Work. Train. Yoga.
Work. Train. Yoga.
Today's newsletter is about the impact of incarceration on family members. I'm remembering when my brother first went in and it was especially hard... on me.
No one prepares you for how to grieve for an incarcerated loved one. I was overwhelmed by my brother’s devastating 19-year sentence while trying to navigate an opaque prison system so I could visit, and send him money and care packages.
The intense grief was… confusing. I was certain only people who experienced a death were supposed to feel this way. My brain knew my brother was not dead, but my heart was mourning.
Work
In the first year of his incarceration, I pushed away the anguish and panic because I didn’t know how to deal with it. I tried to stay busy. I got better at compartmentalizing.
This was before the pandemic, so I was in the office five days a week. Work was a much-needed distraction—I almost didn’t mind the back-to-back meetings and small talk with co-workers.
One day, a close colleague and I snuck out on a Friday afternoon to grab happy hour. The tension in my body subsided with the first few sips of pinot noir. I broke down and told my co-worker what had happened.
He was shocked and genuinely concerned. His initial response was, “Can I ask what he went in for?” Even though I felt slightly annoyed that he asked, I told myself to get used to it—people will probably ask me this question a lot in the next 19 years.
He said he was sorry, and I nodded, wiping away my tears.
Besides telling my colleague, I kept it quiet because I was ashamed and I didn’t want to be known as that girl in marketing whose brother was locked up.
Train
At work, I pretended my life wasn’t in turmoil. But on the hour-long train ride home, I’d stare out the window and watch the San Francisco skyline slowly disappear.
The podcast in my earbuds faded as my thoughts wandered down memory lane… seeing my brother in his blue school uniform in fifth grade or remembering how he got into everything as a baby—he was quite the troublemaker even then!
The fond memories would inevitably throw me into a spiral of shame and guilt. Why wasn’t I a better sister? I’m 10 years older, yet I couldn’t help or mentor him. But then I’d think, no, this isn’t my fault, or is it?
Why did he have to be so rebellious? Why couldn’t he just listen to me, my sister, or my parents? What was he trying to prove?
Yoga
The ding and announcement of my stop on the train would snap me out of my head. I’d rush out of the station to get to my hot yoga class. I had recently discovered this sweaty practice, and what started as a few times a week turned into a daily affair.
Balancing in Tree Pose while sweating buckets was the only thing that made me feel slightly better. In the last five minutes of class while on my back in Savasana, my thoughts would drift again. Sometimes, the teacher would say, “Close your eyes and send someone in your life, thoughts of love and gratitude,” and I’d feel my eyes getting hot.
I cried a lot in those last five minutes of yoga, tears mixed with sweat and exhaustion.
In the years following work, train, and yoga, I visited my brother a bunch of times, got involved with prison advocacy, and started this Substack.
Time + Doing something = Feeling a little better & less confused.
My brother has been inside for six years, and if there is a shining light here, it’s the passage of time and getting used to the situation. I am numb, which is probably not the healthiest, but at least the emotional highs and lows have somewhat leveled out.
The pain is still there, especially when I think about him, sitting in his cell… alone with his thoughts. But that heartache doesn’t feel as sharp as it once did. It has evolved into worry and concern for his well-being and future life as a free man.
In the early days of his incarceration, I wish I could say I did a bunch of therapy and felt enlightened, but I didn’t.
Work, train, yoga… somehow, I managed to get through it.
Thanks for sharing this Claire! This line in particular really resonated with me. “In the early days of his incarceration, I wish I could say I did a bunch of therapy and felt enlightened, but I didn’t.” Right there you’ve encapsulated with honesty and vulnerability the reality of navigating challenges in life of this magnitude — sometimes it’s the little things (like work, train, yoga) that get us through the tough times. It might not look pretty, especially at the start, but somehow we find a way to pull through. Love this Claire ❤️
I will never get enough of your writing. Your voice is so clear. Your authenticity is remarkable. Your feelings are right there for us to learn and understand. Your writing truly makes the world a kinder, more compassionate place. Thank you.