According to the Sentencing Project, nearly half of the 1.9 million incarcerated people in America are parents. This means that when someone is released, it’s not just a personal milestone – it’s a family reunion that requires immediate stability. For fathers like Jose, coming home means facing the responsibility of supporting children right away, with no savings, no cushion, and no time to wait for help.
“I walked out with nothing but the clothes on my back and a couple of dollars from my commissary,” Jose says. “I had kids depending on me. As a father, you take pride in providing for your family, and when you can’t do that, it hurts.”
Coming home from prison should mean you have a clean slate to rebuild your life, but for many people, it starts with immediate pressure to survive. Rent is due, groceries are expensive, and gas is near a record high. There is no grace period for being a parent, and the stakes are very high.
In this country, public assistance isn’t guaranteed and can take time to get through bureaucratic red tape, and employment is rarely immediate. People with criminal records often face rejection before they even get a fair chance to explain their skills. The result is a dangerous gap between release and stability.
Jose said that gap can feel overwhelming. “You want to do right by your kids,” he said. “You want to work, you want to provide, but when you come home with nothing, it’s hard to get started.”
The data is blunt: the Prison Policy Initiative has found that formerly incarcerated people face an unemployment rate of over 27%, which is five times higher than the general population and worse than the Great Depression.
This is why immediate financial assistance matters, and even a small amount of help can make a difference. Jose explains that if he had a reasonable amount of financial support when he left prison, he would have sat down with his fiancée and budgeted the sum wisely.
“I would have split it up between groceries, bus fare, diapers, school supplies, and our cell phones,” says Jose. “Anything to relieve some of the burden while I job hunt.”
That kind of support does more than fill a short-term need. It gives returning parents a chance to rebuild with dignity instead of desperation. It helps mothers and fathers show up for their children as providers, not as people forced to choose between doing the right thing and surviving.
“Do you think that a man will sit back and let his kids starve while he’s looking for work?” Jose asks. “No they won’t. They'll go back to the streets and do whatever they can to make money.”
For Jose, his fiancée was able to take care of their kids while he was gone, but he was home for four months before he felt like he could really contribute to the household expenses.
“Getting hired by the Center for Employment Opportunities in Pontiac was really a life-saver,” Jose says. “I worked on the transitional work crew getting paid daily right up until I started at the factory."
Jose’s story is not unusual. It reflects a larger reality for thousands of parents coming home after incarceration. If reentry is going to work, support cannot wait. Families need help when the person walks out the gate, not months later.
“The look on my son’s face when I told him I couldn’t buy him new sneakers killed me,” says Jose. “If you can’t get a job because no one will hire a convicted felon, and there are no programs providing financial assistance right out of prison, how do I raise my kids?”
Good question.
