This story was originally published Friday, March 31.
This month about 70 women inmates formerly held in York County moved into the Southern Maine Women’s Re-entry Center in Windham, a brand-new facility designed to house close to 100 minimum-security prisoners who have less than four years remaining on their sentences.
The re-entry center will temporarily ease a chronic overcrowding problem, but the main purpose is to give the women support so they don’t become repeat offenders or victims in the drug war.
Like most women who end up in prison, Alexandra Garceau, Alicia Jameson and Jessica Alexander are all mothers who are here for crimes associated with opioid addiction. Garceau was convicted of a home invasion charge.
“I got five years. My release date will be sometime in March of next year,” she says.
Jameson had her probation revoked in 2015.
“My initial charge was a theft and forgery charge. Addiction kind of took over. I was failing my urine test and not being able to pay restitution,” she says.
And Alexander says she’d been sober for three years when she made a crucial mistake and violated the terms of her probation for theft.
“I got an unexpected visitor and it was like, ‘Oh, let’s go shopping and some heroin.’ I was like, ‘OK.’ I lost all them days of sobriety in an hour,” she says.
All three women are spending the remainder of their sentences at the Southern Maine Women’s Re-entry Center. It’s a modern and less restrictive facility than prison, with four separate living areas, comfortable furniture and natural light. There are no bars on the windows or heavy, slamming doors. The classrooms and dining area are smaller than usual.
Warden Scott Landry says there’s a reason for the friendlier design.
“Most women that are here have had trauma. They’ve experienced abuse in one way, shape or form. They are triggered by things in their environment. So hearing slamming doors or hearing loud noises is not conducive to having them feel safe and have a mindset that is gonna help them be responsive to the treatment and programming that we’re trying to offer,” he says.
That includes working on a case plan, getting counseling and support for addiction, taking parenting and other classes and, says Garceau, learning how to let go of emotional pain.
“At an early age my mom passed away and I held onto the anger for a very long time and I always used it as a justification for my actions,” she says.
The women credit their teachers and caseworkers here with helping them face down their demons.
“I would take back my crime in a heartbeat, but everything that I’ve learned here, I wouldn’t take any of that back because it’s made me a way better person. I actually like who I am now and I’m happy with myself again,” Garceau says.
“I found myself again. So as much as this is not the ideal, I don’t think I’d have gotten back who I was before the addiction took over,” Jameson says.
“To know that you are actually in control of your emotions, feelings and surroundings, like to learn about that and to control a situation, it’s amazing to me. I’m 41 years old. I thought I would know that, you know?” Alexander says.
In the kitchen, culinary arts instructor Krista Okerholm is showing several women how to make a vegetarian tortilla bake that they’ll serve for dinner. Those with experience in the kitchen have gone on find work in restaurants and Okerholm says a few have started their own catering business after prison.
Here, on-the-job training and experience is encouraged even if it means starting small.
“For me, I worked at Dunkin’ Donuts and I loved it. And never ever thought I would do something like that,” Jameson says.
She got the job at Dunkin’ Donuts in Sanford while she was at the York County pre-release center. She says she liked the interaction with customers and coworkers.
Garceau worked at a factory that turned out dog toys, athletic footwear and other products. Now that she’s in Windham, she wants to find a job nearby to keep her occupied and earn money to send home to her three kids, who live with their dad.
“So I can send money out and I bought my daughter a cellphone, and I pay for her bill every month so she can have a cellphone for doing so good in school,” Garceau says.
The women in work-release are required to pay 20 percent of what they earn for rent and to put away 10 percent in savings. They can also pay fines and restitution, and Officer Brittney Falco says that gives them a head start when they get out.
“Allowing them to have money to release with and fines paid off. You know, they have that off their backs. I mean it’s a lot less reason to recidivate,” she says.
In addition to earning some money, the idea is for the women to be able to better cope with the world when they’re released. That means having mentors, sponsors and strengthening relationships with family members — especially their kids.
In the visitors’ room there are toys, an outdoor play space and a small kitchen so meals can be shared together. As they make progress on their case plans and get closer to release, they can also go on furloughs and overnights.
Jameson says she likes the freedom, but parting with her 5-year-old son Bentley at the end of a visit is tough.
“He always says, ‘Mama, I just want to spend the night with you,’” she says. “We kind of haven’t gone down that road — exactly where I am. He hasn’t come out really and asked and I’m just not sure how much I want to say at 5 about prison.”
The extra burden they have put on their families is something these women say they are regularly forced to confront. Garceau’s daughters still get upset and cry when she tells them she isn’t coming home for awhile. She often consoles them over the phone.
Two years ago Garceau found out she was pregnant with a child she’s still trying to get to know.
“I gave birth to my son in here. I don’t have that same connection I have with my two daughters with him. And it helps me to get out and him see me in a normal setting and get to know me in a normal setting and see how we can interact with each other,” she says.
But there’s nothing normal about having a mother in prison. It’s just that their numbers are growing. Scott Landry says when he took over as warden there were about 150 women in the Maine prison system. Now, four years later, there are 220, and the women’s section is beyond capacity.
Landry says about 80 inmates are living in an overflow space. The new re-entry center will help absorb some of them.
“It’s kind of scary, as far as what the outlook is. Until we see some relief with the opiate crisis, until we see proactive efforts upstream to prevent women from being incarcerated in the first place, I think we’re just going to see more of the same. And this is a national trend, not just a local trend,” he says.
Local trend or not, Garceau, Jameson and Alexander don’t plan on coming back. Garceau is looking at a 7-year sentence if she gets into trouble again. And she can’t bear the thought of putting her children through that.
