April 2026
Why I Left Corrections and Found Meaning at Mainstay
I want to help people.
The large metal and shatter resistant glass sliding doors slammed securely behind me with a resounding thud. The mechanism of the doors facing the jail and housing units kicked on with their low hum and slid open. This is it. This is jail. It’s just myself, about two dozen coworkers, and hundreds of men and women who didn’t want to be there, who were forced against their will to be apart from their friends, their families, and their lives. Hundreds of people who are accused of crimes ranging from DUI and tax evasion all the way up to multiple murderers, drug kingpins, and child abusers.
I want to help people.
That’s something I had to remind myself of frequently throughout my years as a correctional officer. I had to find worth in every single individual; not only because it was a policy dictated in our procedural manual, but because I knew if I didn’t, it’d be easy to slip and fall into unhealthy thinking and questionable actions. I was well informed of the psychology of imprisonment, had studied the Stanford Prison Experiment in my ethics classes, and realized how easy it was to begin to look at other human beings as being “less than.”
I tried my best to help those who needed help to the extent that my morals and job duties would allow me. There was something alluring about spending my time, sometimes 16 or more hours a day, with those that society had cast aside. Most of the guys there had mental health or addiction problems. Very few people I met while working in the jail I would consider “evil” or a “lost cause.” I treated everyone with respect and dignity, and in turn received mostly the same from them.
What was most difficult was when someone with an intellectual or developmental disability would come into our custody. There is nothing for them in a correctional institution. Minimal programs, minimal counseling, even the types of medication the medical department was permitted to distribute. The mental health care was indifferent at best – sure, they’d hand out puzzles or word searches, but what good is that for someone who was deemed a self-harm risk and wasn’t given a pencil or pen? What good does pepper spray or a riot shield do for someone who is scared and going through a crisis, acting in a way to communicate their needs that’s seen as “against the rules” in a place where they don’t know anybody and don’t have natural supports in place?
That was the most heartbreaking part of corrections for me. That internal drive to help people caused such a dissonance with what I eventually recognized that job was all about. The longer I worked there, the more I became desensitized to crises and violence and the worst that humanity had to offer, the more I realized that this job wasn’t about helping people, it was about warehousing them. And I hated that realization.
The trend in corrections over the last 15 years had been a focus on rehabilitation rather than punishment. In theory, the idea is to focus on re-integrating that person into society, giving them skills and coping mechanisms to hopefully avoid recidivism and ending up back in jail. As great as that sounds in theory, often times in practice it’s a few half-heartedly implemented classes and maybe a work-release program. County budgets and political attitudes often dictate the effectiveness of these programs and ideas. I came to see that so much of the work we did was to meet minimal state standards and pass an inspection without actually helping anyone.
And that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to help Tyler, a man with autism who was arrested because he lashed out aggressively at home during a crisis where he was frightened, confused, and afraid. I wanted to help Kyle, a man with IDD who was self-medicating with street drugs. I wanted to help Mark, a man with schizophrenia who would experience awful and haunting hallucinations. I felt for these men in my heart and soul. Many nights I couldn’t sleep because I felt so strongly for the situations and lives of many of the incarcerated individuals with which I worked. No doubt, they had made their own decisions and their own choices, and now they were being held responsible for those choices – but what if things had been different, what if they had different supports, or even just adequate supports in the first place, in their lives? The potential of all those folks in there just wasting away in an uncaring warehouse of concrete, steel, shatter-proof glass, and callous attitudes.
I want to help people.
That brings me to Mainstay. At Mainstay, I realized as a DSP and now as Community Services Program Manager that we truly are helping people. It’s not just some mandate from the state or a piece of policy written to look good for inspectors; what we do every single day helps the people we support live rewarding lives. What we do matters. It matters to the people we support, it matters to the community, and it truly matters to us as caring human beings. We help to foster and unlock the potential in every single person supported. To be frank, Mainstay puts its money where its mouth is. No longer are my work stories to family and friends about brutal fights, self-harm attempts, or the alleged crimes of others; they’re about successes, entertaining excursions, and the hopes and goals of those we support.
The staff here truly care. I have been nothing short of impressed and inspired by all my co-workers; their selfless, noble dedication to lifting the lives of others makes me want to be better myself every single day. The people we support are by far some of the funniest, kindest, endearing people I’ve ever met. It has been one of the most rewarding endeavors of my life to be a part of helping the folks we support actualize their potential and lead rewarding lives.
The rewards of what we do go far beyond a bi-weekly paycheck. There was no fulfillment in corrections. It was routine, monotony, the occasional burst of adrenaline, but nothing rewarding, nothing fulfilling, nothing satisfying that part of your spirit that makes you feel good. But here, at Mainstay, that fulfillment is abundant and plentiful. Seeing someone successfully trying something new, helping them discover a hobby or interest they hadn’t considered before, or just being around them and enjoying them for the person they truly are, it’s heartwarming. It’s fulfilling. We are not just working a job; we’re helping others live their lives in the best way possible and in whatever way that may look like for them.
I want to help people.
At Mainstay, I live that goal every single day. I couldn’t be more proud to be a member of our amazing team.