Samantha Part II

“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Mary Oliver



Five months after our first interview, Samantha and I sit in the dining room at Journey House for our second conversation. I learn that she is now the House Manager here. What follows is her rocky path into this position - a tale of messing up, regret, and grief. I meet her resilient inner-coach, who steadfastly and successfully guided her through this self-imposed quagmire.



How did it evolve that you are now the house manager? When we talked before you were interning here, seeking your Peer Support Specialist certification.

 (Samantha looks me in the eye.) I made a mistake! I had a drink of alcohol where I formerly worked. One shot. I have no idea why I did it! Alcohol was never my thing. Another Journey House resident who worked there saw me. I was honest about what happened. It was a slip-up, but I immediately had to move out and find another place to live. I lost my internship here just two days before I was to complete it. 

 I found a place called Pieces Peaces. (Pieces Peaces is a community-based nonprofit organization in Kansas City whose mission is to “help you pick up the pieces of your life and get peace in your soul after a traumatic situation.”) I had risked, maybe ruined, all my new opportunities. But I did not spiral out of control. I went through intense grief while trying very hard to be a positive influence for myself and the other residents there. I excelled and grew through the situation at Pieces Peaces. I still finished my Peer Support Specialist certification.     
 When an opening for a House Manager position came up here, the staff asked me to apply for the job and I was selected out of four applicants. 

 So here I am! 

How is it to be manager here after having been a resident?

 Living here prepared me for the job. I believe I would have had a very difficult time making it on the outside without this program behind me. They knocked down all the barriers, offered the essential things - legally, financially, basic needs and beyond. They do their best for you if you are trying to do your best for yourself. It meant everything to me. It is a really beautiful thing. So now I can give it back. A full circle kinda deal.

I recall you talking so clearly about the culture in prison “Don’t take the chips!” (We laugh) There’s always a string attached.

 When you first leave prison, you feel intensely lost and almost robotic facing everything that needs your attention. It is bittersweet watching new residents slowly drop their mask and façade. They gradually learn trust after coming from a place where trust is nonexistent. 

What do you observe?

 Body language. Caution. Wariness about sharing. Not asking for help. 

What are examples?

 Many isolate for the first few weeks. They’re guarded, vulnerable, ashamed, and silent about their story, even though they really need to talk. Many won’t get something basic they need out of the communal cabinets, like hygiene items. They don’t know how to ask. They don’t come in the kitchen to make breakfast or lunch. They don’t believe, “Help yourself. Help yourself.” In prison if you get food out of somebody’s locker, you could likely get beat up. Some ladies here don’t eat anything all day except maybe dinner. 

It isn’t just prison, is it? Many of the women I’ve interviewed were born into abusive, chaotic situations that required keeping secrets, keeping silent.

 Right. 

 Before prison, to survive, you may have stolen things just to cover your basic needs. If you are struggling really badly, you’ll take whatever you need, however you can. If you can’t get what you need the right way, you get it the wrong way. But prison is different, close-quarters. The likelihood of getting caught is huge. Someone simply sharing something with you usually means a payback. 

So, adjusting to Journey House means a gradual shift in a newcomer’s ingrained patterns developed during an untrustworthy early home environment, followed by a pre-prison culture of using and being used by others - a culture that extends and is reinforced in prison.

 Yes.

 But the biggest lesson for me in this place is witnessing that there really are good people in the world. It breeds faith in humanity. When I was in my addiction, I lost faith in humanity. I lost faith in myself. Why not abuse myself? Who cares? Being so high all the time, during my addiction I was numb. I didn’t feel good and bad. Nothing. But being here I began to feel things again. Processing my emotions while sober, I rediscovered my whole self, my whole life. I can act on a genuine, good intention and have that intention returned.

What else has helped you have faith in humanity?

 Rebuilding my relationship with my family. Love reciprocated. 

When we talked before, your family was coming to visit.

 Yes, my brother, sister and mom came. It had been almost four years. They are from a small town. We shopped and ate and ate and ate! We stayed up late talking about our hard past and how happy we are that it is over. How much we’ve missed each other.

 It was bittersweet because I felt so sorry for how much I hurt my family. I blamed them so long for why they did what they did in finally cutting off from me. But, in truth, I would have only taken advantage of them back then. They had to separate. They did it and they hated it. 


 My grandma died while I was in prison. They went through her things - letters and jewelry - some a hundred years old. When they came, they brought me some of my grandmother’s and grandpa’s jewelry. Back in my former chaotic lifestyle, I would never have been trusted with these things. I bounced around so much. I would never have been able to keep them. They would have been stolen. Even my storage unit was broken into by my “friends’ after I went to prison. I came out with nothing. (Samantha removes a ring and places it on the table. It is a simple gold band.) This was my grandpa’s with my grandma’s name engraved inside.  They trust me now, have faith and deep support. 

Many women arrive here without roots of ever feeling loved, valued, protected, or cared for at all.

 Definitely. But there’s lots of community here in this house. The ladies really start to bloom after several weeks. They begin to share.

Do you and other staff point out this peer support when you observe it?

 In small ways we do, but I don’t stick a big stick in it, make a big deal. I don’t want them to overthink it, but to just grow into it naturally.

Here’s a tough question. What happens if a resident’s placement here doesn’t work out?

 Fortunately, that percent of ladies is very low, but if they have like say… a dirty UA, they can’t stay. We give them one more night here and help them find a new place. We also have situations where a woman isn’t happy or comfortable. There are legit reasons for our rules - curfew and chores. The women need autonomy, and routine and the right amount of structure. One gal didn’t like the responsibility - missing out-patient appointments, not being on time, what she perceived as micro-management.  We said, “We see you aren’t happy here. How can we help you?” She was really longing for something else, something that’s not here. She moved in with her mom in a different county. We made it as safe as possible for her to do that. We try to take care of situations like that before they turn into something negative.

 It's a onetime shot here. If you come here and then fall back somehow, you can’t come again.

I know the recidivism rate for women going through this program is very much lower than other post-incarceration options.

 The difference in this place and other options is amazing. Opposite ends of the spectrum. We offer zoom presentations about Journey and Peace House to ladies before they are released from prison. That’s one way they hear about us, although I heard about this place through word of mouth a year before I was released. It was unbelievable to me that I would be accepted. 

 If you are scheduled for release and have no homestay plan. you can’t get out. You have to go to Ad Seg (Administrative Segregation - solitary confinement) because you are past your release date and the DOC (Department of Corrections) can’t be responsible for you anymore. They put you in a spot where nothing can happen to you until you find somewhere. 

What if you have nowhere? Does anybody help you find a place?

 Caseworkers at the prison. But how well they do their job is debatable. 

 Typically, Probation and Parole facilities have small rooms you can stay in for $80.00 a week until you find transitional living of some kind. If you have no resources, you must find a way to make some money. But, with no phone, you have no way to communicate with people about jobs. No money for the bus. You are thrown out to the wolves.  

 All the transitional housing options in Missouri are listed at the prison Resource Library. It tells what they are like. Some are operated through the Department of Justice. Others are independent, for-profit and operate through the state. Application fees can vary from $25.00 to $325.00. 

Just to apply?

 Just to apply. There are also often initial deposits of $125.00 - $300.00. Most cost $125.00 week rent. You move in, you have a bed, but the money you owe easily backs up on you. And you have to keep paying back rent long after you leave. Also, most places do not provide a phone, food, hygiene products, or clothing. Some have very strict curfews or only allow you to leave for job interviews or see your Parole Officer. Very strict rules and tight security that tears you down. You’ve lived in a place that allows no choices and now you get out and everything is piled on you. You’re expected to go from making unhealthy or no choices in prison, to making every single choice for yourself. 

 Half-way, residential houses are a formula for mess up! 

 It absolutely beats you down. 

 By contrast, the gradual program of autonomy we offer here really works. 

You are in a perfect job for you now. How is your life outside of this place?

 Kansas City has lots to do. I don’t sit in front of the TV on my days off. My best friend, who I met at the beginning of my prison stay, was released seven months before me. We want the same things in life. She didn’t go through this program because she planned to live at home. But her family is truly toxic. It didn’t work out. She is living at Pieces and Peaces now. She has a car. We explore the city – parks, nature trails, movies, restaurants, art walks, museums, First Friday, special exhibitions, and events. 

What’s your next plan?

 Maybe stay here two years and start classes - psychology, behavioral health, addiction recovery, sociology, ethics. There are a thousand college classes that are free online at MOJOBS.GOV



The Drive Home:

Samantha has found her answer to the question:
“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  



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