I’m a little ashamed to admit that it took me until my mid-forties to finally understand how working in a corrections environment had been shaping—and often sabotaging—my daily functioning. And for the record, I didn’t even know what “functioning” meant at first. It’s a simple concept, yet I managed to make it so complicated that I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
But maybe that’s exactly the point.
When the easy things slowly become hard—sometimes impossibly hard—that’s when Corrections Fatigue starts showing up in ways people outside the profession can’t begin to imagine. And not only people outside the profession—many people inside it, who are deteriorating themselves, often deny what’s happening because accepting the impact feels too threatening, too real.
To really understand what this looks like, let me take you back to a particular phase of my life in my early thirties: a young mom, working full-tilt in corrections, and trying to keep up with expectations that made no sense for any human being with a pulse.
I had just been appointed my agency’s first Staff Wellness Program Administrator—a brand-new role with no roadmap. By day, I was a jail inspector responsible for 34 county jails across the largest geographic region of the state, plus 134 municipal lock-ups for juvenile inspections. I was answering grievances, investigating incidents, fielding consultation calls, and trying to build a wellness program from scratch. I had a four-year-old toddler, a preemie newborn, and a husband. And because I didn’t know how to say no, I was showing up at nearly every major incident at our 30 prisons “for staff wellness support.”
There was one day in particular I’ll never forget: I left for work at 7:00 a.m., worked eight hours, drove 3.5 hours to a facility for midnight-shift incident response, drove 3.5 hours home, got back around 4:00 a.m., and returned to work at 7.
What’s funny about any of that?
Well…
I got pulled over for speeding—with an expired driver’s license.
I found a fully intact fast-food sandwich under my state car seat, and had no idea how long it had been there.
I hadn’t been to the dentist in who-knows-how-long.
I got turned over to collections—not because we didn’t have the money, but because I was too exhausted to open mail, let alone pay bills.
Once every two months, I batch-cooked sixty freezer meals because the idea of preparing even one real meal after work was overwhelming.
My husband was doing his best—working full-time, getting up with the baby during the night—but we were ships passing in the fog. When we did see each other, we were too exhausted to talk. We just trudged.
And then the dam broke.
One Sunday, sitting in church, my work cell—never more than an arm’s reach away—buzzed in the middle of a sermon about feeling overwhelmed. I grabbed it, ran to the bathroom, and instead of answering it, I stood in that empty restroom and sobbed. Everything in me finally collapsed. I was drowning, and even the “simple” things—eating right, paying bills, getting the oil changed, attending a one-hour church service—felt like mountains I couldn’t climb.
Over my career, I’ve sat with countless administrators who, in the face of undeniable evidence that their staff were declining under chronic overtime, sleep deprivation, and the “normal” stressors of corrections work, still asked:
“Why can’t they just pack a healthy lunch?”
“Why can’t they just pay their bills?” “Why can’t they just go to the doctor on their day off?”
“Why can’t they just come in for a monthly training?”
Why. Can’t. They. Just…?
Because when you’re barely holding yourself together, even the simple becomes impossible.
Because when you can’t catch your breath, everything—everything—wears you out.
So, What Can Leaders Do? Small Acts Make a Big Difference.
Leadership has an opportunity to avoid sounding tone-deaf by acknowledging this reality. Staff are not failing at adulthood—they’re navigating an environment that chips away at their capacity a little at a time.
Sometimes the most powerful step a leader can take is simply to say: “I see why you can’t just…”
And start there.
Leaders don’t have to overhaul entire systems to help staff stabilize and “catch up” in their home lives. Small, intentional decisions can create breathing room and help staff regain a sense of control. Here are a few tangible ways to start:
- Offer predictable scheduling where possible.
Even one or two days a month with guaranteed, protected time off can help staff finally get to appointments, repair cars, attend a child’s event, or just sleep. - Build in brief “life admin” moments.
Allow staff five minutes at the start or end of shift once in a while to make a needed phone call—doctor’s office, pharmacy, daycare, mechanic, bank. These tiny windows prevent huge backlogs. - Adjust mandatory trainings when staff are drowning.
Offer alternatives: on-shift modules, shorter sessions, or rotating schedules that don’t require sacrificing the only day off they’ve seen in weeks. - Create a culture where asking for help isn’t punished.
When staff can safely say, “I’m struggling,” without fear of judgment, they’re far more likely to get help before their lives unravel. - Notice and acknowledge effort—not just output.
A simple sentence like, “I see what you’re carrying, and I appreciate you,”can reduce the emotional load more than most people realize. - Encourage healthy boundaries by modeling them.
When leaders unplug after hours, prioritize their own wellness, or say “no” to excessive demands, staff learn that survival shouldn’t require self-destruction.
These small actions might seem insignificant, but for someone barely keeping their head above water, they can be the difference between drowning and finally catching a breath.
Contact us for additional information about SafeHaven Wellness Programming™ and SafetyNet Accreditation™.
