What better way to start this journey forward than to reflect back and pay tribute to where I came from? Before I got into my current line of work I spent nearly a decade as a corrections officer. It shaped me in ways I’ll carry for the rest of my life. This post is my reflection on that experience, written in honor of National Corrections Officer Appreciation Week.
National Corrections Officer Appreciation Week
The first full week of May every year is National Corrections Officer Appreciation Week, a time to recognize the men and women working one of the most underappreciated jobs out there. Or I should say, a time that should recognize the men and women working one of the most underappreciated jobs out there. Sadly its a week that goes by without notice, barely even getting a whisper of comment from the general public.
Most people have no idea that a completely different world exists along side the one they see day in and a day out. And it is just that, another world entirely with different rules, different politics, different…well everything. I would even say calling it a different world isn’t strong enough. Crossing through the doors of a corrections facility is like stepping into an entirely different reality—one you could never imagine while living in the world beyond its walls. Let’s just say, unless you’ve worked inside, you have no idea what officers see and endure every single day.
The fluorescent hum of the overhead lights is a lifeline in the darkness, flickering against walls stained with time and tension. The air is thick—sweat, fear, aggression—it clings to skin like a second layer, a reminder that survival demands vigilance. Steel doors slam shut, sealing officers inside with the predators of society, their backs against the unyielding concrete, calculating every step, every breath. Shouts ricochet through the halls—anger, desperation, madness—while bloodstained floors and walls tell stories that will never be spoken out loud. No breaks. No mercy. No certainty. Just a waiting game where hesitation can cost lives, and where the line between officer and prisoner grows thinner with every passing shift.
The Reality of Corrections Work
“You walk out of that pod every time because they allow it. At any moment, it could turn into 30-on-1.”
Every day, I walked through those doors not knowing what I’d face. Would I book in someone who:
- Killed their children
- Gutted their neighbor
- Raped their grandchildren
- Would try to attack me as soon as I let them through the cattle chute?
I never knew. But I did know that at any second, the facility could erupt into a bloodbath.
Every day I expected to be covered in blood, urine, vomit, feces—or all of the above. I expected chaos:
- Inmates kicking doors nonstop, spitting at us
- Flooding toilets, popping sprinkler heads, destroying cells
- Riots starting over toilet paper shortages or food tray portions such as not enough cookies (both of these actually happened)
- Walking through the pods barehanded, surrounded at times by violent inmates, hoping to make it out unscathed every time
You see, corrections officers go in unarmed, with nothing but training and instinct keeping us alive. And if you think the “bad guys” are locked safely behind bars, think again.
They aren’t behind bars—They are walking in the dayroom, watching TV, out and about. When new officers would start, or police officers would visit the mezz, or civilians would visit when we did tours, they all would freeze and say the same thing, “You mean they’re out walking around?” The answer is yes and we walked amongst them, always out numbered, always on guard. We had a saying for new officers: “You walk out of that pod every time because they allow it. At any moment, it could turn into 30-on-1.”
And anytime you open a cell door, there could be a shank waiting for you. One inmate actually fashioned a weapon specifically for me and two other officers, Cain and Ethan, planning to stab whichever of us came to his cell first. If another inmate hadn’t warned us, one of us might not be here today.
The only certainty in the day of a correction officer is uncertainty.
Unseen Sacrifices & Unsung Heroes
If you know someone in corrections, there’s a reason they may seem grouchy or depressed. They see things you will never see. They hear things you will never hear. They endure things no one should have to endure, and they do it every single damn day.
Corrections officers do more than contain violent criminals—they also:
- Feed them
- Clothe them
- Take them to court, to medical, to actual outside doctor visits
- Break up brutal attacks, acting as shields for other inmates
- Step in, even when blood splatters the walls, to save the same people who probably give a shit less about them.
Corrections officers witness the worst of humanity firsthand. And yet, they remain unrecognized, unappreciated, and unseen.
Did you know studies show the risk of suicide among correctional officers is 39% to 41% higher than the general working population? Some data suggests that correctional workers may face suicide rates seven times higher than the general public. Corrections has one of the highest heart attack rates in the world and a divorce rate of 21%—another staggering statistic. No other job carries these burdens, all rolled into one self-destructive ball.
A Call for Recognition
Next time you see a murderer go into custody, remember—arresting them was only step one.
Think about the corrections officer getting them ready for an attorney visit, never knowing if they’ll try to strangle them with their chains or stab them with a pen. Think about the officer leading them to the shower, hoping today isn’t the day they get sucker-punched. Think about the officer changing them out for transport or returning them from court, not realizing they’re about to lose a tooth—or worse….Think about them and give them a thank you, too.
Leaving the Job, But Never Leaving the Memories
I left corrections a year and a half ago, and the weight that lifted off me was indescribable. I am not the same person I was before I put on that uniform, and I never will be again.
Even though the stress and tension have melted away, the things I saw, the horrors I lived through while wearing #1344 for nearly a decade, will stay with me until my last breath.
Show Your Appreciation
Even if only for this one week, show the corrections officers in your life some appreciation. Even if you don’t know one personally, take a moment to say a thank you, send a prayer, or acknowledge the work they do.
To my brothers and sisters I have went to battle with, to those still wearing the uniform, To those who will, in the future, step behind those doors, hear that buzz and the lock behind you, To those who risk their lives in silence—thank you for what you do.
You are a hero!
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