Under LOCK and KEY
Working in a maximum-security prison ruined my love life…
Sitting at my desk, I sighed as my patient, who was being escorted out of the room in handcu s, turned around and gave me a wink.
“anks, honey,” he said with a leering grin.
“at’s not appropriate,” I reminded him rmly.
When he was gone, I put my head in my hands. “Every time,” I groaned. It was 2015, and I was working as a therapist at an all-male maximumsecurity prison.
Over the 10 years I’d been there, I’d built up a no-nonsense exterior to protect myself.
Being a woman in the prison wasn’t easy.
Some of the inmates were inside for horrifying crimes and had barely seen a woman in 20 years, let alone been with one.
Many requested therapy just to be near one, and they weren’t shy about letting their intentions be known.
I did what I could to not attract unwanted attention, never putting e ort into my appearance and immediately shutting down any prisoner’s attempts to irt.
We were constantly reminded to be vigilant and self-aware.
“Many of you won’t even realise you’re falling into a trap,” an o cer told us one day during a training session.
How would you not notice that? I thought, sco ng.
I was naive to believe I was immune to the charms of the prisoners.
A couple of years into my role, I held weekly group therapy sessions. One Wednesday morning before work, I started stressing over my hair and make-up. en, suddenly it hit me…
I fancied one of the prisoners in the sessions and was doing myself up for him. “You idiot,” I said to my re ection in the mirror. I washed my make-up o and threw my hair up. At the prison, I shut down any personal conversations immediately.
After that, I was extra vigilant.
A colleague had recently lost her job for starting a relationship with an inmate, and I didn’t want to make the same mistake.
Over time, I realised the job was killing my love life.
Since working there, I’d avoided men and dating.
I struggled with trust issues due to the prisoners’ behaviour, and I always assumed the worst in people.
My femininity had also diminished somewhat.
I’d stopped putting e ort into my appearance out of work and had no idea how to irt.
Aged 39, I’d never been in love or in a serious relationship.
“It’s impossible to switch from work Kendra to normal Kendra,” I told a friend one evening.
“Why not try online dating?” she suggested. “I may as well,” I sighed. In recent years, the only attraction I’d had was to an inmate, now I was hoping for more.
I signed myself up to the
At 39, I’d never been in love
dating app Bumble, and threw myself into it.
Before each date,
I forced myself to make an e ort with my appearance.
All my dates were curious about my job, wanting to know everything that happened in the prison, but romantically, nothing seemed to click.
en, in 2016, after a couple of years of dating, I went out to dinner with Jim, 43.
We met in a pizza restaurant and got along instantly.
He was kind, and we had the same laddish sense of humour.
“is happens when you work with blokes all day,” I told him, laughing.
I found myself enjoying his company rather than trying to be someone else.
“I’ve had a great time,” he said at the end of the night. “I’d love to see you again.”
“I’d like that,” I told him. We began seeing each other every week, and as I got to know him better, I felt relaxed, trusting him with my femininity, and surprising myself with how a ectionate and vulnerable I could be. In 2019, three years after meeting, we moved in together, along with my dog, Sidibe.
For the rst time in a long while, I was sincerely happy.
It made me want to help others nd love, or work on their relationships, so I started giving couples relationship therapy after work.
Despite feeling exhausted from doing two jobs, I felt invigorated and ful lled.
en, one night in bed, Jim and I were talking.
“I wish I could leave the prison and work in couple’s therapy fulltime,” I told him.
“You can,” he said. “I’ll support you.”
“e pay and the bene ts are too good to leave,” I said.
But over the next few weeks, I started considering Jim’s o er.
With his support, leaving the prison would be nancially possible.
en, one day, the prison went into lockdown after a huge ght broke out. It gave me the push I needed.
I don’t need to put up with this anymore, I thought.
I called Jim.
“I’m doing it. I’m leaving,” I said.
“I think you’ll be much happier if you do,” he encouraged me.
After 15 years in the service, I handed in my notice and began working full-time as a couple’s therapist, helping those who wanted my advice.
Four years later, Jim and I are married and have welcomed a second dog, Georgia.
After spending so long alone, terri ed to love, helping others nd love is extra special.
I thought my job was a life sentence, but I now feel my life has just begun.
‘Why not try online dating?’