When I was a staff wellness program administrator for a large state corrections agency, I spent years standing in front of hundreds of staff encouraging them to make time for therapy or counseling—even if they didn’t think they needed it. “Use it as a vaccine against corrections fatigue,” I’d tell them. Predictably, the eye rolls followed. Comments about how EAP was useless weren’t far behind. I expected it. I chalked it up to our culture of toughness: We don’t need help. We don’t do feelings. We definitely don’t do psychobabble.
But then came the year when that message—the one I preached so confidently—was put to the test.
It was a year of relentless critical incidents. A year of reading gruesome reports, each accompanied by photos that seared themselves into my memory. A year marked by multiple staff suicides and near misses I was directly involved in. A year when my team and I carried the emotional residue of every incident in every one of our thirty facilities—not just the ones in our assigned posts. A year when home offered no relief: both of my young children were diagnosed with acute special needs requiring lifelong care.
By the end of that year, I knew I was running on fumes. I knew the signs—I had taught the signs. I needed to practice what I had been preaching and find a therapist.
So I did.
I found someone close to home, and I arranged for sessions for the whole family. My first session with her was the typical “get to know you” meeting. And then the dam broke.
I dumped.
Forty uninterrupted minutes of raw download.
I talked about the work—the trauma, the photos, the staff suicides—the ones we tried to help but couldn’t save, the ones we never saw coming. I talked about worrying how much more my team could take while knowing every detail of every incident, agency-wide. I talked about the politics, the lack of resources, the families at home who didn’t understand this strange, consuming world of corrections—including my own. I talked about the loneliness of not being able to socially engage with people outside the field.
All. Of. It.
Then I shifted to home: marriage, motherhood, the weight of two kids with significant needs—kids she had already met in their own sessions. There was a lot there to unpack, as you can imagine.
And then I finally looked up.
She had tears in her eyes.
She was clearly shocked—speechless, even.
Her first question was, “Why would they do that to you?”
And in that moment, I felt bad for her.
She wasn’t ready for what I had shared. She didn’t understand that this wasn’t something done to me—this was the job. The everyday reality of the profession I served.
I went back two more times—“guilt appointments”—because I wanted to finish my three free sessions. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or make her feel inadequate for not understanding. Her inability to comprehend wasn’t her fault…but it also wasn’t what I needed.
Later, I learned that what I experienced is common. Widespread, in fact.
And that should concern us.
Correctional professionals may need competent clinicians more than almost any other workforce. If the statistics can be trusted, we are in crisis. Even if the stats aren’t perfect, the lived experiences of the people in this field paint a clear picture: we need help.
But the help has to come from people who understand the culture, the conditions, and the emotional landscape of corrections. Without that cultural competence, clinicians can unintentionally alienate the very people they’re trying to help.
Corrections staff need help understanding corrections fatigue—and so do the clinicians who serve them.
If we want therapy to be a real option—not an eye-roll-inducing suggestion—then we must equip clinicians with what they need to meet this population where they are. It starts with:
– Courses of study focused on the culture and working conditions of corrections
– Education on the nature of correctional work and the exposures it brings
– Training on staff perceptions of mental health and help-seeking
– Clinicians who are mission-minded and motivated to serve this unique workforce
– Agencies marketing the need directly to clinicians and sharing training-completion lists with staff
– Meaningful connections between providers and EAP programs
– Using contract dollars to pay for competency training
Corrections professionals are expected to show up for everyone else.
It’s time we make sure that, when they finally reach out for help, the people on the other side of the table understand what they’re carrying—and how to help lighten the load.
