When Men Get the Chance to Heal | Writing Behind Bars

Writing Behind Bars

Back in 2018, when I first published my memoir, I knew I didn’t want to simply tell my story—I wanted to use my life experiences to help others avoid the same pitfalls I once navigated in my search for love, identity, and belonging. At the time, I was already partnered with a community organization that offered programming inside a local Toronto jail. Through conversation, it became clear that this partnership could give birth to something meaningful. They were also looking to build out their own programming, and together, the C.O.L.A. Program was born—a 10-week creative writing program rooted in my memoir that invited participants to read, write, and reflect as a group.

Launching a program behind bars raised many questions. Would they be interested in a story that spoke about rape, loss, love, and everything in between? Would they read the book? Would they engage in discussion? How could I tell the story in a way that allowed it to come alive rather than simply be heard? And as a woman facilitating a space of men from various backgrounds, how would I earn their respect?

Here’s the thing about stepping out in faith—it requires fearless forward movement. And when that step is taken, maybe, just maybe, something extraordinary can happen.

I’ve often said that many people are one decision away from being incarcerated. Emotions, lack of empathy, unchecked thoughts—any of these can pull someone onto the wrong side of the law. But the beautiful truth is this: there is healing even for the most broken and misaligned individual. Throughout the program, I witnessed quiet voices grow louder, clarity break through confusion, and healing unfold through shifts in perspective and understanding. Despite the environment, they loved the book. They returned week after week eager to ask questions, complete assignments, and participate fully. Together, we experienced breakthrough—right there in that participation room.

One of my favorite moments came during a conversation about childhood memories of church. The men began sharing how their grandmothers used to take them, recalling the hymns that once filled their lives. One by one, we started singing from memory. Laughter erupted. For a brief moment, we were simply people—connected, comforted, and grounded in something familiar and good. That moment was hope. It was community, despite the circumstances.

By the end of the ten weeks, there was a newfound love for reading and writing, and a noticeable increase in confidence. Even those who initially joined out of boredom found themselves deeply engaged and wishing the program wouldn’t end.

As word spread, demand grew. We eventually trained on additional ranges, shortening the program from ten weeks to four in order to accommodate more participants. When the program finally came to a close, many of the men expressed deep gratitude for what they had learned. It is some of those experiences—and reflections—I want to share with you here. For privacy and safety, none of their names are identified.

Birthing something without a fixed plan is never easy, but I remain deeply grateful for the opportunity to teach and learn alongside them. I never imagined my story would be used in this way, yet week after week, month after month, something began to feel like home—like purpose, like belonging. Their engagement and encouragement gave me the confidence to expand the work and eventually rename the program R.E.M. (Restore & Embrace Myself).

Since then, I’ve had the opportunity to teach in many different spaces, and I will continue to walk stages, host workshops, and build community where it’s needed most. With them in mind, my mission remains the same: my mission is to heal the hearts of mankind, one story at a time.