Happy Sunday Friends, This week we’ve been shining a spotlight on prison mail restrictions. Every single day, letters, postcards, and envelopes are returned to us stamped “Rejected,” “Refused,” or simply “Return to Sender.” We’ve shared just a small sample of those...
We’re closing our week-long series on prison mail with one of the most frustrating practices of all: return labels placed directly over the recipient’s name. A simple sticker makes the person — and their letter — disappear.
Mail rejection mystery: Correct address, correct ID, harmless contents, still returned “Refused, Unable to Forward” with no explanation. Mystery solved: OK DOC moves to digital mail.
From diner placemats to tourist postcards, small pieces of mail can carry big love. But growing bans in prisons are cutting off yet another way to stay connected.
Prison is one of the last places where a handwritten letter still matters — but Tennessee’s new mail policy is making that connection even harder. As of August 1, 2025, all personal mail is routed to a third-party scanning facility, with only digital or photocopied versions delivered. Officials claim this stops contraband, but the evidence says otherwise. What it does do is delay delivery, strip away the emotional value of physical letters, and put privacy at risk.
Prison is one of the last strongholds of letter-writing, but mail restrictions are chipping away at the few connections people inside have left. Oregon’s new ban on “security-feature” envelopes is the latest roadblock — and it even applies to envelopes prisoners have bought themselves. The result? Delays, wasted postage, and more isolation.
Hi Friends, The summer days are long, the mornings warm, and cold brew is on the breakfast menu these days. ☀️ So pour yourself a cup (or grab a glass of something iced), find a shady spot, and settle in. Here’s what we shared this week on the blog (links near the...
Thirteen years into his sentence in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, Troy reflects on the good, the bad, and the urgent need for change — from building others up as a life coach to confronting the daily harm of an unforgiving system.
Thirteen years into his sentence in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, Troy reflects on the good, the bad, and the urgent need for change — from building others up as a life coach to confronting the daily harm of an unforgiving system.
A clever prison comic by R. Ortiz imagines a world where sending a letter means arriving in person—no delays, no barriers, just pure connection.