Below is the 28th in a series of blog posts created by adults with lived experience of parental imprisonment. By sharing these hidden voices, we hope to raise awareness of the impacts of parental imprisonment to inspire immediate change for the children of today.
My name is Georgina. My father went to prison. This is by a far a topic that is not spoken about amongst friends and family never mind addressed publicly, therefore having the opportunity to honestly and openly tell you about my experience is somewhat refreshing and liberating. When someone asks about your family you learn quickly how to answer, without answering. You simplify. You deflect. But the feeling of shame and guilt was one I carried for many years, beaten inside and traumatised with a name that felt tarnished to its core.
My memories of my teen years are ones that for years I have desperately tried to forget. What was my reality was very far from the reality all my friends were living. After all, my life consisted of police raids, lawyer meetings and prison visits but my friends, well, they had family days out and Blackpool holidays. Don’t get me wrong, because we are being honest here, those early days, before the raids and before the police caught up with my dad, we lived a life of luxury. We came from nothing, literally nothing. I remember my mum taking my sister and I and hiding behind the couch because the debt collectors were knocking at the door. So you see, when the big money started to roll in, it was nothing short of a shock to what we knew. That life was short lived though.
I don’t think I will ever forget the day my dad got sentenced. I remember standing in the High Court with what felt like the tiniest slither of hope that this would all be over and my dad would come with us. My dad was convicted of TAX evasion. The case was huge. Massive, for the year 2002. He was sentenced to 4 years and when released, he was charged and convicted of Money Laundering. His sentence, 11 and a half years. The amount, 40 million British Pounds. I remember my dad being front page news in all the newspapers and back then there was no social media, everyone read the newspapers and everyone watched the news. I remember going to work and my dad’s picture was on the front page of the newspaper on the table outside my boss’s office. The shame I felt that day was probably in its epitome. I never felt angry with my dad because I was told he did it for us to have a better life and how could I argue with that when I was being driven around in Ferraris and living on the street everyone knew as ‘Millionaires Row’. How dare I question anything at the young age of 16 when all this money is being thrown at me with the best of everything? But at what cost? And was it worth it? Let me tell you though the downfall was a very long way down and slowly but very surely, we had hit rock bottom.
In hindsight the public humiliation and the police raids was probably the easiest part of that time. I can honestly say that once the prison visits began, that’s when I understood the harsh reality of what was yet to come. ‘Friends’ distanced themselves from us, my sister was bullied at school, not only from other kids but from teachers and parents. The shame and discrimination we faced for a crime my father committed was more than a child should have to bear. I realised very quickly who my truest friends were and even more quickly who was only hanging around for what they could get. That’s when I understood what true absence really meant both from my dad and from the people, who we considered more like family rather than friends. There were the people who would talk to my mum when no one could see but publicly would not even look at her because they would be embarrassed to be associated with a woman whose husband was in prison. People think they understand what it means when they hear parent in prison and they tend to attach stereotypes to it about behaviour and background.
But my mum never allowed that to distract her from was important and that was us. Only us. She was committed to making sure we did not lose touch with my dad. She would make sure we went to every visit. No excuses. As I began to understand my mum’s burden, I became so angry with my dad that I began having feelings of resentment and I didn’t want to visit him in prison but my mum made me go every time, to see him behind that table, allowed only a sandwich and snack from the canteen that he wasn’t even allowed to walk to and purchase. The visits became monotonous and the conversations became superficial. Although he would call every day and write to us often, he wasn’t present and that in its self made everything so much harder. I understand now that that wasn’t just one particular feeling of anger but rather a mix of feelings and the feelings changed over time. Sometimes it was confusion, sometimes anger, sometimes embarrassment but sometimes it was loneliness.
My life was completely ruled by who my father was, with everything that I tried to do, I was always Voudouri’s daughter – the man who was in prison for steal the taxpayers money. We moved back to Cyprus in 2012 and I have never looked back. I went back to university at 27 years old and graduated with a master’s in international law with a newborn and a five-year-old. When I began working, I held back as much as I could, I did not want people to know my shameful past. Incredibly as a full-grown adult I was still very much embarrassed of my past. The turning point; Children Heard and Seen. Having met so many people affected by the same stigma I have carried with me for years and seeing them talk and tell their stories in an environment with no judgement has given me the courage to finally choose my freedom.
When one parent is gone everything shifts. Family becomes less about what is should look like and more about who is actually there. We were so lucky to have our mum. She was the backbone to our existence. We became a team. A team of 4 broken women but together we made it work. We figured it all out together. Looking back now that I am older and a mother myself, I can see how terrified she must have been, but she would never let us see how affected by any of it she actually was. I can understand how people come out of these situations stronger, like my sisters, both incredibly strong women. It broke me though, in ways that I don’t think will ever heal and that’s ok because my scars make me the empathetic and sensitive and understanding person I have become. Experiences like this don’t just disappear. They shape you to your core, how you think, how you react and how you see people.
Today there is support. Children Heard and Seen is an incredible charity with a strong support system in place to help children. Unfortunately, I did not have that, and I wish it was available to me when I needed it. I was lucky enough to have my sisters and my mum but sometimes you need that outside support to allow yourself to see things from a different perspective. My dad being in prison was an incredibly difficult time, so much happened that truly this blog would turn into a book if I was to really get into it.
I wish I had known back then that I was able to withstand the storm and still come out the other end even with all my broken pieces. If this is something you can relate to, just know that you are not the only one – even though sometimes it may feel like it. You don’t have to explain your story to everyone, and you don’t have to carry it the same way forever. You don’t have to have it all figured out. Life keeps going even when we don’t feel like it and its our choice to rise above it all.