Gestalt Therapist Goes to Prison
By: Marge CopelandDate Posted: 10/28/2005
I pick up a call on my answering machine from a long time friend who heads a state program which provides drug and alcohol recovery related messages and experiences to prisoners. Excitedly I call back because it has been months since we’ve spoken. After catching up comes a pause and Lou says “Marge, I want to ask you a favor” Ugh, my stomach tightens – I’m afraid I know what’s coming.
So Lou asks the question…would you be willing to go to a prison and work with up to 30 people at a time in a group setting…not therapy, we’re not allowed to do that, but maybe a little experience, a little teaching and let them talk some? Well, there it is, the dreaded question. My heart sinks, my brain scans for an answer. I’m busy, one more night away from home, travel, and most of all plain old FEAR! My only experience in this type of setting has been cat calls and vulgar remarks walking through the Camden County jail to do an interview. I really don’t want to repeat that experience. With much trepidation I say “yes”. I can do this thing once, find out I can’t hold their attention, and respectfully decline any further requests. So now I need security clearance - forms, references, etc. – great, that will take awhile and maybe I won’t pass security. We schedule a date far enough in advance for them to check up on me. I’m scheduled for a maximum security male prison.
As the date approaches, Lou requests I do something with anger…it’s a real problem for these guys because they have no effective way of dealing with it. I quickly dismiss the idea of bataka bats, but then wonder how I could possibly do this without escalating them.
I meet Lou and two of his staff, two female therapists, in the parking lot of the prison at the designated hour. After the perfunctory chit chat we head inside, the three of them telling me, “you’re gonna love these guys.”
We sign in, get badges, pass through 3 security checks, through several locked doors, down a long corridor and past several guards in glass cages. My heart beats faster, what am I doing here? We enter a large meeting room with only chairs and one table. I look around and see above one of those glass cages with a guard inside. Lou sees me looking and quietly says, oh good! -- he’s one of the good guys -- some of them don’t like us here!
We set up 34 chairs in a circle and I sit down to try and get centered. I am expecting attitude, rude remarks, and hostility and I’m wondering, maybe even expecting them to resist what I’m thinking of doing.
The prison sirens go off, my stomach leaps to my throat and I must look totally panicked or green. My partners say that something has happened somewhere in the prison and no men will be able to move until it is settled, so we might be here alone for awhile. Fifteen minutes later the first man comes in, shoes in hand. Soon 29 more follow. They sign in, put their shoes back on, greet each other with hugs and warm wishes. One by one they come to me, make eye contact, shake my hand, and introduce themselves. Wow! I sure didn’t expect this!
Lou and his staff start off with a short ritual similar to our Gestalt check-in. They all participate. Each man reads a short line, some struggle through the words, but they do it. I feel tears welling up as each reads his line.
My turn. Oh my. What am I doing here? Fear, uncertainty, beam me up Scotty.
I ask them to close their eyes, but give permission to keep them open if they choose, I do some deep breathing and relaxation and then move into guided imagery. Remember a recent time you felt angry, what happened, who were you angry with, why, what feelings did you have in addition to anger…embarrassment, sadness, guilt, shame, hurt, regret…what was your part in it, if you could to it again what would you do differently…
I cheat and peek. All but one have their eyes closed. Another Wow! I expected more distrust. Thought to myself the guy across from me with open eyes was going to be my resistant challenge.
I ask them to go back to their body and notice -- stomach, heart, throat, mouth, head -- and then to explore what else they were feeling besides anger- gave them some examples – then slowly open your eyes. Share your present experience.
The guy across from me with the open eyes is the first to speak. During the shakedown that had just occurred when the sirens went off, the guards had stolen or destroyed all of his earthly belongings except the clothes on his back. They took his meds and blanket, threw clothes in the toilet, ripped his papers.. It had been his cellmate that did something. I feel the tears coming again and my stomach is sick. One by one they share their rage at the system, the inhumanity that occurs more guard to prisoner than prisoner to prisoner. But they don’t stop there – they share their sadness, despair, distrust, frustration, desire, longing, hopelessness. Many of them share a spirituality that helps them cope day to day. We brainstorm healthy ways of expressing these feelings – ways that won’t get them punished – because they are not supposed to show or express anger. They “shouldn’t” have any.
The bell rings. Five minutes to say good-bye and then be gone. Where did the last 2 hours go? It felt like 10 minutes.
Hugs, thank yous, good byes, and they’re gone.
I sit down, trying to take it all in. Wow! Another giant life lesson that will take me awhile to integrate. Don’t judge. We are more alike than different. If I were in your shoes I would probably be doing the same thing. We are all a mixture of health and unhealth. What a privilege to have been here. These men have deeply touched me. I got way more than I gave. And there’s a lot I don’t have words for yet.
The next day my phone rings, it’s Lou. Marge, we’d like you to come again or maybe do some stuff in another prison. “Yes, yes, yes.”
