How to combat Institutionalisation

By FREEBIRD

“He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata, he tangata, he tangata"

What is the most important thing in the world? It is people, it is people, it is people.

For 2,864 days, I woke up every day to a grey prison tracksuit, a green plastic cup, and a routine that was never mine. To razor wire contaminating all angles of my view. 

Freedom came—but I didn’t feel free. 

It wasn’t until I found belonging again, until I had something real to wake up for, that I finally realised:

The opposite of institutionalisation isn’t simply freedom.

It’s connection.

Its purpose.

It’s a safe space to belong to. 

It’s acceptance without judgment.

Real freedom isn’t just walking out the gate. It’s having somewhere to walk into. A community. A place where you’re seen, where you matter. It’s feeling part of something greater than just surviving, something beyond the trauma bubble that the system traps you in.

Inside, we’re told to make safety plans as part of reintegration—plans meant to protect us from relapse and reoffending. “No one ends up back in jail if they stick to their safety plan”—that’s the dream they sell. 

And don’t get me wrong—safety plans make sense in theory, in a perfect world. But the world we walk back into is far from ideal—it’s changed, chaotic, complicated, and doesn’t make room for mistakes.

That’s the part they don’t teach you in prison programs. They don’t prepare you for the deep, invisible damage that prison leaves behind—or how to live with it once you’re out.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it: 

Prisons don’t rehabilitate - they break humans! 

And they don’t put us back together before sending us out the gates. The longer you’re inside, the harder it becomes to rebuild a life on the outside. 

So, no the current Minister of Corrections—longer sentences DO NOT lead to more successful re-entry into society. In fact, decades of peer-reviewed evidence prove the opposite.

If you want a rehabilitation programme that actually helps—one that supports the incarcerated, their whanau, and their communities—then start with the truth.

Teach the real impacts of incarceration and institutionalisation—the emotional, physical, psychological, and social harm they inflict. Then equip people with the tools not just to survive, but to heal.

A safety plan should go beyond managing just offending behaviours—it should support real growth and help people thrive once their punishment is complete.

Here are some of the things I wish I’d been taught before I got released, things that would have made all the difference.

·      Many people experience deep depression and hopelessness after release. You may feel broken—like prison stole a piece of your soul that you’ll never get back. That feeling has a name: Institutionalisation. And you’re not alone in it.

·      It’s normal to feel like you can’t trust anyone. That’s what the system conditions you to do. But you have to try, or you will internally combust.

·      If it feels hard, that’s because it is. It’s normal to feel like going back inside would be easier—because sometimes, it honestly would be. The struggle out here is real. The pressure of knowing one small mistake could send you back is suffocating.

·      It’s completely normal to feel like you’re not the same person anymore. Incarceration significantly alters one’s personality, responses, and the way you navigate the world.

·      Don’t be surprised if you don’t want to leave the house, or if just thinking about it gives you anxiety. This can last for a long time. You’ve just come from a world built on isolation and control.

·      Feeling overwhelmed by choice and decisions is part of it. Even something as simple as going to the supermarket can feel impossible at first. I walked out three times before I could do a shop—no shame, just truth.

·      You might feel like you don’t belong anywhere, even with your family. That’s normal too.

·      Feeling numb is a survival response. Prison distorts your emotions so deeply that, without even realising it, you learn to shut down and feel nothing.

·      People will judge you. Some will look down on you for having done time. But others won’t—and those are your people. Find them.

·      Your family has lived through the harm of incarceration too. The fear of you being recalled can weigh heavily on them, even if they don’t show it. They need time and space to heal as well—so be patient and understanding.

·      There are two kinds of probation officers: those who genuinely want to support your reintegration, and those who are waiting for you to slip up. Learning to tell the difference matters more than you think.

·      A good therapist who understands the trauma of incarceration is a game-changer. Ask your parole officer for one—and keep asking until you find someone who gets it. Post-Incarceration Stress Disorder (PISD) is a real thing. 

·      Medicinal cannabis, when prescribed, can be a helpful tool for managing mental health decline caused by institutionalisation—and it’s permitted under probation rules.

·      You are enough!

There is no perfect recipe for successful reintegration. Every person who’s been incarcerated carries a different story, different wounds, different strengths, and different needs. But here’s what shifted in my world that made post-prison life easier:

I found a safe place to belong, a space that understood the deep impacts of incarceration and prioritised healing, humanisation, and wellbeing. Love you, Home Ground! Thank you, Emerge, and the Salvation Army!

I became a full-time university student, and that gave me purpose—a reason to get up, to keep going.

I leaned into my support people, even when it felt hard to ask for help. They believed in me, and they wanted to see me succeed. When people truly care, they’ll show up in ways that carry you through. My heart is deeply grateful to my Dad, Tracey, and Jacqui for holding me up when I had nothing left, and for giving me strength when I had none left to give.

I found a great therapist whom I see regularly. Doug, you’re the best!

I stayed actively engaged with my probation officer. If they are happy, everything moves a whole lot easier. And it doesn’t take much effort, really.

Bit by bit, I began to rebuild—not just my life, but my sense of self. 

And it was fucking hard! 

But that’s the truth of real reintegration. It’s messy, it’s painful, and it’s far from a straight line. Still, it’s possible—when you’ve got connection, purpose, support, and people who remind you that you matter.

Or—and hear me out—we could just stop using incarceration as our main go-to solution for crime and punishment. That way, we wouldn’t have to keep cleaning up the harm it causes in the first place. There are evidence-based alternatives that actually keep communities safer. Wild idea, I know 😉