When your child is your cellmate: The ‘maternal pains of imprisonment’ in a Belgian prison nursery

Abstract

The experience of imprisonment is different for women and men: women suffer more, and they also suffer in more distinctive ways. For mothers in prison, the major pains of imprisonment are related to their motherhood status; the so-called maternal pains of imprisonment. Studies on those who have experienced motherhood in prison focus primarily on female prisoners who have been separated from their children. We explored whether women who cohabit with their child(ren) in prison also experience maternal pains of imprisonment, and how these pains are shaped. We draw upon the results of two small-scale qualitative studies conducted in a prison nursery in Belgium. Interviews with cohabiting mothers in this nursery revealed that although the mothers recognized several advantages of cohabitation, they also experienced maternal pains of imprisonment. These pains were related to witnessing and worrying about their child’s pains of imprisonment; the restriction of maternal autonomy; the overwhelming responsibility for their child; and for women with long-term sentences, worrying about the inevitable separation from their child.

Keywords

Female prisoners gendered pains of imprisonment maternal imprisonment prison nursery

Introduction

Criminological research has comprehensively shown that the experience of imprisonment is highly gendered. The experience of imprisonment for women is both quantitatively and qualitatively different: not only do women suffer more from being imprisoned, they also suffer in distinctive ways (Carlen, 1998; Corston, 2007; Crewe et al., 2017; Walker and Worrall, 2000). A recent study of those convicted to life imprisonment revealed that women scored higher for all measurable pains and problems (related to topics such as anger/frustration, relations with the outside world and mental well-being) experienced during imprisonment (Crewe et al., 2017). The researchers suggest that this may be explained by the specific profile of women in prison which is marked by a higher vulnerability than their male counterparts (Crewe et al., 2017). Indeed, women’s lives prior to imprisonment were more likely to have been marked by victimization and addictions, not only in comparison to the general female population, but more specifically to the male prison population (Batchelor, 2005; Morgan and Liebling, 2007).

There is also a difference in how the pains of imprisonment are experienced. While incarceration for men pivots around the classical pains of imprisonment (Sykes, 1958), for women, family relations, and particularly separation from their children, are central issues (Enos, 2001). Men suffer more than women from being deprived of (hetero)sexual contacts during imprisonment, women however, suffer more from the lack of privacy and the loss of contact with significant others, but especially children (Crewe et al., 2017). In addition, women with indeterminate sentences suffer differently from the loss of control over their fertility and lost relationships with their children, referred to as the ‘pain of indeterminacy’ (Walker and Worrall, 2000: 28–30).

For mothers in prison, the major pains of imprisonment are linked to motherhood (Belknap, 2007; Crewe et al., 2017; Forsyth, 2003; Foster, 2012; Shamai and Kochal, 2008; Ystanes and Ugelvik, 2020), referred to here as maternal pains of imprisonment. Nevertheless, the experience of motherhood in prison remains relatively under-researched (Freitas et al., 2016). Research on the experience of those who live with their child(ren) in prison, is even less common (Pösö et al., 2010; Shamai and Kochal, 2008). Given that imprisoned mothers suffer mainly from being separated from their child(ren), can we assume that when mothers cohabit with their children in prison, maternal pains of imprisonment are absent? Or do cohabiting mothers experience other pains related to motherhood, and if so, how are these pains shaped? To conceptualize the specific pains experienced by cohabiting women, we consider the maternal pains of imprisonment for this specific group by drawing on the results of two studies conducted in the prison nursery of Bruges prison, Belgium.

Maternal pains of imprisonment

Most women in the world’s prisons are mothers. The percentage of mothers in the female prison population ranges from 57.7% in Denmark (Kestermann, 2005) to 90% in Argentina (Krabbe and Van Kempen, 2017: 22). In Belgium, about 81% of the female prisoners in Flanders (the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium) are mothers (Van Haegendoren et al., 2001). If only female prisoners with dependent children (<18 years) are considered, the available data in both the European Union (EU) and the United States show percentages between 58.8% and 65% (Beresford, 2018; Glaze and Maruschak, 2008). This is consistent with the research of Casman et al. (2014), who revealed that 58.7% of the incarcerated women in Wallonia (the French-speaking part of Belgium) had underage children.

For imprisoned mothers, ongoing concern about their children appears to be the dominant aspect of their prison lives. Mothering is a key aspect in many female prisoners’ emotional lives (Tabbush and Gentile, 2013). The major pain of imprisonment consists in the stripping away of their role as a mother, and the myriad of suffering related to the restrictions on their ability to fulfil their motherly obligations (Crewe et al., 2017; Forsyth, 2003; Hairston, 1991). Imprisoned mothers tend to suffer more from the separation and breakdown of contact with their children than men (Belknap, 2007). This might be explained by the fact that prior to imprisonment, women are more likely to be the primary (and sole) caregiver than men (Hissel et al., 2015), suggesting that the bond with their children may be stronger. In addition, when a mother is imprisoned, this usually implies a change in the living situation of the children (Beresford, 2018).Approximately 95% have to leave the family home, and only a small minority move to their father (Hissel et al., 2015).Some women are unaware of who is taking care of their children. Consequently, concern about their children’s well-being, or even their whereabouts, is an ever-present feature for many imprisoned mothers (Corston, 2007: 33). Regular contact with their children is also undermined by their dependence on the caregiver to arrange visits and by the fact that women are often imprisoned far from home since women’s prisons are less numerous.¹ Compounding this, some female prisoners do not want their children to visit them: they do not want them to know they are imprisoned or they want to protect them from a harmful experience (Baldwin, 2015; Nuytiens, 2016).

Apart from the suffering caused by missing their child(ren), being absent from important life events (Foster, 2012) and day-to-day ‘typical’ mothering behaviour (Stearns, 2019), it is also particularly hard for mothers to leave the daily child-rearing decisions to others; not being available to solve problems, no matter how small they seem, can cause an enormous distress (Baldwin, 2015). Berry and Eigenberg (2003) argue that female prisoners encounter a unique dilemma; while they keep the status of ‘mother’, they cannot fulfil their obligations in that role, which may lead to role strain. Being prevented from taking up their maternal role, and harbouring feelings of having failed as a mother, is described as one of the most important sources of maternal suffering (Belknap, 2007; Shamai and Kochal, 2008). Moreover, mothers in prison experience a double stigma resulting from the violation of their traditional role definitions that are associated with both femininity and motherhood. Definitions of gender usually focus on motherhood and specific norms, values and role expectations associated with mothering (Baldwin, 2018; Berry and Eigenberg, 2003). The prevailing image of motherhood is idealistic and universal, and is based on several role expectations, such as ‘mothering should be the top priority in a mother’s life’ (Berry and Eigenberg, 2003: 104). These prescriptive mothering norms fail to acknowledge heterogeneity between mothers for what concerns race and class, leading to universal rules prescribing how all mothers are expected to behave (Berry and Eigenberg, 2003).² Obviously, being incarcerated does not match these expectations, as Corston (2007: 20) argues: ‘To become a prisoner is almost by definition to become a bad mother’.

Maternal pains of mothers who cohabitate with their children in prison

In most European countries, it is legally possible for a mother to raise her child in prison, although the rules (e.g. age limits) vary.³ Recurring statistics on children residing in prison with their mother (or father) are conspicuous by their absence, thus rendering these children institutionally invisible (Pösö et al., 2010). In 2011, 980 children in EU countries were living with their mothers in prison (Robertson, 2012). It is, however, unclear what percentage of female prisoners this represents. Not only is there a dearth of quantitative data, qualitative insights on how motherhood is experienced and shaped by those who cohabit with their children in prison are also limited. The extant research has been mainly concerned with mothers who reside in prison without their children.

The few existing studies, however, do reveal some interesting aspects to cohabitation. On the positive side, women reported that the presence of their child would make prison life easier to bear (Freitas et al., 2016). Cohabiting women also felt that it was important and natural for a child to remain close to their mother, especially a newborn (Pösö et al., 2010; Walker et al., 2019). Despite these positive aspects, female prisoners who resided in prison with their child considered prison an inappropriate place to raise a child. They felt that the rigorous daily routine, the noisy and busy atmosphere, and the continuous presence of other detainees and staff were inappropriate and possibly stressful for their child(ren) (Freitas et al., 2016; Tabbush and Gentile, 2013). Some mothers also indicated that the available food was insufficient for a balanced diet (Casman et al., 2014). The process of mothering, while being scrutinized and possibly judged by prison officers and fellow prisoners, was revealed to be an intense, frustrating and anxious experience. Relationships with fellow prisoners and staff were characterized by mutual distrust; consequently, they were carefully managed to avoid unsolicited commentary and punishment (Walker et al., 2019). Furthermore, women found it hard for their child to witness them as a prisoner (Hairston, 1991), leading to a sense of guilt and feelings of having failed as a mother (Belknap, 2007; Shamai and Kochal, 2008).

In Belgium, female prisoners are permitted to keep children younger than 3 in a closed prison regime. While the experiences of cohabiting mothers in Belgium remain underexplored, two studies that focused on prisoners with children in and outside prison suggested that closed regimes are particularly unsuitable for children. First, Buyse et al. (1996) found that children old enough to be mobile suffered from the limited moving space and too many hours spent in a cell. Equally, the lack of variation in acoustic and visual stimulation in a closed setting was perceived by mothers to be developmentally detrimental. Second, Casman et al.’s (2014) research on mothers in closed prison regimes in Wallonia and Brussels revealed that cohabiting mothers found being with their children most of the day was too intense. This was compounded by the fact that options to send children outside the prison (e.g. to day care) were not structurally embedded; children mainly reside in the prison, meaning that mothers had limited opportunities to participate in activities, courses or prison work, leading to higher levels of isolation. This research however did not focus on Flanders, thereby missing the largest prison nursery in Belgium: the nursery in Bruges.

Recent Belgian research that focuses specifically on mothers living with their child(ren) in prison is, as far as we know, non-existent. Yet, this research is important for at least two reasons. First, research has shown that cohabitation may positively impact the mother’s rehabilitation and desistance from crime (Goshin and Byrne, 2014). Second, shedding light on maternal pains of cohabiting women is highly likely to provide significant insights to how these pains can be reduced. This article focuses on cohabiting female prisoners in the nursery in Bruges.

The research

The research context

Children of female prisoners in Belgium can stay in prison until the age of 3. However, specific rules concerning the circumstances under which children may or may not stay in prison with their mother are lacking (Casman et al., 2014: 92), giving significant discretionary power to prison governors. Research has shown that in practice, the age of the child, the care options outside prison, the opinion of the mother and the mother’s child rearing capacities are all considered relevant (De Vos, 2017). Currently, children live with their mothers in three out of the nine closed prisons in Belgium where women are detained: Berkendael, Bruges and Lantin. In Berkendael, there are specially equipped cells for pregnant women or mothers on the regular section, but there is neither a separate nursery nor a structurally embedded mother and child programme. There are also two separate prison nurseries: one in Lantin (with three cells) and one in Bruges, where there is room for about 10 women with their children. Pregnant prisoners are transferred to this prison nursery, usually in their last trimester, to make use of the prison’s medical centre. While the average daily female prison population in Belgium fluctuated between 440 and 487 between 2012 and 2017 (Belgian Prison Service, 2017, 2018), the number of children in prison remained, and remains, consistently low: numbers ranging from 7 to 11 over the last decade, with the majority in the prison nursery of Bruges.⁴

In Bruges prison, the nursery is a separate section and is provided with everything needed for childcare. The cells (single and double) are larger than the cells in the other sections and are equipped with baby cots. The nursery also provides a room for day care, with toys, cots and baby chairs. There is a bathroom where mothers can bathe their children, a kitchen, a washing room and a collective (living) room. Day care for children whose mothers work is organized during working hours on weekday mornings. Overall, the regime is less strict than in the other sections of the prison. The cell doors are opened more often (i.e. from 2.30 to 5 p.m. and 3 days a week 1 hour after dinner), and there is a separate courtyard with a small playground that can be used under supervision between 2.30 and 5 p.m.

Two studies

The two studies used for this article were both conducted in 2017. The first study took place as part of a master’s thesis (De Vos, 2017) exploring how motherhood is shaped and experienced in the prison nursery and what support is available for the mothers. The student conducted semi-structured interviews with 10 internal and external agents working in the nursery, for example, prison officers and social workers. As the student was denied access to prisoners, the first author of the current article (who was the supervisor for De Vos’ master’s thesis) conducted semi-structured interviews with mothers who either resided in the nursery or had recently left. The current article considers only the results of the interviews with the mothers. At the time of the research (April 2017), seven mothers with nine children lived in the nursery. We were denied access to one mother, who was placed under a special security regime and another refused to take part in the research. The remaining five mothers, with the addition of one who had spent more than 2 years in the prison nursery, but had moved to the regular section 3 months before the research, resulted in six participants aged between 21 and 39 years (mean age 28.8 years). Three mothers who did not speak Dutch were interviewed in French or English. Four women lived with one child in prison, and one woman cohabited with two children. The age of these children was between 2 and 21 months. Five out of six children were younger than 7 months.

The second study focused on the meanings that female prisoners attached to food in prison. The research generated rich, though unintended, data on the experience of maternal imprisonment. During October and November 2017, the second author conducted an exploratory research in the prison nursery in Bruges and the section for women with sentences exceeding 3 years. Sixteen semi-structured interviews were carried out, 4 of which took place in the prison nursery and 1 in the regular section with a woman who had previously resided in the nursery. At the time of the research, seven women and eight children resided in the nursery. The age of participants was not asked, but because of the overlap of participants (see below), we expect this to be similar to the first study. The researcher also conducted participant observations, took part in daily prison life (e.g. day care of the children in the nursery, distribution of the prison food) and conducted informal conversations with staff and prisoners. In this article, we will report on the interviews with the five female prisoners who previously or currently resided in the nursery.

We discovered that there was an overlap in three participants when several women spontaneously told the second author about their participation in the first study and explicitly identified themselves as participants in study 1. In combination then, the two studies produced data from 11 semi-structured interviews with eight unique respondents. Only three were born and raised in Belgium, of which one woman’s ancestors were immigrants. The other women moved to Belgium during adolescence, were temporarily living in Belgium or were passing through the country when they were arrested. As the penitentiary administration does not record the ethnic background of prisoners, we were unable to compare the participants’ background with the global female prison population. However, considering nationality data, it could be argued that women who were not born and raised in Belgium may be overrepresented in our studies.⁵

Ethical issues

In Belgium, researchers who conduct research with prisoners need an authorization from the penitentiary administration and the prison governor(s). The administration requests that the research is conducted according to the prevailing ethical rules and that recordings are destroyed after the research. In the current studies, 9 out of 11 interviews were audio recorded, and recordings were destroyed after transcribing them verbatim.

At the university of both authors, review by an ethical review board is not obligatory, nor for master’s thesis research, nor for research conducted by university researchers. The university’s Ethical Committee of Human Sciences (ECHS) demands that researchers and students conduct their research in accordance with the university’s guidelines on ethical research. The second research was part of a research granted by the Research Foundation Flanders. When the proposal was submitted, extensive ethical questionnaires were filled out. While today all granted projects are screened by the ECHS, this was not yet the case when the second study took place.

In the first study, the researcher explained the research extensively face-to-face and alone with potential participants. The women who agreed to participate signed and received a copy of the informed consent form with the researcher’s contact details, formalizing confidentiality, voluntariness and recordings. For the second study, posters and flyers in which the study was explained were distributed by the researcher at the relevant sections. The research was also explained face-to-face. As the researcher estimated that some women would be reluctant to sign documents, informed consent was given orally by all participants and was recorded. For the sake of confidentiality, the interviews in both studies took place in the mother’s cell or in an empty office.

The overlap in participants points to the fact that our population may be over-researched. Therefore, both researchers were mindful not to create a sense of yet another ‘outside scientist’ entering prison only to extract data who ‘mine the mind’ of our research subjects (van den Hoonaard, 2018). We immersed ourselves in the routine and activities of the prison for several days (study 1) to weeks (study 2). This allowed us to informally talk to the women. It allowed us to get a better understanding of the context of the nursery and allowed participants to ask questions about us and about the research.

While female prisoners often have vulnerable backgrounds (Nuytiens and Christiaens, 2016), emergent discourses challenge ethics rules which may assume that all people in distressing situations are vulnerable and unable to consent or participate in research. Van den Hoonaard (2018) argues that we should challenge the centrality of vulnerability as an ethical concept because it is a concept that does not always match with the lived experiences of people labelled as vulnerable by ethics committees. The question should be whether people would become more vulnerable by taking part in the research. In our studies, this was not the case. On the contrary, we did not reduce participants to ‘vulnerable subjects’, but we gave them voice as experts of their own experience.

Results

We draw on the interviews of both studies to consider the following questions: Do cohabiting mothers experience maternal pains of imprisonment? If so, how are these pains shaped? In considering these, we will use interview excerpts from the two studies.⁶ All participants were assigned a pseudonym. To prevent us from disproportionately using quotes from the same person, we assigned the same pseudonym to the overlapping participants.⁷

In line with previous research, we found that the mothers had mixed feelings about their cohabitation. On one hand, the women were keen to elaborate on the gains of living together, yet on the other, they did not think that prison was an appropriate place to raise their children. Our findings indicate that despite the absence of a physical separation from their children, they did experience maternal pains. The mothers had several concerns about the pains of imprisonment suffered by their children; about motherhood and their maternal role; and for the women with long-term sentences, about the inevitability that one day their children would leave prison without them.

The ‘gains’ of cohabitation

The respondents’ narratives reflected several advantages of cohabitation. First, the presence of their child was one of the main reasons for the women to get up every day, to fight and to live. Their presence also rendered detention less hard to bear. Several mothers explained that because of always being together or close with their child, they were obliged to put the child first and set aside their own worries.

My son (. . .) makes my punishment easier to bear, by giving me love here. He gives me support and love. (. . .) Having my son here makes my detention easier. If he were not here I would do very bad. It makes it easier to bear because I didn’t lose everything after all. (Bouchra)

I was blessed having my daughter here with me. Because (. . .) in the nursery I saw her grow up, she also gave me a lot of hope. And love, and really courage to keep on fighting and to stay alive, that was very important to me. (Meryem)

Second, some mothers thought that always being with their child meant that they developed a strong bond, even stronger than one in the outside world.

Interviewer:

Do you think that you can build up a good relationship with your son here?

Afi:

Yes, even more so because I’m just here with him. You do nothing else apart from [carrying him around].

While the development of a strong(er) bond was mentioned by several women, one mother found that there was no difference in bonding with her child in prison relative to the outside world.

It’s normal, it’s the same as outside. (Alexa)

Worrying about the child’s pains of imprisonment

The narratives also revealed several pains, both for the mothers and children, that arise because of cohabitation. Interestingly, being aware of the child’s pains of imprisonment appeared to constitute an additional pain of imprisonment for the mothers. Echoing the findings of Freitas et al. (2016) and Tabbush and Gentile (2013), several mothers recounted that prison, because of the ever-present noise and strict day schedule, was inappropriate for children and prevented them from leading a normal life. Our participants worried a lot about the pains of imprisonment their children experienced, the impact of daily life in prison and the possible damage this could cause. It was mentioned several times that the way the prison regime works means that the children are treated as de facto prisoners and experience punishment when they have done nothing wrong. For example, the women must spend a lot of time in their cell (if they do not work this can add up to 21 hours a day), and this punishes their child by implication.

Maybe [they should] leave the cell door open more often. When I had to come here, I knew that [was because] I did something wrong, but my son didn’t do anything wrong. (Lena)

In line with previous Belgian research (Buyse et al., 1996), the participants indicated that the children routinely suffer from the restricted space and by being locked up in a small cell – this is especially marked when they start to crawl or walk. Prior to that stage, the constricted space is not really a problem, as one mother narrated:

At this age he’s not conscious [of being in prison]. No child of this age will be deprived [by living here], because plenty of people live in a studio flat and that’s also a small space. (Bouchra)

However, according to our participants, from the age of 12 months onwards, children in prison cannot get rid of their energy. One mother who resided with two children in prison said,

Kids need space, kids need to play, to run outside. The kids in here cannot do that and because of that they have too much energy and break down the house (laughs). (. . .) At 9 p.m. he doesn’t want to sleep yet. He still wants to walk around, he cannot get rid of his energy here. (Ilse)

According to the mothers with children older than 1, this problem becomes exacerbated as children get older. Older children not only suffer more from the lack of space but also clearly express their discontent by trying to negotiate the rules.

Sometimes they start to cry because they want to get out again. When the child gets older, it becomes more difficult because he wants to get out and he can’t, and he’s standing there [at the door] like ‘bye bye, bye bye’. (Ilse)

The older she became, the more difficult it became for her to be locked up. (. . .) When she wanted to go outside the cell she knocked with her hand against the door and yelled: ‘ma’am, open, ma’am, open!’ (Meryem)

Several participants reflected concerns that their children would be alienated from outside society (and normal life) because of having been imprisoned, a problem that is exacerbated with age. Children are permitted to leave prison for 6 days every month if day care is provided, and most of them go to the mother’s family home. One mother regularly sent her son to a Child and Family Support Centre (‘CKG’) because her family was unable to take care of him, and this allowed her son to experience other environments.

He plays outside and sometimes he goes to the zoo. That’s good for him because he doesn’t know what a train is, what a bike is. Just saying: when you keep a child inside till the age of 3 (. . .) he will not know what a car is, or a train, or a horse, a cow, grass . . . He will not learn the things of real life. For example, a supermarket and a shopping cart, most of them don’t know what that is. (Ilse)

There was evidence to suggest that children around the age of 2 may have adapted to prison life by copying the behaviour of prisoners. For one mother, the apparent reality of prison life to her daughter was the main reason behind her decision to let her daughter move to her grandparents at the age of 2.

When somebody came to visit me, and I was searched afterwards, my daughter also wanted to be searched. (. . .) When we went downstairs, we had to receive a stamp, she also presented her hand to receive a stamp. (. . .) She knew that when we went to the visiting room that we had to pass detection, she knew where to wait. (. . .) She knew [all the rules] and that is really striking to see because these children are conditioned in this world. (. . .) For her that was a normal life. That is why I decided myself to release her (. . .). She deserved to have a normal life. (Meryem)

For another mother, this self-evident reality of prison life for her son was reflected in his unfamiliarity with adults who did not wear uniforms.

Yes, it’s striking how (. . .) he always greets prison offers with a smile, he always smiles. But when I went to the social service, he wouldn’t smile. Because they don’t wear [a] uniform . . . they wear regular clothes. (Iris)

Worries concerning motherhood and the maternal role

Consistent with previous research (see, for example, Hairston, 1991), several mothers mentioned fears about the impact on their child of only witnessing their mother as a prisoner. As Belknap (2007) and Shamai and Kochal (2008), found, some of the respondents in our study felt like they had failed as a mother. This related to the concern that respondents felt unable not only to fulfil what they perceived to be the role of a mother but also to experience motherhood as they would otherwise prefer. Paradoxically, the mothers navigated between the experience of restricted maternal autonomy on one hand and overwhelming responsibility on the other.

Restriction of maternal autonomy

Just as female prisoners with children outside prison experience a loss of their maternal autonomy, so too did the mothers in the nursery. While the children stayed with their mother, and she was responsible for them, they were far from being the only person making daily decisions about them. Several participants expressed regret that they were unable to autonomously make decisions about their child. Luther and Gregson (2011: 99) also emphasized this gap between ‘possessing the identity of mother’ (being a mother) ‘and actually being able to mother one’s children’ (doing mothering). While cohabiting with their child(ren) enables them to retain their identity as mothers, the strict prison context severely limits their capacity to carry out their role as mothers. Thus, those who cohabit with their child in prison also (but probably to a lesser extent) experience the role strain described in studies on mothers in prison without their children (see, for example, Berry and Eigenberg, 2003).

The interviews showed that this lack of flexibility was experienced as one of the main causes of maternal pains of imprisonment. While the nursery was described (by prison staff and prisoners) as more flexible and less strict than other sections, the day schedule was still regarded as too rigid, making it impossible for mothers to make autonomous decisions. They felt unable to adapt their routines to the changing needs and the rhythms of their children. They expressed concern, for example, that babies must always be woken up early, even if they have had a bad night’s sleep, because mothers are obliged to bathe them early in the morning. A further limitation was the single time slot for mothers to use the courtyard with their children, resulting in significantly limited time outside. In spring and summer, there were more opportunities to use the courtyard, but these were also at fixed times. On top of this, the children were locked up in their cells at 7 p.m., which the mothers regarded as too early.

The children don’t move a lot, you can’t put them to bed at 7 p.m. (. . .). The guard said: the child should have been in bed by now, and I said: the child doesn’t have a button on which I push so that she would sleep. (Meryem)

The strict regime left one mother to conclude that she, as a mother in prison, could not decide anything for her child except for one thing.

You decide when you feed your child. What can I decide? Only about food. (Bouchra)

However, even this was disputed by several women, stating that they were strictly limited in what they could feed their child. For example, mothers were not permitted to feed children younger than 4 months mashed potatoes or fruit. This restriction, based on the guidelines of the Child & Family Agency (‘Kind & Gezin’), was strictly followed by the prison staff. However, for some mothers, not being able to make this choice themselves, as would be the case in the outside world, felt like a restriction of their maternal autonomy.

Now he is two months old and I want to give him [fruit and potatoes], you know, like it is normal now, and [I also did this with] my first son. (. . .) Because (. . .) when I give too much [milk] powder, it is not good for him. (. . .) Here they start at 4 months. (Lena)

In addition, and in line with the findings of Casman et al. (2014), all mothers in the second study, and most mothers in the first study, commented that the way food was served was not always suitable for young children, nor did it meet their child’s dietary needs on all occasions. Therefore, most of the mothers gave their children mashed fruit, which could be ordered for free for children as an alternative to prison food. If the mothers felt that the meal served to their child was not adapted to the child’s needs, they could ask for instant baby food. However, it was the prison staff and not the mothers, who judged the prison’s food suitability.

If the food really isn’t suitable for children, you can ask for a bowl of instant baby-food. But I think that’s the case [the fact the food is not suitable] in 90% of the times, they [the prison officers] don’t always think so. (Iris)

The fact that not only food (e.g. milk powder) but also other necessary items such as diapers were rationed caused significant distress. Several mothers however said that some prison officers were more lenient than others in this rationing policy.

When the [milk] powder is finished, they don’t give any more . . . (. . .) When it is a good officer, they say it is okay and they will give you something more. But most of them won’t. They don’t care whether you are here with your child or not, you are in prison, they treat your child like a prisoner. (Afi)

And if you forgot to take diapers, and at the last moment you ask the officer who already locked the door whether you still can get some diapers, some officers will open the door and get some diapers, and others will say ‘you should have thought about that sooner’. (Meryem)

Another issue that was brought up by several mothers was the lack of autonomy in decisions about medical support. Some were critical that when their children were sick, they had to leave decisions to others. Others were upset that their children’s complaints were not taken seriously.

The medical support [for the child] is zero. (. . .) Like (. . .) last week, his temperature was almost 38 and I took him to the doctor and the doctor said it was normal, which is not. So, the medical support is just zero. There is nothing good about it. (. . .). (Afi)

When there’s something with the kids, you are helped quickly. When my daughter had a fever, I went to the doctor. He gave her antibiotics, but her fever did not go away. She had a high fever for 5 days (. . .). My brother came and brought her to the hospital (. . .). She had bronchitis and had to stay in the hospital for 1 week. If they had brought her to the hospital sooner, she shouldn’t have stayed so long. (. . .) They should take these things such as fever more seriously and wait not so long and not minimalize the facts. (Meryem)

One mother, however, was very positive about the medical support.

If you want to see a doctor, you can. My son was gasping for breath two times, in the evening. Everyone came running: the leading prison guard, the nurse, everyone was very supportive. (Bouchra)

Finally, the mothers in the study experienced difficulties when handing over or sharing their everyday maternal tasks with those they would not have chosen on the outside. For instance, day care for children whose mothers work in prison was undertaken by a ‘child servant’, a female prisoner appointed by the prison authorities. However, most of the mothers had little faith in her. Many criticized her because the diapers were not changed often enough or because she would do things the mother disapproved of (e.g. carry a baby wrapped on her back).

Outside, it’s my family, they can care, it’s another thing . . . You feel okay, you trust [them]. Here I do not trust [anyone], really. It’s prison. I don’t know for [which offence] the women [are] here. (Sofia)

As a result, most women chose not to work, so they did not have to leave their child with someone unfamiliar. This is not without emotional cost; opting not to work may contribute to feeling isolated and can also contribute to feelings of being overwhelmed as the time that mother and child spend together increases (Casman et al., 2014).

An overwhelming responsibility

Paradoxically, while the mothers felt that they had too little autonomy in performing their role as mothers, they also felt that their daily responsibility for their children was overwhelming and hard to bear. In line with the findings of Casman et al. (2014), the fact that for all practical purposes most of the children were ever present resulted in high levels of pressure being experienced by several mothers. Apart from being able to leave their child with the child servant during working hours, the mothers had no options for ‘time-out’ and could not leave their child elsewhere.

Children have the right to leave prison 6 days a month. Maybe it would have been better to let the child go out 3 days a week so that the mothers can catch their breath or unwind. Because psychologically you’re totally exhausted. Even more when your child (. . .) is very active. (Meryem)

For example, when mothers were sick or depressed, they worried about who would take over, leaving them feeling guilty about their inability to fulfil their maternal role. Again, this resulted in the feeling that their child was being punished.

Last time I had a (. . .) nervous breakdown. (. . .) Even if you would ask, no one can take your child. If you have a hard time, you cannot put your child somewhere. (. . .) I almost slept for 2 days, and I hardly looked after my son. (. . .) You feel bad because it’s like you’re punishing your son by sleeping so much. He is not the convict, it’s me. (Bouchra)

Consistent with Walker et al. (2019), the experience of feeling overwhelmed and pressured was rendered even worse by (feelings of) continuously being watched and criticized by prison officers. In line with other studies (Baldwin, 2018; Enos, 2001), several mothers felt as though their identity as a (good) mother was constantly challenged. For example, one mother commented how the prison staff thought of her as a bad mother.

(. . .) They say I’m a bad mother. (. . .) Yes, probably because I’m too lenient. So what? That’s my decision. (. . .) My kids can do anything; they have their freedom. (. . .) A 2-year old child explores, climbs on everything and is active, and my son is quite an active child. This is not my fault, is it? I cannot lock him up in a closet the whole day (. . .). (Ilse)

This quote illustrates that while in the literature the image of ‘bad mother’ is mostly tied to the sole fact that a mother finds herself in prison, references to this image in our studies were mostly linked to parenting practices disapproved of by the prison staff. Our informal conversations with prison staff and observations confirmed that the prison staff and the mothers often had different ideas about ‘good’ parenting practices. This discrepancy may be partly caused by the prison staff observing the mothers’ parenting practices from a White, middle-class and Euro-centric view, which may conflict with the views of some mothers in prison. According to Enos (2001: 27), it is expected that for some mothers in prison, their ideas on mothering and their mothering performance will be different from that of other mothers because of different social and cultural worlds. As dominant role expectations associated with mothering are traditional and normative, failing to acknowledge different perspectives on (good) mothering, it may not come as a surprise then that both perspectives are sometimes conflicting.

Worrying about the expected separation

Finally, for convicted mothers with long-term sentences, a prominent pain was the knowledge that one day, their child(ren) would inevitably be released without them. Children who leave prison after they have reached the age of 3 move to their father or another family member. When this is not feasible, or desirable, the child is sent to either a foster family or an institution. While in Belgium, children can visit their mothers in prison, research has shown that in most cases, visits are not that frequent, largely because of the long distances and/or the lack of initiative of the child’s caretakers (Nuytiens, 2016). In addition, child visits are not regularly organized (e.g. in Bruges this is only on Wednesdays 16:00–17:30). As a result, contacts between mothers and children are merely telephonic and/or written (Nuytiens, 2016), which sharply contrasts with the situation when cohabiting.

Participants with a long-term sentence reflected on this in their narratives. They were not referring to the pain of separation, which has been revealed by research on mothers in prison without their child, but the pain of expected separation, which produced all-pervasive feelings of sadness and powerlessness.

When I’m breastfeeding, I become emotional realizing that he will be released one day, and I wonder how it will be for him when he’s not with me anymore 24/7. This is my biggest fear, the day that I will have to hand over my son to the outside world (gets emotional). (Bouchra)

You know that (. . .) you should enjoy the moments together as you know the day will come that you will have to let the child go and that your life will change. (Meryem)

Discussion and conclusion

This article explored the experiences of motherhood felt by women who cohabited with their child(ren) in the Bruges prison nursery. Drawing on two studies, we showed that these mothers do experience maternal pains of imprisonment and, through their narratives, gave examples of how these pains were shaped. From these studies, several interesting results emerged that ought to inform policy makers and encourage researchers to further explore this topic.

The cohabiting mothers in our studies emphasized several advantages to living with their child(ren) in prison; not least the strong bond that this enabled them to develop. Consistent with previous research (Freitas et al., 2016), the mothers were also keen to acknowledge that the presence of their child made prison life easier to bear. However, the interviews revealed that cohabitation also fostered several maternal pains of imprisonment.

A first maternal pain is caused by both witnessing and worrying about their child(ren)’s pains of imprisonment. Consistent with the findings of Buyse et al. (1996), the mothers in our studies felt that from the age of 1 onwards, their children suffered from a lack of space which constricted their age-appropriate movement. Mothers also worried about their children becoming unworldly, growing up thinking that prison life is normal. It was noted that some children older than two were copying prisoners’ behaviours. Comfort (2008) observed a similar phenomenon in her research where prison visitors imitated the behaviour of inmates. She referred to this as secondary prisonisation. While it could be argued that the children’s behaviour observed in our research was also a form of secondary prisonisation, more research is required in order to further explore this.

A second maternal pain originated from the experience of restricted maternal autonomy. Several policies and practices (e.g. the strict schedule, the rationing of baby food and other necessities) fostered institutional dependency and hampered their ‘doing’ of mothering (Luther and Gregson, 2011). The mothers also perceived themselves to be under permanent surveillance and felt as though their mothering skills were being constantly judged; many believed they were considered bad mothers by the prison authorities.

Paradoxically, a third maternal pain was the overwhelming pressure of responsibility for their children which was felt by several mothers. In a prison context, the sole responsibility for their child was considered not only more challenging but also more frustrating (Walker et al., 2019). In a closed regime, mother and child were together for most of the day, and for mothers who did not work, this was the whole day, which is often considered too intense for mothers in such settings (Casman et al., 2014).

Finally, for women with long-term punishments, a considerable maternal pain was the ever-present emotional stress of the inevitable separation from their child. The intense way of living together in the nursery sharply contrasted with the expectation of sporadic visits after the child has moved out.

Our findings are in line with previous research that indicated the unsuitability of closed regimes for children. Given that most of the maternal pains were caused by the nature of the regime, Belgian policy makers should consider a semi-open or open regime for mothers. In closed regimes, institutional dependency is fostered by giving mothers responsibilities, but this simultaneously limits individual expressions of autonomy and control. In open regimes, there is room for ‘doing mothering’ (Luther and Gregson, 2011), and maternal autonomy can be stimulated. An open regime would also allow the children more time and space to move inside prison, enhance their opportunities to go outside prison (e.g. external day care) and prevent unworldliness and prisonisation. While it is expected that an open, or semi-open, context is likely to foster less suffering for both the mothers and their children, comparative research exploring the maternal pains of cohabiting mothers across different prison systems and regimes is needed to support this. This research can shed light on how specific detention contexts and regimes shape the maternal pains of imprisonment for cohabiting women. The findings of both our studies and future comparative research may help inform policy makers on how to reduce maternal pains and, in doing so, avoid additional suffering to the deprivation of liberty.

Footnotes

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article: The first study received no specific grant from any funding agency. The second study has received financial support of the Research Foundation Flanders (FWO) and was part of the research project ‘Food in Prison’ (grant number G020513N).

ORCID iD

An Nuytiens

Notes

Author biographies

An Nuytiens is a postdoctoral researcher and a professor at the research groups Crime & Society and Voicing Youth at Social Risk of the Vrije Universiteit Brussel. Her work focusses on (gendered) pathways to crime, motherhood in prison and on experiences of people (formerly) involved in the youth justice system.

Esther Jehaes is a PhD researcher and teaching assistant at the Crime & Society Research Group of the Vrije Universiteit Brussel. As a part of the research project ‘Food in Prison’, she studied female prisoners’ experiences with prison food. She currently conducts research on the job experiences of prison officers.

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