What Mothers In Prison Have Taught Me

By Stacey Shortall

The first time I walked into a women’s prison as a volunteer lawyer 25 years ago, I thought I was there to help. I believed my role was to bring answers, provide legal advice, and offer mothers a way to navigate the complex systems that had tangled around them and their children. But over the years, I have realised that the mothers I have met behind those prison walls have taught me as much - if not more - than I have taught them.

What continues to strike me is that, before anything else, they are mothers.

The women I sit with worry about their children’s safety, their schooling, whether they are loved and cared for. They grieve missing birthdays, school productions, and the everyday rituals of family life. Labels like “offender” or “prisoner” may dominate headlines but, in our conversations, what shines through is deep and enduring love for their children.

Volunteering in prisons has taught me the power of listening. Many of the women I meet have never truly been heard. Often they need space to tell their stories - stories of trauma, of violence endured, of poverty and disadvantage that shaped their choices long before they reached a prison cell.

Sometimes the most valuable thing I can offer is not a legal solution but a display of empathy, to seek to affirm that their voice matters.

I have also been taught about justice. When you sit with women who have lived lives marked by systemic inequality, the idea that prison alone delivers justice feels incomplete. Yes, accountability is necessary. But justice should also be about fairness, compassion, and giving families a chance to break cycles that trap one generation after another. Helping a mother to understand her rights, write a letter to a caregiver, or record a storybook for her child is not a soft option. It is a step toward reducing reoffending, healing families, and ultimately creating safer communities for us all.

Most significantly, these mothers have taught me about resilience. I have watched women who carry enormous burdens still find the strength to nurture connection with their children. I have seen how a recorded bedtime story or a simple drawing exchanged in the mail can sustain hope. And I have learned humility from their courage - the courage to believe in a different future for themselves and their kids.

Volunteering with mothers in prison has reminded me that change begins with connection. None of us can solve every big social challenge overnight. But each of us can do something to help and, sometimes, that small act can enrich our lives in ways we never expected.