In just one year of being a “prison wife,” I have heard and seen more than most people will in a lifetime. What I’ve experienced at Lewis State Prison—especially in the Stiner Unit—makes my blood boil. The system is not just broken; it’s cruel, corrupt, and deeply flawed. I don’t even know where to begin, but here’s my truth.
The most dangerous inmates have COs working for them.”
Visitation: A Game of Favoritism It took me ten months to get approved to visit my husband. Ten months. I initially spoke with a CO (Pena) who said I had to wait 90 days after being removed from my brother’s phone list. I waited, called again, and was told I could apply. I applied and waited another 30 days. When I followed up, the same CO said she was working on it. This dragged on for weeks.Eventually, my husband asked in person about my application. A CO3 and CO Pena sat him down and told him I wasn’t approved because I was still on the list of three other men—my children’s father (1997), an ex-boyfriend (2013), and my brother (2020). They told him, “She’s been around and knows the rules. She applied too early.”Not only was I misled about the timeline, but the way they spoke about me was humiliating. They treated me like some inmate jumper, not a wife trying to see her husband. Since then, visitation has remained a nightmare.One visit, I was pulled into a female bathroom and searched. I had nothing on me and was cleared. Yet when leaving, my husband was blamed for a package found in the visiting room. I was suspended indefinitely, without explanation.To make matters worse, just one month before my suspension, a husband and wife were caught with a cell phone and drugs. The inmate was transferred, and the wife came to visit the very next day—no punishment, no ticket, nothing.Clearly, it’s not about the rules. It’s about who you know.
Inhumane Conditions: Feces and Plastic Spoons In September 2024, inmates at Stiner were served human feces in their dinner. A General Population (GP) yard was made to serve a Protective Custody (PC) yard—someone thought that was a good idea.Inmates were vomiting. They were horrified. At the same time, the entire unit had only three plastic spoons to share. The excuse? “Not enough money in the budget to order more.”Where is the money going? Arizona taxpayers are funding these prisons. Families send money. Yet the most basic needs—clean utensils and safe food—are ignored. This isn’t mismanagement. It’s abuse.Mental Health Is a Joke—Until It’s Life or Death My husband, who never experienced anxiety on the outside, now suffers from it daily. He requested a mental health appointment. On the day of the appointment, he asked to go and was told to wait. When mental health called down for him, the CO told them he had refused.Luckily, a nurse who knew better insisted he come down to sign a refusal in person. When asked, he said, “No, they told me to wait.” If that nurse hadn’t intervened, he never would’ve been seen. That’s how mental health is treated—like a burden, not a necessity.
Inmates Speak: The Truth About Power and Fear Inside During a visit, I asked inmates nearing release what the biggest issue inside was. Every single one said the same thing:
These inmates can have anyone hurt, transferred, or silenced. They even use COs to smuggle in drugs without any problem. They control everything, while the rest live in fear.Speak out? You might lose your visitation. Get in the way? You might end up in the hole—or worse.Retaliation at Stiner: A Silent Weapon Retaliation is real, and it is ruthless. At the Stiner Unit, both inmates and their families live under the constant threat of punishment for speaking up, filing grievances, or simply being associated with someone who does.
“If my husband files anything, he gets moved to a worse yard, or they take his job away. It’s their way of saying ‘shut up or pay the price,'” one wife told me.
“They told me if I keep asking questions, I could lose my phone privileges for good. I just want to visit my son,” said a mother near tears.
If an inmate dares to advocate for themselves or others, they may be written up, transferred, denied access to programs, or thrown in the hole. Families who ask too many questions or push back may find their visits canceled, their phone calls blocked, or worse—silenced indefinitely without explanation.This is the hidden cost of resistance: fear replaces justice, and silence becomes the only safe option.
Does This Sound Like Rehabilitation—Or a Setup for Failure
We hear the word “rehabilitation” thrown around a lot. But how is it rehab when mental health is ignored, food is contaminated, and COs enable drug trafficking?There’s no support. No second chances. Only punishment, fear, and silence. And when someone finally gets out? They’re more traumatized, more broken, and more disconnected than when they went in.This isn’t rehabilitation. It’s a system set up to fail those who enter it.Until there is real oversight and accountability, families like mine will continue to be punished for loving someone on the inside.This is my story.
But I know I’m not alone.