The images and names in this story have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
It feels wrong to say it, but it’s the truth: I was happier when he was in prison.
When he was behind bars, there was a certain rhythm to life. I knew where he was, I knew he was safe, and I knew what to expect. Our visits were limited, our conversations brief, but there was a strange comfort in the routine. I had built my life around those phone calls, those letters, those visits. I missed him, of course, but there was a sense of control, a way to manage the distance and the pain.
I spent years dreaming of the day he would come home, imagining all the ways our lives would change for the better. I pictured us walking hand in hand, laughing, building a future together. But when that day finally came, it wasn’t like I had imagined. Not at all.
The man who came home wasn’t the man I had been holding onto in my mind. He was distant, irritable, and sometimes even a stranger. The prison had taken something from him that I couldn’t understand, let alone fix. I kept telling myself it was just an adjustment period, that things would get better, that we just needed time. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I found myself feeling more alone than ever.
In prison, he was a voice on the other end of the phone, someone I could comfort and support. Out here, he was someone I didn’t recognize, someone whose pain was too big for me to handle. The man I had missed so much was now in front of me, yet it felt like he was a million miles away.
I never expected to feel this way. I never thought I would long for the days when he was locked up, but I do. At least then, I knew how to love him. Out here, I’m lost. I don’t know how to reach him, how to help him, or how to find the happiness we both thought would come so easily.
It’s a hard thing to admit, that sometimes the fantasy of freedom is easier to bear than the reality. I wanted so badly for everything to be perfect, for all our struggles to disappear the moment he walked through that door. But life doesn’t work that way. The reality of loving someone who has been to prison is complicated and messy, and it doesn’t always come with a happy ending.
I was happier when he was in prison, and that’s something I never thought I’d say. It breaks my heart to feel this way, but it’s the truth. Now, I have to find a way to navigate this new reality, to figure out what happiness looks like now that he’s home—and to accept that it may not be the picture-perfect life I once dreamed of.
This is so very true, and so very real. When they are ‘in’ you can live your life. You have your routine, you have friends, you have a schedule and you know what each day holds. You dream of when he’s out, but the dream of when he’s out is so different. All of a sudden, there are things that slap you in the face. Him finding employment, being able to retain employment. Expectations on his part-and on yours. You’ve made a life for yourself, but it is not his life. He needs to make a life for himself. He wants one with you, but in many ways you are strangers to each other. Sometimes you’re able to give it time, nurture it, and sometimes it’s as though it’s yet another worry to catch onto your tortoise shell and put more weight on you. Will he be ok? Will family accept him again? His loneliness at times is palatable. He had a routine in there. Here-it’s all new.
You’ve nailed exactly what this journey feels like. Reuniting after prison is nothing like the dreams we hold onto while they’re away. We build our routines, our lives, and then suddenly, everything changes. The new challenges—finding work, adjusting expectations, feeling like strangers under the same roof—can be so overwhelming. It’s like starting over, but with no clear roadmap.
Sometimes, with time and patience, things do fall into place. But other times, it just adds more weight to what we’re already carrying. His loneliness and struggle to fit into this new world are real, and it’s tough for both of you. Just know that what you’re feeling is completely valid, and you’re not alone in this. It’s okay to admit that it’s hard and to reach out for support when you need it. Thank you for sharing your story—it’s a powerful reminder that we’re all navigating this together, one step at a time.
Thank you for putting some of my thoughts into words. Makes me sad…
Thank you for sharing how you feel. It’s tough to put these emotions into words, and I’m glad that what I shared resonated with you. It’s okay to feel sad—this is a hard journey, and your feelings are completely valid. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. We’re in this together, and there’s strength in acknowledging the pain. Take care of yourself, and know that it’s okay to feel all the emotions that come with this process.