The Silence Is the Loudest Part

There is a unique kind of fear that comes from not hearing from someone you love who is in prison.

It is not loud.

It doesn’t scream.

It sits quietly in your chest and tightens every time your phone buzzes, and it isn’t them.

When someone you love is incarcerated, communication becomes your lifeline. A short phone call. A letter. A message through a system that charges by the minute. These small, ordinary things become scared. They are proof of safety. Proof of existence. Proof that, despite everything, your person is still there.

And when that contact stops, even briefly, the silence becomes unbearable.

The Fear No One Talks About

People on the outside live with a constant, low-grade anxiety.

Is he okay?

Is she safe?

Did something happen?

Are they in trouble?

Are they sick?

Were they moved?

Prisons are closed environments. Information does not flow freely. If something happens inside, families often find out last, if not at all. There is no quick text message to confirm, “I am fine.” There is no casual check-in.

You are left with your thoughts.

And your thoughts can be brutal.

The Powerlessness

One of the hardest parts is the helplessness. If a loved one is free and you don’t hear from them, you can drive over. You can call a friend. You can check on them.

But when they are incarcerated, there is a wall, physically and systemically, between you.

You cannot walk in.

You cannot demand answers.

You cannot protect them.

You are forced to wait.

And waiting feels like drowning slowly.

The Emotional Whiplash

When The call finally comes, relief floods your body so fast it almost hurts.

You try to sound normal. Strong. Calm.

You don’t want them to feel guilty.

You don’t want them to feel you panic.

You don’t want to add to what they are already carrying.

So you swallow your fear and say, “I am okay.”

Even if you have not slept properly in days.

The Invisible Sentence

Families serve a silent sentence alongside their loved ones.

You carry the stigma.

You carry the questions.

You carry the loneliness.

And you carry the constant worry.

Friends and families may not understand, . Some drift away or even disappear. Others offer surface-level comfort but cannot grasps what it feels like to live in uncertainty.

It is exhausting to explain.

So sometimes, you just stop explaining.

Loving Through Walls

Loving someone in prison requires resilience most people never have to develop.

It requires:

• Faith without proof.
• Strength without control.
• Patience without timelines.

It requires believing in someone when the world has decided not to.

And even in the silence, especially in the silence, that love remains.

If You Are Living This

If you are waiting for a call that has not come…

If you are staring at your phone…

If you are fighting catastrophic thoughts…

You are not weak.

You are not dramatic.

You are loving someone in one of the hardest ways possible.

The silence is heavy, but it does not mean you are alone.

There are others sitting in that same quiet space, holding their breath, hoping the phone rings.

And when it does, for just a few minutes, the world feels steady again.

Until the next silence.

And still, you love.

DD