Holding On to the Dream
Finding meaning after the sentence

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When you come to prison, it’s not just your freedom that’s affected. Often, it’s your ability to imagine a future that feels like your own. So much of daily life becomes about what’s decided for you – what you eat, when you sleep, what you wear. But it goes deeper than that. The space to dream, to choose a path based on who you are and who you want to be, can feel like it disappears.
Many of us had plans once. We had ambitions – maybe to work with young people, run our own business, become a nurse or a tradie. But, after prison, those goals can start to feel far away. There are roadblocks that make it harder: job checks, application knock-backs, limited work options. Sometimes it feels like the world wants to decide what kind of life is “appropriate” for us now. The jobs we are steered toward can feel like they were never really chosen, just what’s left.
This can wear you down. You start to wonder: Is this it? Is this all I’m allowed to aim for now?
It’s easy to feel like you’re stuck treading water – getting by but not really going anywhere. It takes a toll on your spirit. When your future is shaped more by barriers than by choices, it’s hard to feel like you’re truly living.
The weight of judgement, the assumptions people make about you – it can box you in long after the sentence is over.
But here’s the thing: even in the hardest places, dreaming is still possible. Imagination doesn’t have to be a luxury. It can be a tool for survival. A quiet resistance. Even when the world tells us to settle, we can still hold onto the idea that our lives are worth more than just “making do”. We can still imagine and work toward a life with purpose, creativity and connection.
Everyone has the right to dream. To expect. To imagine a version of life where we get to decide who we are – not just live with who we’ve been told we are. That kind of dreaming is powerful. It keeps something alive in us. Something worth fighting for.
We are more than our past. We are not just statistics or sentences. We are people with stories, talents, goals and heart. And, while the road may be harder, we are still allowed to dream big.
Because dreaming isn’t just for the privileged – it’s for all of us.
When you come to prison, it’s not just your freedom that’s affected. Often, it’s your ability to imagine a future that feels like your own. So much of daily life becomes about what’s decided for you – what you eat, when you sleep, what you wear. But it goes deeper than that. The space to dream, to choose a path based on who you are and who you want to be, can feel like it disappears.
Many of us had plans once. We had ambitions – maybe to work with young people, run our own business, become a nurse or a tradie. But, after prison, those goals can start to feel far away. There are roadblocks that make it harder: job checks, application knock-backs, limited work options. Sometimes it feels like the world wants to decide what kind of life is “appropriate” for us now. The jobs we are steered toward can feel like they were never really chosen, just what’s left.
This can wear you down. You start to wonder: Is this it? Is this all I’m allowed to aim for now?
It’s easy to feel like you’re stuck treading water – getting by but not really going anywhere. It takes a toll on your spirit. When your future is shaped more by barriers than by choices, it’s hard to feel like you’re truly living.
The weight of judgement, the assumptions people make about you – it can box you in long after the sentence is over.
But here’s the thing: even in the hardest places, dreaming is still possible. Imagination doesn’t have to be a luxury. It can be a tool for survival. A quiet resistance. Even when the world tells us to settle, we can still hold onto the idea that our lives are worth more than just “making do”. We can still imagine and work toward a life with purpose, creativity and connection.
Everyone has the right to dream. To expect. To imagine a version of life where we get to decide who we are – not just live with who we’ve been told we are. That kind of dreaming is powerful. It keeps something alive in us. Something worth fighting for.
We are more than our past. We are not just statistics or sentences. We are people with stories, talents, goals and heart. And, while the road may be harder, we are still allowed to dream big.
Because dreaming isn’t just for the privileged – it’s for all of us.
Feeling isolated and lonely is very common after you’ve left prison. In prison you didn’t expect to open up to people and enjoy their company. Now you’re outside, it takes time to relax and be friendly to people.
If you’re returning to your partner, it’s normal to feel anxious about living together again. Talk about your hopes and plans before release and keep talking once you go home. Listen to them, and get help early if you’re having relationship problems.
As well as feeling excited about your release, you may also be feeling fearful that something will go wrong so that your release will be delayed, or that you won’t be able to make it once you’re released.
At first, it felt like nobody wanted to give me a chance. But, eventually, one employer took a chance on me. That warehouse job may not have looked like much to others, but to me it was everything: it gave me purpose, structure and, most of all, hope.
You may be following in an age-old tradition of this county by languishing in one of his Majesty’s prisons, but you are not forgotten!
What you need to survive in prison is different to what you need on the outside. Many people have said that the first few weeks out were harder than their time inside. Coping with money problems, dealing with other people and feeling like you don’t belong in society can take a toll.
Walking out of jail here in Perth wasn’t the moment my life changed.
When the walls close in, both physically and mentally, it is easy to feel like the person you once was has been lost. For many, incarceration becomes not only a punishment but a pause. A disconnection from one’s true self.