Walking Into a Maximum-Security Prison

What happens when a victim of crime speaks inside a prison? My experience sharing my story with inmates as part of a restorative justice program showed me the power of storytelling, connection, and change. Read about what I learned behind bars

I walked into a prison not knowing what to expect. And I left knowing that my words continue to make a real difference in this world.

It was freezing inside the chapel. Behind the altar, I saw rats scurrying about. A table with refreshments was set up for the inmates during the break - three packs of cookies from a donation box, the highlight of their week. I kept my coat and hat on as I faced them. The prisoners sat in a semi-circle in their tracksuits, showing no signs of the cold, though they must have felt it too.

My talk was part of a six-week restorative justice program designed to help inmates understand the effects of their crimes on victims and the wider community. Security was tight, every precaution taken. Even a simple pen could be fatal in here. I understood the need for these measures, yet I also felt how they created a barrier between us. And nothing good ever came from a barrier, if you ask me.

Sharing My Story as a Victim of Crime

I refuse to see myself as a victim, but factually, I am one. And my story carries power.

I was introduced to the group and walked into the circle. Taking off my coat and hat, I realized that with my shaved head, I looked like some of them. I was freezing - just like them.

I started by sharing the details of the fatal afternoon when my husband was stabbed to death. The chapel fell eerily silent. Some men leaned forward, sitting at the edge of their seats. Others wiped away tears, some openly, others in secret.

Restorative Justice and the Power of Storytelling

It's so easy to judge these men in here, but there is a story behind each of them. And I choose to see the person sitting in front of me—the father, the son, the brother, the friend. I am not condoning their actions, but I believe that every person has the choice to change their life for the better.

One of them asked me a question I wasn’t expecting:

“Can you forgive the unforgivable?”

It’s not an easy question. And I don’t have an easy answer. But what I do know is this: Holding onto hate won’t set you free.

When given the space to be truly seen, heard, and listened to—not judged—real conversations can happen. And those conversations? They go both ways. Even in prison. But that doesn’t seem to be the norm.

Can Words Change Lives Behind Bars?

As a professional speaker, I have given many keynotes. But this one was different. To most of my audiences, my story feels like a film script, but not to these men. My story is part of their story, and that is what connects us.

One of them told me:

“You left us with more questions than answers.”

And I believe that’s a good thing. Because questions open doors. Questions challenge us. Questions make us think beyond what we’ve always believed. And that’s where real change begins.

I walked into that prison thinking I was there to share something with them. But I walked out carrying something, too. I carry the way they listened. The way they engaged. The way, for a moment, there were no barriers - just people, just stories, just connection.

And I won’t forget that.