Prison Phone Calls: How to Talk to Your Incarcerated Parent

You're Not Alone in This

If you're reading this, you might be staring at your phone right now, heart racing a little, wondering what you'll say when it rings. Maybe you've been putting off this call for days, or maybe you count down the minutes until you can hear that familiar voice again. Either way, talking to your incarcerated parent is complicated—and that's okay. Whatever you're feeling right now is valid, and you don't have to navigate this alone.

The first time Maria's phone rang with that automated message—"You have a collect call from an inmate at..."—she almost hung up. Her hands were shaking, and suddenly all the things she'd planned to say to her dad disappeared from her mind. She was sixteen, angry, confused, and desperately missing the father who used to help her with homework at the kitchen table. Now, their entire relationship had to fit into fifteen-minute phone calls that cost more than her part-time job could easily afford.

If Maria's story sounds familiar, you're far from alone. Millions of young people across the country are learning to maintain relationships with incarcerated parents through phone calls that never feel quite long enough and always seem to end too soon. It's a unique kind of grief—mourning someone who's still alive but not physically present, trying to stay connected across walls and wire and sometimes hundreds of miles.

This isn't just about the mechanics of prison phone systems, though we'll cover that too. This is about the messy, beautiful, painful reality of loving someone behind bars. It's about finding words when you don't know what to say, managing emotions that feel too big for any phone call to contain, and somehow maintaining a relationship that matters deeply to you despite circumstances you never asked for.

Understanding the Emotional Landscape

Before you even pick up that phone, you might feel like you're carrying the weight of a thousand different emotions. One moment you're angry—furious, even—at your parent for being gone, for the choices that led them there, for missing your graduation or your birthday or just Tuesday night dinner. The next moment, you're overwhelmed with worry. Are they safe? Are they eating enough? Do they know you still love them even when you're too mad to say it?

These emotional contradictions aren't a sign that something's wrong with you. They're a sign that you're human, trying to process a situation that's inherently difficult to process. Dr. Sarah Chen's 2019 research on families affected by incarceration found that young people often experience what she calls "emotional whiplash"—rapid shifts between seemingly opposite feelings that can leave you feeling exhausted and confused. The key isn't to fix these feelings or make them go away; it's to acknowledge them and give yourself permission to feel whatever you're feeling.

Sometimes the hardest emotion to navigate is the guilt. Maybe you feel guilty for being angry, or guilty for still loving someone who hurt you and your family. Maybe you feel guilty for having good days when your parent is locked up, or guilty for not wanting to talk sometimes. Jasmine, now twenty-two, remembers feeling guilty for laughing at her friend's joke during lunch while her mom was in county jail. "It felt like betrayal," she says, "like I wasn't allowed to be happy while she was suffering." But here's what Jasmine learned over time: your happiness isn't a betrayal. Your parent wants you to live your life, to find joy where you can, to be okay even when they can't be there with you.

The anticipation before a call can be almost as intense as the call itself. You might find yourself rehearsing conversations in your head, planning what you'll say about school or work or that person you're dating. You might worry about accidentally mentioning something that will make your parent feel worse about missing out. Or you might dread the call altogether, feeling obligated to maintain a connection that currently brings you more pain than comfort. All of these responses are normal, and they might change from day to day or even hour to hour.

Navigating the Prison Phone System

The actual mechanics of prison phone calls can feel overwhelming at first, like learning a new language with rules that don't quite make sense. Every facility has its own system, its own schedule, its own frustrating quirks. Some use third-party companies that require you to set up accounts and add money before you can receive calls. Others have specific hours when calls are allowed, turning your phone into a ticking clock of anticipation.

The costs can be staggering. A 2022 study by the Prison Policy Initiative found that a 15-minute phone call can cost anywhere from a dollar to over twenty dollars, depending on the facility and whether it's in-state or out-of-state. For families already struggling financially due to a parent's incarceration, these costs add another layer of stress. You might find yourself doing mental math—is this call worth skipping lunch for the next three days? Is it worth the overtime shift you'll need to pick up?

Then there's the reality of prison schedules. Your parent might only have access to phones during certain hours, which might coincide with your school or work schedule. They might have to wait in long lines, sometimes for hours, just to make a brief call. Sometimes the phones break down, or lockdowns happen, and that call you've been waiting for all week simply doesn't come. Learning to live with this uncertainty is part of the journey, though it never quite stops being frustrating.

Remember: Technical Difficulties Aren't Personal

When calls drop unexpectedly, when the connection is bad, or when your parent can't call when planned, it's rarely anyone's fault. Prison phone systems are notoriously unreliable. Try not to read emotional meaning into technical failures—they're frustrating, but they're not a reflection of how much your parent cares about connecting with you.

The quality of these calls often leaves much to be desired. You might struggle to hear over background noise—other conversations, loudspeaker announcements, the general chaos of prison life. Your parent might sound different, their voice strained or flat in ways that worry you. Sometimes there's a delay that makes natural conversation feel stilted and awkward. And always, always, there's the knowledge that these calls are monitored and recorded, adding a layer of self-consciousness to every word.

Finding Your Voice: What to Talk About

"I don't know what to say" might be the most common feeling people experience before calling their incarcerated parent. The ordinary rhythm of daily conversation—did you see that movie? want to grab coffee?—suddenly feels impossible when your realities are so different. You might worry about making your parent feel bad by talking about your freedom, or you might resent having to censor your life to protect their feelings.

The truth is, most incarcerated parents desperately want to hear about your normal, everyday life. They want to know about the test you're stressed about, the friend who's being weird, the new recipe you tried that turned out terribly. These details, which might seem boring or trivial to you, help them feel connected to the world outside and, more importantly, to you. Marcus, whose father has been incarcerated for six years, says, "I used to think I needed to have big news to share. Then I realized he just wanted to hear my voice, to know what my Tuesday looked like."

That said, you don't owe anyone a performance of normalcy if that's not how you're feeling. If you're struggling, it's okay to share that—with boundaries that feel right to you. You might say, "I'm having a hard time with your absence," without going into every detail of how that difficulty manifests. You're allowed to protect your own emotional well-being while still being honest about your experience.

Some days, you might find that silence is okay too. Not every moment of a fifteen-minute call needs to be filled with words. Sometimes just being on the line together, knowing the other person is there, is enough. Other days, you might talk so fast trying to fit everything in that you barely take a breath. Both approaches are valid. There's no perfect formula for these conversations.

The question of whether to share bad news is particularly complex. If something difficult is happening in your life, you might struggle with whether to tell your parent. Will it make them feel helpless? Will they worry constantly without being able to do anything? There's no universal right answer. Some people find that sharing everything, good and bad, helps maintain an authentic relationship. Others choose to be more selective, saving certain struggles for other support systems. Trust your instincts about what feels right for your relationship.

Setting Healthy Boundaries

Learning to set boundaries with an incarcerated parent might feel like adding insult to injury. They're already separated from you by physical barriers—do you really need to create emotional ones too? But boundaries aren't walls designed to keep people out; they're more like gates that help you control what comes in and goes out, allowing for healthier connection in the long run.

You might need boundaries around frequency of calls. Maybe your parent wants to talk every day, but you find that emotionally exhausting. It's okay to say, "I love you and I want to stay connected, but I can manage two calls a week right now." You might need boundaries around certain topics—perhaps you're not ready to discuss the crime that led to their incarceration, or you need them to stop asking about your other parent's dating life. These boundaries don't mean you love them less; they mean you're taking care of yourself so you can sustain this relationship over time.

Financial boundaries are crucial too. The cost of prison phone calls can quickly spiral out of control, especially if you're trying to manage them on your own. It's okay to set a monthly budget for calls and stick to it, even if that means fewer or shorter conversations than your parent would prefer. You're not responsible for fixing a broken system that makes staying connected prohibitively expensive. Anita learned this the hard way when she realized she'd spent her entire college textbook budget on phone calls to her mom. "I had to have a hard conversation about limits," she remembers. "Mom didn't like it at first, but she understood I couldn't jeopardize my education."

When Boundaries Are Repeatedly Crossed

If your incarcerated parent consistently ignores your stated boundaries—calling more than agreed, pressing you about topics you've said are off-limits, or making you feel guilty for having limits—it's okay to take a break from contact. You can write a letter explaining that you need some space and will reach out when you're ready. Your mental health matters, and sometimes protecting it means stepping back, even from people you love.

Emotional boundaries might be the hardest to establish and maintain. Your parent might want you to be their primary emotional support, the person they unload all their prison frustrations onto. But you're their child, not their therapist, and it's not your job to manage their emotional well-being. It's okay to redirect conversations that become too heavy: "Dad, that sounds really hard. Have you been able to talk to the counselor about it?" You can be supportive without drowning in their struggles.

Managing Special Occasions and Milestones

Birthdays, holidays, graduations, proms—these milestone moments can feel especially sharp when your parent is incarcerated. The empty chair at graduation, the missing voice in the "Happy Birthday" song, the absence where presence should be. Phone calls on these days carry extra weight, trying to bridge a gap that feels particularly wide.

Sometimes the anticipation of these calls makes the occasions harder. You might spend your entire birthday waiting for the phone to ring, unable to fully engage with the people who are physically present because you're waiting for the one who isn't. Or the call might come at an awkward time—in the middle of your graduation party, during Christmas dinner—forcing you to choose between the moment you're in and the connection you're craving.

There's an art to balancing presence and absence during these times. Some families develop rituals that help. Maybe you light a candle for your incarcerated parent during holiday dinners, acknowledging their absence while not letting it overshadow the entire meal. Maybe you take photos specifically to share during your next call, helping them feel included even when they can't be there. Devon started recording short video messages on his phone during important events—not to send, since that wasn't allowed, but to help him remember details to share during their next conversation.

The pressure to make these milestone calls perfect can be overwhelming. You might feel like you need to convince your parent (and yourself) that you're okay, that their absence didn't ruin everything. But it's okay to acknowledge the sadness alongside the celebration. "I wish you could have been there" doesn't negate "I had a good day." Both can be true at the same time.

Dealing with Difficult Conversations

Not every call is going to be easy. Sometimes your parent might be having a particularly hard day inside, and that heaviness seeps through the phone line. They might be dealing with conflicts with other inmates, frustrations with guards, or the crushing weight of time moving too slowly. Hearing pain in your parent's voice when you can't do anything to help is its own kind of torture.

Then there are the calls where you're the one bringing difficult energy. Maybe you're angry about something—the crime itself, the impact on your family, or just the accumulated frustration of having a relationship confined to scheduled phone calls. Maybe you need to confront your parent about how their actions affected you. These conversations are necessary for healing, but they're rarely easy to navigate within the constraints of a prison phone call.

The monitored nature of these calls adds another layer of complexity to difficult conversations. You might want to discuss something deeply personal but feel inhibited knowing strangers are listening. Your parent might deflect or shut down conversations not because they don't care, but because they don't feel safe being vulnerable in that environment. Learning to read between the lines, to hear what's not being said as much as what is, becomes a crucial skill.

When You Need More Support

If you find yourself consistently dreading calls, feeling drained after every conversation, or struggling with unresolved anger or sadness, consider seeking additional support. A counselor who understands the unique challenges of having an incarcerated parent can provide a safe space to process these feelings. Many areas have support groups specifically for children of incarcerated parents where you can connect with others who truly understand what you're going through.

Sometimes the most difficult conversation is the one about the future. Your parent might have an upcoming parole hearing, or they might be facing many more years inside. They might make promises about how things will be when they get out—promises you want to believe but are afraid to count on. Hope and self-protection battle it out in your heart, and neither one feels quite right.

Taking Care of Yourself Between Calls

The time between calls can be just as challenging as the calls themselves. You might find yourself constantly aware of your phone, checking to make sure the ringer is on, that you have service, that you didn't somehow miss a call. Or you might find yourself avoiding your phone entirely, dreading the emotional toll of the next conversation.

Creating rituals around these calls can help. Some people take a few minutes before each call to center themselves—maybe through deep breathing, a quick walk, or jotting down things they want to remember to say. After calls, you might need time to process. Kayla started keeping a journal specifically for post-call thoughts and feelings. "Sometimes I'd write pages, sometimes just a sentence," she says. "But it helped me track patterns in how I was feeling and what I needed."

It's important to remember that you have a life beyond these phone calls. While maintaining connection with your incarcerated parent is important, it shouldn't consume your entire existence. You're allowed to have days where you don't think about prison, where you're fully present in your own life. You're allowed to turn your phone off sometimes, to be unreachable, to prioritize your own needs.

Building a support network beyond your incarcerated parent is crucial. This might include other family members, friends, mentors, or support groups. You need people you can talk to about the full range of your experiences—not just the sanitized version you might share during monitored calls. You need relationships that exist fully in your physical world, that don't require phone cards or scheduling or working around lockdowns.

Looking Toward the Future

As time passes, you might find that your relationship with your incarcerated parent evolves in unexpected ways. The acute pain of early separation might settle into a more manageable ache. You might discover new ways of connecting, deeper conversations than you ever had when they were physically present. Or you might find that distance—emotional or physical—is what you need to heal and grow.

There's no predetermined path for these relationships. Some people maintain close connections throughout their parent's incarceration, talking regularly and visiting when possible. Others find that less frequent contact works better for them. Some go through periods of no contact at all, then reconnect when they're ready. Your needs and capacity might change over time, and that's okay. The relationship you have today doesn't have to be the relationship you have forever.

Recent research by Dr. James Williams in 2021 found that young adults who maintained some form of connection with their incarcerated parents—even if limited—reported better outcomes in terms of identity formation and emotional well-being than those who cut off contact entirely. But the key word there is "some." The connection needs to work for you, not just for your parent.

As you navigate this journey, remember that