The holidays are often thought of as a time of joy, celebration, and togetherness—a season that beckons warmth and family. But for those of us working in corrections, this time of year often brings a complicated mix of emotions, not only for the people inside, but also for those of us tasked with keeping the wheels turning. Walking into a correctional facility during the holiday season, there is a heavy feeling that seems to settle in the moment you step through the doors, separating two distinct worlds—one filled with the festivities of the season and another characterized by isolation and routine.
I remember vividly the emotional whiplash of the holidays. Outside, the world was humming with holiday lights, children’s programs, shopping, and gatherings. Inside the prison walls, however, it was just another day. Lines ran as usual. Chow was served. Yard and regular programming continued on schedule. There was no pause, no festivity, no extra sense of goodwill—just the same routines that mark every other day of the year. And yet, the two worlds collided for me every evening, as I left the sterile walls behind only to face the bright lights and celebrations outside.
The transition wasn’t easy. I would finish my shift and find myself at family gatherings, holiday parties, or shopping malls, surrounded by the trappings of the season but unable to fully engage. The dark weight of the facility seemed to cling to me, an invisible barrier that separated me from the merriment around me. While well-meaning holiday parties at the facility were a gesture of appreciation for staff, they couldn’t quite lift the shadow that lingered over the place I worked, the knowledge that so many people spent this time cut off from the comforts of family and tradition.
Working in corrections during the holidays is a reminder of the contrast between freedom and confinement, connection and separation. It’s a time of year that underscores peace and goodwill, yet within the walls of a prison, life continues as it always does, untouched by the seasonal spirit. Even as the rest of the world pauses to celebrate, the elements that make prison “prison” don’t relent. They don’t care if it’s Christmas Eve or New Year’s Day. The weight of the institution is always there, reminding us that isolation is a constant for those on the inside—and sometimes for those of us on the outside, too.
There were moments, though, that broke through the darkness, flashes of light in the gloom. I remember seeing children and families who came to visit their loved ones during this season, and although we were taught not to let feelings get in the way, I often found myself deeply affected by these visits. Seeing a mother I knew from my large church visiting her daughter, catching the embarrassed look in her eyes when she saw me, I felt the shared humanity of it all. This mother wasn’t just another visitor; she was someone I knew, carrying the burden of a loved one on the inside. For these families, the holidays held a different meaning, one colored by visits and fleeting moments of connection in a place where hope can be hard to find.
Amidst the routine, there were small gestures that brought a sense of holiday spirit—a paper Christmas tree taped to an office wall, staff gathering for appreciation meals, homemade cookies passed around by co-workers. These moments, though modest, made it feel like more than just another day and reminded me that even in darkness, there is room for light.
It’s hard enough to separate the corrections world from personal life on an average day, but during the holidays the struggle to switch between these two worlds is even greater. I learned to give myself extra grace, to acknowledge that it’s okay to feel worn down by the weight of it all. For those of us in corrections, finding people who can help bridge the gap between these two worlds is essential. Sometimes it’s a friend who brings the Christmas party to you when stepping out feels like an insurmountable task, or a loved one who understands that the weight of the job doesn’t disappear just because you are home.
The holidays can be tough in corrections, but they also present an opportunity to be a light for others. Smile at the child visiting a parent, share a laugh with a co-worker over Christmas cookies, or let a weary mother from the visiting room know she’s seen and understood. While we may be caught between two worlds, we can create moments of light in the darkness. And maybe, just maybe, those small acts of kindness are the true spirit of the season.
