Stepping Stones: Job Assignments & Programs….

When you first arrive at Perryville, it can feel like the ground has disappeared beneath you. Everything is unfamiliar, every rule is new, and the life you knew on the outside suddenly feels a million miles away. But what I have learned, both from living it myself and from walking alongside other women and their families since, is that a prison sentence is not one long, unbroken stretch of time. It is a series of stepping stones, small milestones that mark progress, even when it does not always feel that way.

Looking back now, eleven years has passed from my own experience, I can see this clearly. But at the time, I had no idea. I remember feeling frustrated with some of the assignments and programs I was placed in, wondering why I had to do them or what the point even was. It was not until much later that I understood, every single one of those assignments was a stepping stone toward my release. In retrospect I utilized them as such.

The first stepping stone is simply arriving. You are there now, and the reality of it hits differently than anything you imagined beforehand. You are confused, anxious, and unsure of what happens next, and to make matters worse, nobody hands you a roadmap. You are left to figure it out as you go, one uncertain moment at a time. The second stepping stone comes when you are finally placed on your permanent unit. This is when things slowly start to come together, you begin to understand the rhythm of daily life, and for the first time since arriving, there is a small sense of stability.

Once you arrive at your permanent unit, you begin settling in, unpacking your things, establishing your space, and building a relationship with your cellmate. Soon after, your money becomes available on your inmate account, and you are able to shop for the first time. In the beginning, there are spending restrictions under what is called phase one, and as long as there is money on your books, you can get most of what you need. Then comes another major stepping stone, when your family or loved ones successfully complete the visitation or phone call applications. Once those are approved, you can finally hear a familiar voice or see a familiar face again, and that moment changes everything.

From there, in no particular order, come job assignments and programming. Sometimes you apply for a job yourself, and other times DOC assigns you one. Either way, having a job gives you a routine, and that routine becomes essential, it helps time move, and it gives your days structure and purpose. Alongside work, there is programming, and there is more of it than most people realize. Women's recovery groups, parenting classes, college courses, nightly meetings, and church groups, all of it offers a way to fill your time with something meaningful instead of simply waiting it out.

Every six months, inmates have the opportunity to reclassify based on their behavior. Good behavior allows you to phase up, and each phase brings more freedom. After the first six months, you can move into phase two, which comes with more visitation, more phone call allowances, and a higher spending limit. Six months after that, you can reach phase three, the highest phase, which allows unlimited phone calls per day, extended visitation time, and the highest spending allowance available. Each phase up is not just a policy change, it is proof that time and effort are paying off, another stepping stone quietly bringing you closer to release. In the dormitory style units, phase twos and phase threes are also rewarded with their own individual cubicle bed space, a small but meaningful upgrade in privacy and comfort that comes with those higher phases.

Good behavior can also affect your custody level itself, allowing you to reclassify downward, from maximum to medium, or from medium to minimum, depending on your circumstances. On the other hand, bad behavior, including tickets or disciplinary action, can move you in the opposite direction, increasing your custody level and dropping you back down a phase. Every situation is different, and these outcomes are often circumstantial, dependent on a combination of factors unique to each person.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, you find yourself thirty days from release. You look back at everything you have collected along the way, certificates, completed programs, maybe even a spiritual connection you carry with you now that you did not have before. Many women leave with college credits that transfer to other schools if they choose to continue their education. Others walk out with a degree, a diploma, or a GED they were never able to earn before stepping of the prison bus in handcuffs.. Whatever the case, they leave with more skill, more knowledge, and more tools than they had when they arrived. Every stepping stone, from that first disorienting day to the moment you walk out, was leading somewhere all along. And that is exactly why I do what I do, helping women and their families recognize each one of those stones for what it truly is, Progress.

If you have a loved one in prison, or you are facing time yourself, my advice is simple, utilize every opportunity to program and work. Every certificate, every class, every job assignment is resume worthy, and it all adds up to something meaningful by the time release day comes and for the future.

From Sentences To Paragraphs: My Drive Behind It All….

For almost a decade, I have been the person people call when someone they love is sentenced to prison. A friend, a cousin, a neighbor, someone always seems to find their way to me asking the same kind of question. “My son is going to prison and I don't know what to do. My sister was just sentenced and I don't understand any of this.” Over and over again, I found myself answering questions that no one else seemed equipped to answer.

When I started my Bachelor's degree in Social Work, something clicked. I had always had a pull toward criminal justice, but I did not fully understand why until I began studying it formally. That pull sent me down a rabbit hole, researching, learning, and asking myself what kind of impact I actually wanted to make. And somewhere in that search, it hit me. There was so much support available for people after they are released from prison, but almost nothing for the families left behind while their loved one is still serving their sentence.

That realization stuck with me. These families did not commit a crime. They did not make the choices that led their loved one to Perryville, yet they are the ones left carrying the weight of it, the confusion, the shame, the isolation, all while trying to navigate a system that offers them no roadmap and very little compassion. I have a tender spot for these families, because I have lived on both sides of it, as the woman inside, and now as the woman helping others find their way through from the outside.

Because I still visit my sister-in-law at Perryville, I am not relying on outdated memories or information that has changed since I walked out those doors. I am staying current, learning alongside the women who are living it right now, so that everything I offer families is accurate and real. My goal has never been just to answer a few questions and walk away. I want to be with these families from the moment a sentence begins, all the way through to release, and eventually, I hope to build a program inside Perryville itself, pairing incarcerated women with a family member for peer support, helping stabilize those relationships from the very beginning. Because family support should not be an afterthought. It should be the whole point.

Time Is Currency: A letter from inside Perryville….

What does effective time management mean to me in prison?

Many of us have wasted so much time getting caught up in the routine of prison life and everything that comes with it, count time, dead end jobs, television, endless card games. These things can be distraction, but the time you have in prison is valuable. You are laying the foundation for the plans and skills you will need for the rest of your life.

Peer to peer education, work based learning, college…if these opportunities are available to the inmate, they are worth the time. Get involved. Start taking action toward your future. If nothing else, these things keep your mind sharp, active, and engaged. When you fill your days with purpose, you begin to see your time here differently. You stop counting the days and start making the days count. You will be amazed at how quickly time flies when you are working toward something.

To go to bed each night knowing you accomplished something that moves you closer to your long term goals, that is a feeling worth chasing. Successful reentry does not happen by accident. It is built, one day at a time, from right where you are standing now.

There are very real reasons to take your education and skill development seriously while you are here. Financial security. Freedom to live life on your own terms. The confidence that comes from knowledge and growth. These things do not find you. You have to go find them.

I constantly remind myself that I will not let my past dictate my future. There is no time like the present to start becoming a better version of myself. I am currently enrolled at Ashland University. I have earned certifications in graphic arts, computer technology, and plumbing. I am using this time to build a future that I am proud of….and it has never looked more promising.

XOXO Jenay Hensley, ASPC-Perryville

The woman who wrote this letter is more than a contributor to my blog. She is my sister-in-law, and she is currently incarcerated at Perryville. She is also the reason I met my husband. When I started Perryville: The Unpolished Truth, she was one of my biggest supporters. We talk, we visit, and I do my best to help her thrive while she is inside. When I told her about my blog she didn't hesitate. She had something to say and she wanted to say it. What follows are her words, unfiltered and unedited, from inside the walls of Perryville.

Who willingly goes BACK into prison? Me I suppose….

The night before my first visit back to Perryville, I told myself I was fine. I had done three and a half years behind those walls. What was a four hour visit going to do to me? I had this in the bag. And then I turned onto Cotton Lane…

When I pulled into that parking lot, something shifted. The familiar sight of those fields, that signage, the dust. It all came rushing back. I sat in my truck for a moment and thought, who actually does this? Who gets out of prison and willingly drives back? Apparently me….

I pulled myself together, shook off the anxiety and walked through security. Finally, there she was, my sister in-law. The woman who had no idea that when she handed me her brothers address, she was handing me my entire future. We found our spot at a picnic table outside, just like old times, and started talking. And laughing. And reminiscing. And somewhere in between all of that, I forgot where I was.

It wasn't until I looked around and realized there were no other visitors that it hit me. The visitor area had cleared out. It was just us. And in a split second I thought, “oh my gosh! I am not an inmate anymore!”. Am I stuck here? I looked at her and said, “sister, everybody left. What are we gonna do?” We both took off running inside laughing hysterically and terrified, then at last found the line of visitors waiting to exit. We had been sitting out there like it was 2016, like no time had passed, like we still lived there. Except this time, I got to leave.

I share this story because if you have a loved one at Perryville and you are nervous about walking through those gates for the first time, I get it. I have been on both sides of that visitation room. I know what it feels like to be the one in orange waiting, and I know what it feels like to be the one in the parking lot trying to talk yourself into walking in. You are not alone in either feeling. If you need someone to walk you through what to expect before that first visit, that is exactly what I am here for.

My Hype Man: Two Felons, One Dream….

I met my husband through his sister. His sister and I were incarcerated together at Perryville, and she gave me his address. We became pen pals while I was still inside. When I got out in 2018 he had waited for me, we started to build a life together. In 2019, I signed up to get my Associate's degree in business, and I graduated with that degree in 2022. We got married in 2020, and bought our first house that same year. We had our first son in 2021, and a baby girl in 2024. Now here we are, it’s 2026, and I've decided to go back to school AGAIN for my bachelor's in social work.

His response?

With a cheeky smile and an eye roll "Okay. We're doing this again."

He knows the drill. Assignment stress, due dates, excessive reading and 1000 word reports. He still supported it.

My husband is a heavy equipment operator in the union. He's also a man who spent twelve years in prison. Like me, he knows what it means to rebuild from the bottom. He knows what it takes to move forward when society has already written you off.

But here's what makes him my everything: he's my hype man.

When I tell him about something new like getting a graphic designer for my logo, launching my business, or starting this degree. His first response is genuine excitement. "Hell yeah, that's exciting. Can't wait to hear more about it." When I told him about the logo, he called me multiple times throughout the day asking if it was ready. He followed up with me before bed asking when I'd have it. He keeps telling me he's excited to see it.

That's not just support. That's belief.

On the surface, he’s a little rough around the edges. On the inside, he’s a gummy bear. For me and our kids, he is soft. He is present. He shows up every single day.

Two people who spent years behind bars. Two people society said couldn't change. And yet here we are; building degrees, building a business, building a home, building a life that proves rehabilitation is real.

It doesn't matter how much time you've spent behind bars. You can move forward. You can be rehabilitated. And if you're lucky, you find someone who believes in you while you do it.

Hurry up & wait: What Perryville teaches you about patience

The cycle starts long before you ever set foot inside Perryville. You get your charges. You wait for a court date. Then another. Then another. Continuances drag on for months or sometimes years and you're stuck in limbo, not knowing when your case will finally resolve.

Then sentencing comes. You're transported to Perryville. You stare out the window during the ride, wondering when you'll hear your loved ones' voices again. You arrive exhausted and anxious, ready for answers. Instead, you sit in intake for hours while they process your paperwork. Then Lumley unit for more processing. More waiting.

Finally, you get one pencil, one piece of paper, and one envelope. You write to your family. Your letter goes into the mail system. Snail mail. Days pass. Maybe a week. Eventually, your family hears from you. They write back. You wait for their response. But if you've been moved to your permanent unit in the meantime, your mail gets rerouted. It takes even longer.

Your family applies for visitation. You think you'll see them soon. Three months pass before they're even approved. Then they can only visit on weekends.

You have a legal matter. You need answers. You submit a request to see a COIII who handles case paperwork. You wait days, sometimes weeks, just to be called. When you finally see them, they don't give you answers right then and there. Everything takes time. Months go by before you get reclassified. Months before you can phase up through the system.

Nobody tells you this is how it works. You're expecting movement and answers. Instead, you're caught in an endless cycle where nothing moves on your timeline. Your family is waiting on the outside. You're waiting on the inside. The system is waiting on its own time, and nobody's in a hurry but you.

This is what prison teaches you about patience. Not the peaceful kind. The kind born from powerlessness

But here's what the system doesn't realize: all that waiting taught me something unshakeable. I learned patience, real patience, the kind forged in powerlessness and survival. I learned to wait without losing myself. I learned to keep moving forward even when nothing else is moving.

When I got out, I carried that with me. I am the most patient person I know. I don't panic when things take time. I don't fall apart when answers don't come fast. I don't give up when progress feels impossible. Nothing can take that from me.

There are no obstacles I can't move through because I've already moved through the hardest one. I have the patience to do anything flawlessly. That's not something prison gave me. It’s something I built inside those walls and brought home with me.

Hurry up and wait taught me how to wait like a woman who knows she's unstoppable.

What I wished my family knew while I was going through intake…

When I arrived at Perryville Correctional Facility I was assigned to Lumley unit like every other woman who comes through those doors. Lumley is where all intake happens. It's where you wait. It's where the silence begins.

The cell windows in Lumley face the I-10.

I used to watch the cars go by and wonder if my family was out there. I wished more than anything that they knew I could see that highway. That if they had driven by, I would have been watching. That even through a small window behind a fence I was looking for them.

They had no idea.

That's the thing nobody tells families. Your loved one is not unreachable in those first hours—she's just on the other side of a window watching the world go by and hoping someone out there is thinking about her.

If you have a loved one going through intake at Perryville right now, drive by the I-10. Look up at those windows. She might be looking back.

And if you want to know more about how to support your loved one through intake and beyond, I'm here. Book a consultation at perryvilletheunpolishedtruth.com