Silent sentences: Men endure guilt, grief and depression behind bars

Inmates at Kamiti Maximum Prison during a previous event. [File, Standard]

While Men’s Mental Health Month casts a well-meaning spotlight on the emotional well-being of men, one group continues to live in the shadows, incarcerated men, particularly those serving long sentences. This exclusion is more than oversight; it is a silent crisis. Behind high walls and locked doors, a hidden mental health emergency brews.

Prisons are not designed to be mental health facilities, yet they hold thousands of men wrestling with trauma, untreated mental illness, and the psychological toll of isolation.

Long-term incarceration is a pressure cooker, feeding depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, and emotional numbness, while offering little to no access to therapy, medication, or emotional support.

Many of these men are fathers, haunted by guilt, grief, and powerlessness, paralysed by the knowledge that they cannot be there for their children.

This emotional weight, compounded by the cold solitude of prison life, corrodes mental health from within. Vulnerability, meanwhile, is a luxury few can afford in prison culture, where opening up is often perceived as weakness. Inmates retreat into silence, echoing a larger societal failure to support men’s emotional expression.

The result is generational. When fathers are emotionally fractured, the damage spills over to children, partners, and entire communities. Supporting mental health behind bars is not just an act of compassion for the incarcerated; it is a necessary step toward healing families and dismantling inherited trauma.

If Men’s Mental Health Month truly means all men, then those behind bars must be included. Their lives, feelings, and dignity do not end at the prison gate.

For those serving decade-long or life sentences, the psychological impact is staggering. Stripped of time, connection, and hope, some men consider, or attempt, suicide. Others face the mental death of simply giving up.

Aggrey Mbai, who spent 24 years behind bars, recalls the torment vividly: “When I was arrested and told my punishment was death, I kept thinking, once I’m gone, who will care for my children? Their mother has no job, and they need support.”

He reflects on the pain endured by himself and others: “Some men almost took their own lives. Others fought their demons in silence, bearing the heavy punishment of their isolation. Some pastors visited us, offering hope and teaching us how to cope. I turned to God, my saviour, while others rejected faith and longed only for freedom. I lost my youth in that cell, but I found peace when I learned that God must come first.”

Outside, the emotional and economic burden falls heavily on families, especially women forced into sole provider roles. Volunteer church groups step in to help these mothers see their struggles as tests of faith. They mentor, support, and offer a sense of community. But their efforts are also spiritual lifelines for children left behind.

“When a woman has to teach, discipline, and provide, it’s too much for one person,” explains Reverend Peterson Githinji.

“We try to act as father figures, helping with provision and support. We also visit prisons to encourage change. When men return transformed, families are more willing to welcome them back,” he adds.

Religious groups also minister to the men themselves, preaching, mentoring, and checking in on their families.

“We encourage them to focus on positive things, studying the Bible, learning new skills, and preparing for life beyond prison,” he says.

But the effects of isolation run deep. Cut off from the outside world, many men lose precious memories and struggle to adjust to life after release.

Psychologist Michael Kilongosi highlights the additional burden: society’s rejection, which paints former inmates as outcasts.

“The process of accepting life outside prison is long and painful. Many question what they did to deserve such a fate. Being locked up isn’t just about walls and bars, it’s about losing your name, your identity, your dignity,” Michael says poignantly.

He further reveals the emotional toll behind prison walls: “Men suffer too, but prison culture punishes vulnerability. So, they retreat, into silence, shame and numbness.”

Though anxiety and depression are common, the root causes often run deeper.

“Depression comes from too much past; a life filled with regret. Anxiety springs from too much future, the unknown and hopelessness,” he says.

Beginning of healing 

“Before change can happen, there must be self-forgiveness. Many carry guilt they don’t know how to release. Until they confront their past, healing cannot start,” Michael shares.

Yet stigma remains a formidable barrier; “Mental health affects everyone, it has no face or tribe. But among men, admitting struggle is often Aggrey Mbai, 24 years jailed father mistaken for weakness. Society demands invincibility.”

Even where support exists, many remain unaware, ashamed, or fearful of judgment.

“It’s hard to seek help when the system dehumanises you. You become a case number, not a person,” the psychologist explains. 

Still, there is hope. Successful rehabilitation programmes exist, particularly where communities and chaplains offer reintegration and psychological support. But much more is needed.

“We need more professionals, more programmes, and greater empowerment. Teach men to ask for help before they break,” he urges.

When asked what truly makes a difference, the answer is simple: “Treat them like human beings. Don’t label them. Give them skills. Give them purpose,” he says.

Behind bars, many men are fighting silent wars. Unseen. Unheard. And often, untreated.

The mental health crisis among incarcerated men remains one of the most neglected human rights issues within the criminal justice system. Trauma, grief, and psychological distress go unchecked while the world looks the other way.

If rehabilitation is to mean anything, mental health must be a pillar, not an afterthought.

Because when we choose to recognise their pain, equip them with tools, and treat them with dignity, we don’t just heal individuals. We repair families, restore futures, and break the cycles that prisons alone cannot end.