroom, she was telling me that it's the best ACE course she's taken here. It makes me smile. I know that I was meant to teach and I pray I am given that opportunity again in the future. I won't say I'm the best teacher, by no means, but when you gain energy, rather than lose it, doing a job, then you know it's a good fit for you. There's nothing better than seeing the connection of knowledge on a student's face--- "oh, I get it!!!"
So, I shall wear my new "issue" clothing in confidence that I know that there's a future for me beyond being imprisoned. As I tell my students, 40 doors may be closed to us, but the 41st may be open. We need to be humble, honest, open-minded, and willing - and in time, all our dreams are still possible. I told a young woman in her 20's yesterday that she can still aspire to be a surgeon. Why not? Start at a community college, do well, transfer to a 4-year college, take lots of math and science, take the MCAT, and she will be well on her way. Anything is possible - as long as she stays away from drugs and the fast money that got her in here. Perhaps the class is inspiring the women to take a chance at a slower life on the outside. I know that even teaching it, is giving me perspective on never giving up on my goals, even when it appears no one wants to back me. Determination and that fire in your gut to keep moving forward can carry you through.
I've been reading a lot more, again, now that I am on the upper tier. I read three books this weekend, which was a shock to my roommates. Meanwhile, I also made 3 bracelets for someone and, also, stitched on a plastic canvas a Tasmanian devil for a friend's cup. It was a busy weekend, mostly spent in my room. Lola and I did try to go to indoor rec and play a game, but all the tables were being used.
I also did something I hadn't done since I got here, I walked the track a couple times around. Usually, my legs would not allow for even a short consistent walk, but I felt decent the other night, and it was beautiful weather, and so Lola and myself took 2 trips around the track. That's just 2/3 of a mile, but, still, it's definite improvement. We've promised each other that we will do that more, once it is warmer again. It's in the 20's now - brrrr. Of course, everyone passed us by, it hasn't made my walking any faster, but just sustaining a walk is good news. I have been having a new set of symptoms in my legs - a lot of aching in my ankles, especially when I lie down. I am not worried about it, though, I'm sure it's just another extension of my spondyloarthropathy and enthesitis. Amazing how much pain you can learn to live with, when you have no choice.
I'm teaching a new adult continuing education (ACE) course on employment skills on Monday nights. Last week was the first night, and the students were ecstatic with the content and my teaching. Numerous students told me that I should be a public speaker and I continue to get feedback on the class. Just this morning, while someone was brushing her teeth in the bathroom, she was telling me that it's the best ACE course she's taken here. It makes me smile. I know that I was meant to teach and I pray I am given that opportunity again in the future. I won't say I'm the best teacher, by no means, but when you gain energy, rather than lose it, doing a job, then you know it's a good fit for you. There's nothing better than seeing the connection of knowledge on a student's face--- "oh, I get it!!!"
So, I shall wear my new "issue" clothing in confidence that I know that there's a future for me beyond being imprisoned. As I tell my students, 40 doors may be closed to us, but the 41st may be open. We need to be humble, honest, open-minded, and willing - and in time, all our dreams are still possible. I told a young woman in her 20's yesterday that she can still aspire to be a surgeon. Why not? Start at a community college, do well, transfer to a 4-year college, take lots of math and science, take the MCAT, and she will be well on her way. Anything is possible - as long as she stays away from drugs and the fast money that got her in here. Perhaps the class is inspiring the women to take a chance at a slower life on the outside. I know that even teaching it, is giving me perspective on never giving up on my goals, even when it appears no one wants to back me. Determination and that fire in your gut to keep moving forward can carry you through.