Keisha Hudson

Galen College of Nursing in San Antonio, Texas

Hi, I’m Keisha.

Thanks to my scholarship from Stand a Chance, I start Galen College of Nursing in the Fall.

I stay at my grandma’s house, which is only a few miles from the school. Most of my friends are looking forward to moving away for college, but not me. I can’t imagine not seeing her everyday. My whole life, I dreamed of becoming a nurse like her, but I just didn’t see it working out for me.

Growing up hasn’t been easy with both of my parents in and out of prison. I don’t talk about it much. At school, I act like everything is normal, so they don’t treat me differently. I don’t want anyone’s pity, and I don’t want my past to define me. I just want to move forward, become a nurse, and build a life where I’m proud of what I’ve done. That’s enough for me. I keep my grades up and study hard, because that is the only thing I can control. And the only one I can count on is my grandma, and myself.

Some days I am sad. I wish my parents were around to see me go to prom and graduation, but I’ve learned to handle things on my own. My grandma taught me about the importance of caring for others. She also taught me to stay strong and steady when everything feels unstable. She’s been my rock and the reason I chose this path of nursing.

I was five when police raided our house and arrested my parents. I had to care for my brother and sister. My dad has been in and out of prison most of my life. My mom has been jailed several times and is in again now.

I remember my mom taking us to visit dad in prison as little kids. The visitation room was a cold, gray hallway with a few toys in the corner. My brother would get bored and cry, and I would whine and complain. My dad acted angry, saying we didn’t visit often enough, Then, the guards yelled at us to be quiet, and we all shouted back various things. Needless to say, I didn’t see him again for years.

Prison visits felt invasive—you’re treated like a criminal and questioned. On each visit, we argued and I left feeling the day was wasted. He only contacted us from prison when he wanted something.

My mom wrote to us every week in prison and sent extra cards for birthdays, Christmas, and Easter. I never answered because I was angry. In the last few years, I started talking to her again, until she went back to prison. Then, I said I was done, but my sister wanted to visit. I had to hide my anger, so my brother and sister wouldn't hurt like I did.

I often found myself scolding my mom or talking with my grandma about plans for when she gets out. I think it helps that she's in a better prison now. It's open and helps people find work. This is the first job she's had in about 15 years, and when she got it, I felt proud—like I was proud when my sister got her first job.

I never told anyone my parents were in prison when I was younger, and I still avoid it. I felt ashamed and worried about what people would think. Once I told a few teachers, because I fell behind after my mom’s release. They were shocked that I hadn’t asked for help sooner. I avoided telling others, because I didn’t want to seem different, and I didn’t realize how much it would matter to people who hadn’t experienced it.

If your parent is in prison, find someone to talk to — even one trusted person helps. Let yourself feel what you need to feel and take time to process it. That doesn’t make you weak or unable to cope. There is no secret formula to dealing with all of this, but we’ve gotta try to move forward and focus on a future that we can be proud of.