THE HUNGER FOR VALIDATION: WOMEN, INCARCERATION, AND THE REBUILDING OF SELF

BY ANGELA KIM

Incarceration does more than remove a woman from society — it dismantles her identity. It separates her from her children, her family, her community, and often the very roles that once gave her purpose. What remains is not just isolation, but a profound erosion of self-worth.

During my 17.5 years of incarceration, I watched this happen over and over again. Women entered the system already carrying wounds — trauma, poverty, addiction, abuse — and the criminal justice system rarely offered healing. Instead, it compounded their pain. They were processed, reduced to numbers, and treated as less than human. Over time, many began to believe that was all they were worth.

That erosion is not abstract; it is enforced in deeply physical and psychological ways.

Strip searches are one of the most invasive examples. Women are required to remove all clothing, expose their bodies, squat, cough, procedures justified as security measures but experienced as humiliation. For many, especially those with histories of sexual abuse, these searches are not just uncomfortable; they are re-traumatizing. The body remembers. Each search reinforces a message: your body is not your own, your dignity is conditional, and your consent is irrelevant.

The impact is both mental and physical. Women learn to dissociate, to detach from their bodies in order to endure what is happening to them. Over time, that disconnection becomes normalized. When a woman is repeatedly forced to experience her body as an object under surveillance, it changes how she relates to herself. Shame becomes internalized. Boundaries become blurred.

Layered on top of this is the daily reality of being supervised, corrected, and often demeaned by male correctional officers. Even when overt misconduct is not present, the power dynamic itself is gendered and unavoidable. Women are watched, commented on, and disciplined by men in positions of authority in environments where privacy is nearly nonexistent. Over years, this shapes behavior and self-perception. It reinforces a hierarchy where women are subordinate, controlled, and evaluated.

For women with prior histories of trauma, which is the majority, this dynamic is not neutral. It echoes past abuse. It conditions them, again and again, to navigate male approval, male authority, and male perception as central to their safety and survival.

So, when we ask why women seek validation in relationships, inside prison and after release, we cannot ignore the environment that has systematically stripped them of autonomy while simultaneously reinforcing the importance of being accepted, desired, or protected by others.

Human beings are not designed to live without connection. When stripped of meaningful relationships, women found ways to meet that need within the confines of prison walls. Emotional and physical relationships between women, often dismissed as “gay for the stay,” were less about sexuality and more about survival. They were attempts to feel seen, held, and valued in an environment that constantly denied those basic human needs.

At the same time, nearly every woman had a pen pal boyfriend on the outside. These relationships were built through letters, phone calls, and short visits, spaces where it was easy to present an idealized version of oneself. Hope was constructed in ink and imagination. Many women married these men, believing they had found stability waiting for them beyond the gate.

But reality rarely matched the illusion. In nearly two decades, I witnessed only one of those relationships survive after release. Most collapsed under the weight of truth. You cannot build a lasting relationship on fragments of identity, curated conversations, and two-hour visits. The disconnect is inevitable.

Release does not solve this problem; it often intensifies it.

Women leaving incarceration are suddenly faced with freedom, but also overwhelming uncertainty. They are expected to rebuild their lives, navigate housing and employment, reconnect with family, and manage the emotional aftermath of incarceration. In that vulnerable state, many reach for the first available source of comfort: another relationship.

Despite guidance from mentors, parole officers, and reentry programs advising women to wait, often at least a year, many do not. The need for connection overrides logic. For many women, sex without emotional attachment feels unnatural. What they are seeking is not just physical closeness, but validation, proof that they are still worthy of love.

And so, the cycle continues. One relationship after another, often dysfunctional, each carrying the same unspoken hope: This time I will feel whole.

But no relationship can repair a fractured sense of self. When validation comes from another person, it is fragile, dependent, conditional, and easily lost. Without internal stability, relationships become a place of sacrifice rather than growth.

I understand this deeply because I lived it.

I was once a woman who shaped herself around others. I dressed to please, cooked to satisfy, dieted to meet expectations, and even gave up friendships, all in the name of making a man happy. I placed my worth in someone else’s hands. And in doing so, I lost myself.

What I gained in return was not fulfillment, but misery.

Today, my life looks very different. I am alone, but not empty. For the first time, I am grounded in who I am. I am comfortable in my body, my choices, my direction. I have built a life that reflects my own values, not someone else’s approval. And that independence has brought me more peace than any relationship ever did.

That doesn’t mean the longing disappears. I still lie awake some nights wishing for someone beside me, to feel warmth, touch, connection. That desire is human. But I refuse to sacrifice my dreams, my goals, or my hard-earned independence for momentary comfort.

That is the difference.

There is nothing wrong with wanting a relationship. There is nothing wrong with love. But it must be healthy, and healthy relationships are built by whole individuals, not by people trying to complete themselves through another.

Women, especially those impacted by incarceration, are often taught, implicitly or explicitly, that their value lies in who chooses them. This belief is reinforced not only by personal history, but by institutional experiences that strip autonomy, enforce submission, and normalize the loss of bodily control.

This must change.

Reentry support must go beyond housing and employment. It must include intentional work around identity, self-esteem, bodily autonomy, and emotional independence. Women need tools to reconnect with themselves, to reclaim ownership over their bodies, their choices, and their worth, before they seek it in someone else.

Because the truth is this:

They are already enough.

I wish I could hand that understanding to every woman I’ve known. I wish I could spare them the years spent chasing validation in places that could never sustain it. But this is work that each person must come to on their own.

What we can do is speak honestly about it. Name it. Normalize the struggle without excusing the harm.

Women deserve connection, love, and partnership, but not at the cost of themselves.

And when a woman finally learns to stand on her own, rooted in her own worth, something powerful happens:

She no longer needs to be chosen.

She chooses. | AK