Not Designed to Heal: The Gender Gap in Correctional Medicine

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7

There is a kind of peace the system cannot manufacture—a healing that transcends medication, clinic codes, and correctional protocols. And yet, for thousands of incarcerated women across the U.S., that peace is deliberately withheld. They are treated not as whole beings but as statistical burdens—bodies to be managed, not souls to be restored.

Correctional healthcare was never designed with women in mind. Its architecture reflects male bodies, male experiences, and male assumptions. Incarcerated women—many of whom carry layers of trauma, mental illness, and reproductive history—are forced into systems that disregard their basic needs. The result? A medical crisis cloaked as justice.

Key Realities This Series Will Expose:

• Reproductive neglect: Limited access to gynecological care, prenatal support, and menstrual dignity.
• Mental health criminalization: Jails functioning as default clinics, especially for women in psychiatric crisis.
• Trauma-informed absence: Medical encounters often retraumatize rather than restore.
• Systemic indifference: Gender-specific policies are rare, while outcomes remain devastating.

Personal Lived Reflection

I’m soft spoken, not because I lack conviction—but because peace lives in my throat.

When I meet with male clients in court, I speak through the slot in a window. It’s imperfect, but there’s eye contact. There’s presence.
When I see female clients, I’m directed to a locked door. No window slot. No room for voice.
I speak through metal. They strain to hear me. And if the bailiff isn’t busy, I’m sometimes allowed to talk with them face to face—from a bench outside the room. That moment of grace depends not on policy, but on chance.

These aren’t just architectural choices. They are declarations.
The system isn’t designed to heal—some days, it’s not even designed to hear.

Why This Matters

As a defender and a daughter of faith, I am convicted to speak for those whom systems silence. Scripture calls us to “open our mouths for the voiceless” (Proverbs 31:8–9) and to proclaim healing where captivity tries to dominate (Luke 4:18–19). These women are not collateral damage—they are image-bearers, caught in a system that forgot how to see.

This is the beginning of a deeper reckoning. Over the coming weeks, I’ll open the door on each of these realities—reproductive neglect, mental health criminalization, the absence of trauma-informed care—not just as policy failures, but as spiritual breaches. I write as a defender called to advocacy and as a woman of faith who believes healing must be holistic. These posts are not diagnoses—they’re devotionals. They invite you not just to read, but to remember, to intercede, and perhaps to respond.

Because justice—real justice—is never just about laws. It is about the sacred dignity of bodies and minds. And when jail becomes the clinic, when silence replaces treatment, when a closed door becomes the best some women can hope for… we must say more. We must do more.