In the U.S., many family members shoulder the responsibility of attempting to keep their loved ones out of the carceral system, carrying out the unseen, undervalued caregiving that too often goes unnoticed by policy and public discourse. While these narratives may be framed as acts of martyrdom, for most of us, it is not about sacrifice for its own sake. Rather, we act out of a deep understanding of what is at stake: our loved ones’ lives, humanity, and the possibility of a future beyond incarceration.
I have witnessed my brother repeatedly struggle with reentry after incarceration. His so-called “failure” was never his alone, it felt like mine as well. Despite my efforts to help him access resources, provide both tangible and emotional support, advocate on his behalf, and more, I was unable to prevent his return to prison. That sense of inadequacy weighed heavily on me.
My personal experiences are what led me to examine reentry more systematically through my work at the World Peace Foundation (WPF). Over the past year, I have been conducting research with my colleague, Bridget Conley, to explore a central question: what forms of support most meaningfully impact individuals returning to society after incarceration? This inquiry shaped a collaborative project between the WPF and the Transformational Prison Project (TPP), which assessed the outcomes of TPP’s restorative, peer-led approach to reentry.
Drawing on interviews with thirty participants in TPP programs, we found that the organization’s effectiveness lies not only in the services it provides, but in the values and practices through which those services are delivered. While the study produced several significant findings, I would like to highlight those that resonated most deeply with me in my role as a family member impacted by incarceration.
Reevaluating Understandings of Success
It took me time to recognize that I had internalized a narrow definition of success for my brother, one measured almost exclusively by whether or not he “recidivated,” that is, returned to prison. This binary metric, widely used by courts, corrections departments, and policymakers, has a deceptively simple appeal: it provides a yes-or-no answer to the question of whether someone has “made it.” Yet it reduces complex human experiences to a single outcome, overlooking both structural barriers, such as limited access to education, employment discrimination, housing instability, under-resourced social services, and systemic bias in the criminal legal system, and the everyday struggles, choices, and forms of growth that more accurately reflect what healing and transformation look like.
TPP’s conceptualization of success significantly reshaped my own understanding. TPP’s Executive Director, Noble Williams, describes success as an ongoing practice rather than a fixed destination: “Success is a continuation of the practice, growing and learning about yourself, and living a better, restorative life. RJ [restorative justice] is a practice.”This reframing shifts the focus away from rigid markers and toward a recognition that success is iterative, fragile, and deeply personal.
For Bobby Iacoviello, TPP’s Director of Community Outreach, success cannot be divorced from the unique circumstances and struggles of each individual. He emphasizes that, at times, success may be as modest yet profound as choosing to spend a few hours in a restorative space rather than engaging in harmful or destructive behaviors. As Bobby put it, this might look like attending a community event instead of giving in to old patterns. His framing invites us to consider small shifts, often invisible to outside observers, as legitimate and meaningful indicators of success.
Hearing TPP staff describe their understandings prompted me to reflect: if my sole measure of my brother’s progress is whether he recidivates, what crucial dimensions of his success am I overlooking? What might I be missing about the daily, ordinary decisions that reflect his growth?
Prior to his most recent incarceration, my brother had been sober for nine months, regularly attending Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. [i] He also maintained steady employment, a milestone that many people returning from prison struggle to achieve in the face of stigma and structural barriers. Yet, equally significant to me were the moments that would never be captured in official metrics: the quality time we shared together. My definition of success expanded to include experiences like taking my brother go-kart racing and engaging in meaningful conversations with him for the first time in our adult lives. These moments of connection were, in their own right, a form of success.
As family members, we often exert every effort within our power to support and guide our loved ones. Sometimes, however, these efforts can inadvertently mirror the very surveillance and control that carceral institutions impose. In my case, this manifested in requiring my brother to check in with me multiple times a day so I could be reassured of his safety. Though motivated by love and fear, this impulse also reinforced dynamics of monitoring and mistrust, rooted in the mistaken belief that I could prevent harm from occurring.
I hold deep compassion for myself and for other loved ones navigating this terrain. We are asked to support the “success” of those impacted by incarceration without clear manuals, frameworks, or resources to counteract the profound violence and trauma of the carceral system. I have come to understand that there is an opportunity, and indeed a necessity, for growth here. It requires engaging with discomfort, with the pain of loosening our grip on rigid definitions of success, and with the humility to acknowledge that transformation rarely looks linear. To embrace this broader conception of success is to honor not only abstinence or avoidance of harm but also the everyday practices that allow people to move toward healing.
Formerly Incarcerated People Need Each Other
Before I began research with the WPF, I shared the common assumption that it was not helpful for my brother to spend time with other formerly incarcerated people. For many, it may seem counterintuitive to encourage those connections, but the testimonies we gathered show why peer relationships are so vital. All thirty participants we interviewed emphasized that support from people with lived experience of incarceration was essential to their reentry. What matters is not only the shared experience of carceral harm, but also the collective commitment to building different outcomes.
Chiteara, a participant in our research, reflected on the unique insight offered by peers who had navigated reentry themselves:
I was looking for answers, for the way that I was feeling, and the only people who could answer those questions were people who were returning themselves or had already returned. They were the only ones who had the answers to help me really cope and understand.
Similarly, David said:
They’re [formerly incarcerated people] like everything, because I can talk to my family and friends, but they are never going to understand the pain and the trauma that I still carry with me every single day. These individuals who have been out and are successfully re-entering are people who I can connect with. I can talk about my pain, and I can have like a space that is safe to talk about the survivors’ guilt that we feel when we left those people who are serving life sentences, like just the trauma that comes with being incarcerated. Like you don’t want to talk about that with somebody who necessarily didn’t go through it, because they may not understand.
The stigma of incarceration often isolates individuals returning, creating an invisible wall between them and those who have never been confined. Even the most loving family members and friends may unintentionally reinforce this isolation by offering advice that feels disconnected from the realities of prison life and the profound adjustments that follow release. In contrast, peers with lived experience can validate those feelings, share practical strategies, and model resilience in ways that feel authentic and attainable.
This distinction is not meant to diminish the role of loved ones, whose care is often indispensable. In fact, participants in our study consistently emphasized that family members were central to their success and the first people they turned to for help. Notably, this support most often came from women, including mothers, wives, sisters, and cousins. Rather, it underscores the irreplaceable role of peer mentorship as a form of expertise born out of survival. Peers who have endured incarceration understand the unspoken codes of prison culture, the anxiety of walking back into a world that has moved on without you, and the challenges of navigating systems that remain hostile to people with criminal records. For many participants, connecting with someone who had “been there” was not simply helpful; it was transformative.
In this sense, peer support does more than supplement family or community care, it fills a gap that no amount of secondhand knowledge can close. It is an affirmation that one’s struggles are real and shared, and that reentry is survivable not in theory, but in practice.
Reentry is a Lifelong Journey
I initially believed that my brother would need support only in the short term after his reentry, roughly matching the length of most U.S. reentry programs, which typically last several months to a year depending on their structure and objectives. However, our research suggests that the process of reintegration often extends far beyond the duration of formal programming. Among the thirty participants we interviewed, twenty-one emphasized that reentry is, in many ways, a lifelong journey. Individuals continue to navigate complex challenges long after formal programs have concluded.
As Angie, one of our participants, reflected, “As long as I am on parole, I think I’m always going to feel like I am reentering.” Her words remind us that reentry is not a single stage that ends with program completion, but an ongoing process that shapes daily life, especially while one remains under state supervision.
So, what does this mean for family members? Supporting a loved one after incarceration is often a long-term commitment. While there can be a natural impulse to push them toward resources, employment, therapy, and other supports as quickly as possible, it is equally important to recognize that growth and stability take time. Families benefit from adjusting expectations, celebrating small victories, and approaching setbacks with patience. Emotional endurance is essential, as is connecting with other families who understand the challenges of reentry. Ultimately, recognizing that success is ongoing rather than a fixed milestone can help families provide more sustainable and empathetic support throughout the lifelong process of reintegration.
This journey is not easy. Coping with frustration, managing economic demands, and recalibrating expectations are all part of the process, especially when supporting someone you love who is struggling. There is no simple “fix” for life after incarceration, and support cannot be reduced to quick solutions. Loving someone through reentry requires consistent presence, even when it means stepping back at times. It may feel contradictory, yet both aspects are vital.
Redefining Success in Family Support
How can we assess whether the support we provide to our loved ones is adequate or appropriate? Supporting someone through reentry is neither straightforward nor short-lived; it requires ongoing attention, reflection, and adaptation. Our research indicates that success cannot be measured solely by whether an individual avoids returning to prison, as such a narrow metric overlooks the complex, multidimensional nature of reintegration. This perspective applies equally to family members.
Families navigate their own emotional, social, and economic challenges while accompanying their loved ones, and the quality of their support depends not only on their actions but also on how consistently and thoughtfully they engage over time. In this sense, successful support is relational, ongoing, and grounded in sustained commitment rather than defined by discrete milestones. And we must give ourselves grace when we are unable to meet every expectation. Families, like their loved ones, are learning and adjusting along the way. Offering grace to ourselves means recognizing that anger and frustration do not negate the care we provide, but instead underscore the humanity of the process.
Framing reentry as a continuous, relational process encourages a shift away from rigid recidivism metrics toward a more nuanced understanding of human flourishing. It emphasizes persistence over perfection, growth over outcomes, and presence over purely measurable achievement. By embracing this perspective, families, peers, and communities can collectively create conditions for reintegration that are not only survivable but life-affirming, for my brother, for other returning individuals, and for all those who walk alongside them.
For more information on our report, “What Matters Most for Reentry: Lessons from the Transformational Prison Project.”
[i] It is important for me to emphasize that I support a harm reduction approach to drug usage. Unlike abstinence-only models such as traditional drug courts or certain 12-step programs, harm reduction does not require people to stop using drugs in order to receive help. Instead, it meets individuals where they are and affirms any positive changes that reduce harm and risk.
