āļø Letters From Prison is an ongoing series based on real messages we receive from inside.
Have one to share? See link below.
In this installment of Letters From Prison: Kurtis & Joe, the menās hope for a transfer to better conditions takes a painful turn. What follows is a story of heartbreak, faith, and the strength of enduring friendship.
š New here? Start withĀ Part 1. āŖ Catch up on Part 3.
Today is National Nonprofit Day,Ā a chance to celebrate the work of organizations around the country that serve, connect, and uplift their communities.
For over ten years, Adopt an Inmate has been building bridges between people in prison and the outside world. What began with a single incarcerated family member has grown into a nationwide network of volunteers, adopters, and supporters who refuse to let anyone be forgotten behind bars.
š Together weāve:
Matched thousands of people in prison with caring adopters
Built a nationwide network of volunteers who give their time, talent, and heart to people inside
Received and processed countless letters and applications
Created opportunities for university students and professors to engage directly with people in prison
Shared stories that shine a light on injustice while affirming humanity
None of it happens without you. Your time, your stamps, your donations and your heart fuels every letter and every connection.
If our work has touched you, todayās a perfect day to show your support: š Donate today š Give stamps
This week weāve been shining a spotlight on prison mail restrictions.Ā Every single day, letters, postcards, and envelopes are returned to us stamped āRejected,ā āRefused,ā or simply āReturn to Sender.ā
Weāve shared just a small sample of those rejections this week. Each returned envelope represents a broken connection, wasted postage, and one more person inside cut off from the outside world.
When Connection Hits a Wall:Ā Five Stories From This Weekās Mail Rejections
Oregonās Envelope Ban
Security envelopes ā the kind we use every day ā are now banned in Oregon. Even envelopes purchased inside and mailed to us are being rejected.
Tennessee Goes Digital
As of August 1, Tennessee routes all personal mail through a third-party scanning service. The result is delays, poor quality copies, and zero privacy.
No Postcards For You!
From photos and postcards, letters written on diner placemats, and children’s crayon drawings, these cherished personal mementos are now banned in most federal and state institutions.
Mystery Rejections (Oklahoma)
Return to Sender. Refused, Unable to Forward. The recipient was still in custody, the info was correct, and yetā¦rejected. This was how we discovered Oklahoma has quietly gone digital.
Mystery Recipients
Frequently, the mailroom slaps a giant sticker over the intended recipientās name and ID, leaving us no way to know who the letter was meant for.
The reason given for all these restrictive mail policies is always “security,” and to reduce contraband. But does that really add up?
Evidence Check
No solid proof mail scanning works.Ā After instituting mail scanning, the percentage of incoming mail that the Department of Corrections reported as ātaintedāĀ only decreased by 0.1%Ā over the course of a year. As of 2023, the rate of positive drug tests in Pennsylvania prisons is nowĀ almost 3 times higherĀ than it was before the policy was introduced.
InĀ Florida, of the 3.1 million contraband items that entered the prison system from January 2019 to April 2021, only aboutĀ 1 percent came in through mail.
TexasĀ prisons stopped in-person visits and limited mail, but thatĀ didnāt stop drugsĀ from getting in.
It’s the guards, stupid.Ā ReportsĀ confirmĀ that most often, itāsĀ staffānot ādrug-soaked papersāāthat bring contraband into facilities.Ā In many cases,Ā contraband enters through corrections staffānot mail. That includes drugs, K2, and cell phones.Ā The BOPĀ imposes no restrictionsĀ on the personal property BOP staff can bring into the institutions, does not search staff or their property when they enter for duty, and does not conduct random drug testing of staff.
Have you had mail returned or rejected? Have you seen policies change in your state? Weād love to hear your story. Comment below, and/or use this formĀ to help us track mail policies nationwide.
As always, thanks for reading, sharing, and supporting.
With gratitude, āMelissaĀ
Quote of the Week:Ā
“Mail from home was so important when you were traveling. It kept you in touch with the familiar, even the part you were running from.” – Helen Van SlykeĀ
PS:Ā On the home front, weāve been told to expect an update from our insurance company soon about what (if anything) will be covered from the water damage in our kitchen. Insurance companies follow closely behind prison mailrooms when it comes to delays and absurd policies that benefit only themselves.
On the brighter side, Iāve perfected single-serving rice in the egg cooker (who knew?), and am still on the hunt for more off-label uses. (Read last week’s installmentĀ here.)
Ā Donate StampsĀ – SOS: Stamp out Silence! Take the QuizĀ ā How much do you know about U.S. prisons? GiveĀ ā Help us keep breathing together Ā Add Your VoiceĀ ā Submit your responses to ourĀ Good, Bad, Change poll
Weāre wrapping up this weekās series on prison mail policies with one last return from a prison mailroom … somewhere.
Weāve saved one of the most infuriating for last, and it isnāt just one prison being careless. Itās a tactic used in many states: Placing the return label directly over the recipientās name, and address. That means the letter didnāt just get returned, but the mailroom erased the person it was meant for.
āRefused ā Return to Sender ā Inmate information missing, not found, inactive.ā
So not only was this person denied their mail, but we have no way of knowing who it was supposed to reach.
This is how arbitrary and dehumanizing prison mail policies can be. A single carefully placed sticker thwarts the message of hope inside.
Thanks for (literally) nothing.
But we’ll keep on mailing, and keep on speaking out. Because even when mailrooms silence voices, we wonāt.
This week weāve been sharing a handful of our daily mail rejections ā the kind of maddening, head-scratching returns that land in our PO Box almost every single day.
Hereās one for the āYou Canāt Make This Stuff Upā file.
This envelope, along with several others for the same institution, came back to us marked Return to Sender ā Refused, Unable to Forward, with no explanation. These RTSs were self-addressed stamped envelopes provided by the prisoners to us at their own expense, complete with their full name, correct ID number (redacted here) and mailing address.
As is our standard practice before mailing anything to someone in prison, we checked the official agency locator, in this case Oklahoma DOC, and confirmed that the recipient was still in custody and had not been moved or released. The envelope contained no contraband ā just a standard application with a short handwritten note from our volunteer Liz, and sent out with all the outgoing mail prepared during our annual volunteer weekend last month.
Hereās the kicker: after some digging, I discovered Oklahoma DOC has joined the parade of states that has switched to a digital mail system. Their web page about the change even claims people in custody know about the change.
Riiigggghhhhht. So why were SASEs with the old address allowed out through the mailroom? And how are folks supposed to update their outside contacts if their own envelopesĀ with the wrongĀ address are being returned without explanation?
These unexplained refusals waste time, waste resources, and cut off people inside from essential communication while making the outside world do detective work just to learn the real reason.
Sure. Tell us again that prisons support and encourage outside contact.
Before email and text messages, some of the most treasured connections came in the form of a simple piece of mail. For me, that meant letters and postcards from my grandparents as they traveled the country. From the road, my grandmother would write to us on the paper placemats you used to find in roadside diners. They were often printed with the restaurant name, the city, maybe a few fun facts about the area, or a puzzle to solve. Sheād write her letter on the back, and drop them in the mail, sometimes tucking in a postcard from wherever theyād stopped.
Those letters and postcards from the road remain cherished reminders of their constant presence even when we lived in different states.
This picture is one of those reminders. It had to have been 1977, and my mom, my brother and I were living in Oklahoma, just outside of Tulsa. Weād had maybe a day or twoās notice that our grandparents would be stopping for a visit while on the road in their camper. Our neighbor and school friend Mike wandered over, and we lined up for a picture. It must have been a Sunday. We were dressed for church.
I cherished those letters and cards, and still have some of them. I can only imagine how much more these mementos are for people in prison, cut off from the world and hungry for any glimpse of life beyond those walls.
But in federal custody, and an increasing number of state institutions, people arenāt allowed to receive postcards. Some state facilities go the other way and allow only postcards. No letters on paper (or diner menus) at all. Only what can be crammed onto one side of a 4″ x 6″ card.
With stamps now 78Ā¢, we save a little by using 61Ā¢ postcardsĀ for short messages like adoption notices, congratulations, or quick answers. When theyāre refused, itās more than wasted postage. Itās extra labor to resend, delays in delivering news, and one less thread of connection.
Policies that prohibit postcards and other personal touches strip away the most human and tangible reminders that someone, somewhere, thought of you and took the time to send a piece of their life. For people inside, theseĀ simplest keepsakes that mean the world, may never make it into their hands. And thatās a loss worth talking about.
Prison is one of the last places where a handwritten letter still matters, but prison agencies have been putting that under threat for over a decade.
Starting August 1, 2025, Tennessee began rerouting all incoming personal mail through a third-party scanning service. Instead of receiving physical letters, incarcerated people now get digital scans or printed copies. Administrators say this policy aims to curtail contraband smuggling. But does it?
What this means for families:
Delays in mail delivery.
Lower quality or incomplete content as photos and kidsā artwork lose their meaning through photocopy.
Privacy risks ā a private vendor now handles and stores intimate correspondence.
Disconnected emotions ā no more touching the paper, feeling the weight of a handwritten note, or keeping a card as a lifeline.
Meanwhile, the evidence shows that mail scanning doesnāt stop contraband.Ā
Once again, in the face of these ever-changing policies and increased restrictions, we’re updating our guides and helping families adapt. Every new restriction makes staying in touch harder, and hope feels more fragile. The sad and frustrating truth is, every new barrier to personal mail makes it harder to sustain relationships across prison walls. Those relationships are what keep hope alive for people in prison who are fortunate enough to have any outside contacts.
Have a story about returned mail?Ā Please share in the comments (scroll alllll the way down below), or useĀ this formĀ and help us track this practice across U.S. prisons.
At Adopt an Inmate, the mail isnāt just part of our work ā it is our work. Prison is one of the last places where letter-writing is still a lifeline. For the people we serve, a letter can be the highlight of the week, a link to the outside world, and sometimes the only reminder that they are not forgotten. Thatās why every new mail restriction isnāt just a policy change ā itās another wall between people and those who love them.
Thatās why we spend so much time tracking prison mail rules, helping families navigate them, and scrambling to keep up when those rules change. As someone who has seen frequent mail policy changes over the last ten. years, I can confidently say that the changes are never for the better. Over the decade we’ve been doing this work, we’ve seen bans on:
Colored envelopes
Blank stationery of any kind
Address labels
Calendars
Stickers (this includes postage stamps)
Post cards
Letters written in any language other than English or Spanish
Greeting cards ā first musical or multi-layered cards (like pop-ups), then cards in colored envelopes, then any cards, period
Photos
Long gone are the days when loved ones could send a colored drawing from a child or a scented letter. Many states have banned greeting cards or pictures unless they are mailed directly from an approved vendor ā which means no handwritten notes on cards or on the backs of pictures. Every way someone in prison could receive something their loved one touchedā¦ banned. Returned to sender, and often at the expense of the prisoner, who never got to see or touch it.
The worst ban is on any physical mail at all. More and more states are moving to digital mail services, where mail is scanned and a picture of the letter is forwarded to the intended recipientās tablet. Isnāt that warm and fuzzy?
Our latest round of Return to Sender mail comes from Oregon prisons. The reason? A new Oregon policy banning envelopes with āsecurity features.ā These are the envelopes with blue or gray printed patterns on the inside ā the same kind youāll find in most offices and homes.
For us, this is a problem. We buy boxes of 500 self-sealing envelopes at a time to keep things moving smoothly. Have you ever tried to find self-sealing envelopes without that inside print? Nearly impossible. And to make matters worse, the ban applies even to envelopes purchased by prisoners themselves ā including self-addressed stamped envelopes (SASEs) that they send to us so we can reply.
Self-addressed stamped envelopes (also known as SASEs) are gold to us. Postage is one of our biggest expenses, so when someone inside sends a prepaid envelope, it goes to the top of our reply pile so we can respond quickly. Now, under this policy, those envelopes ā bought with their own limited funds through commissary ā are being returned.
The result? More delays. More wasted postage. More roadblocks between people inside and the outside support they desperately need.
This is just one more example of how mail restrictions chip away at human connection in prison. The people who pay the price arenāt the ones who wrote the rules ā theyāre the families, friends, and advocates trying to keep relationships alive across walls and razor wire.
This is the stack of returned letters weāve received under this new policy in the first two days of this week. Each envelope is a story interrupted, a conversation cut short. And for what?
Because if thereās one thing weāve learned, itās this: prison mail policies rarely make prisons safer, but they always make people lonelier.
Stay tuned this week for more stories about prison mail policies ā and the truth about their effect on contraband.
Have a story about returned mail? Please share in the comments (scroll alllll the way down below), or use this form and help us track this practice across U.S. prisons.
The summer days are long, the mornings warm, and cold brew is on the breakfast menu these days. āļø So pour yourself a cup (or grab a glass of something iced), find a shady spot, and settle in.
Hereās what we shared this week on the blog (links near the bottom):
Art From Prison: Meet Victor the Convict, a sharp and endearing comic that says a lot with a few words and some fine pencil artwork.
Good, Bad, Change: Two responses from inside: Troy, sharing his observations from a Texas prison, and Reynold, from a super-max prison in Pennsylvania.
Last week I asked what you would do if you spotted a spider in an audience memberās hair during a live symphony performance. Leah and I hadn’t talked since that night until today, but she says she saw the spider too and noticed someone in front of her who started to tell her (twice!) but never did. No one commented, but Iām still wondering what you would have done, and itās not too late to chime in. Read the post here and weigh in.
Meanwhile, in my own home, weāre living a little closer to cell reality than we expected.
Some of you may recall the mitigation work from our water leaks wrapped up a couple of weeks ago (picture several surprise waterfalls inside the wall), but weāre still waiting on our insurance to decide if the loss is covered. If! Sigh.
That means six weeks (so far) without a kitchen. No stove. No counters. All the lower cabinets and the island? Removed and trashed. The microwave and fridge are holding the fort, but itās been a long run of reheated meals and takeout tabs.
So, in a moment of weakness (or brilliance), I bought a countertop egg cooker.
Iām normally anti-single-use appliances, but this one is tiny, only needs water, and can steam other things (in small amounts) like single-serving frittatas, dumplings, and veggies.
It made me think of cooking in a prison cell, where a hot pot is your entire kitchen. The constraints are real, and so is the creativity that comes out of them.
We do have an electric kettle, a microwave, and a fridge. The challenge is cleanup: no sink, no disposal, and a strong desire to avoid balancing a greasy pan over the bathroom basin. Because ew.
So hereās your new challenge: What can I make with an egg cooker that isnāt just eggs? Bonus points if it requires minimal prep and is easy to clean up.
Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.
ā Theodore Roosevelt
Thanks for reading, sharing, and supporting. Now do tell me your genius ideas for what else we can make in a tiny egg cookerā¦ Iām ready to push it to its limits. (To leave a comment, scrollā¦ keep scrollingā¦ yep, past the āYou May Also Likeā sectionā¦ fartherā¦ there you go! The comment box is hiding way down at the bottom.)
This series shares reflections directly from people impacted by the criminal legal system – what gives them hope, what causes harm, and what they believe needs to change. Each voice is unique, but together they reveal the urgent need for a more just and humane approach.
ADD YOUR TWO CENTS – scroll to bottom of post for instructions
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Reynold in Pennsylvania
In our Good, Bad, Change series, people inside share their perspectives on life behind the wallsāwhatās going well, whatās not, and what changes they hope to see.
The Good
Access to educational and vocational programming. Every state prison in Pennsylvania has different opportunities and there are a lot of positive things here where I am. I received my OSHA and Flagger’s Certificates, and am currently working on receiving my GED. I’m also on the waiting list for “Thinking for a Change.”
The Bad
We have here what is called “Violence Reduction Strategy.” Meaning if a fight breaks out and you are just standing there and don’t have anything to do with it, Security will send you to the hole for investigation based on you standing there. Another harmful problem is that the UA tests have false positives. The brand of the test is “Redwood Technology Inc.”
The Change
One thing I would change about the system is to make it equal and fair, so that everyone would come together and be united, and stand up for one another together. Men and women are supposed to fight their cases, not each other!
Share Your Good / Bad / Change
What stood out to you in Troyās reflections? What gives you hope, what causes harm, and what would you change? We welcome thoughts from both inside and out. (Scroll down to the comment section.)
Snail mail:
Adopt an Inmate Good Bad Change PO Box 1543 Veneta, OR 97487
š£ļø Share Your Story ā How has incarceration affected you or someone you love? āļø Take the Quiz ā How much do you know about U.S. prisons? š Donate Samps– Stamp Out Silence! ā¤ļø Give ā Support dignity, connection, and second chances.
This picture is one of those reminders. It had to have been 1977, and my mom, my brother and I were living in Oklahoma, just outside of Tulsa. Weād had maybe a day or twoās notice that our grandparents would be stopping for a visit while on the road in their camper. Our neighbor and school friend Mike wandered over, and we lined up for a picture. It must have been a Sunday. We were dressed for church.
