“Parole approved pending housing.” This is by far the worst sentence I have heard in prison.

It was just another typical day in jail when word arrived. As soon as my name was called and the paper handed to me at morning muster, mixed feelings of surprise and anticipation began welling up inside.

If parole was ever about rehabilitation, it’s not really the feeling I get now. It feels more like an exercise in assessing the risk to the community, not about reintegrating people.

Monday: I've spent the last hour at the wing pool table losing badly to some madman from Amsterdam. I didn't imagine there'd be a pool table in maximum security but the prisoners enforce respect for it.

Even though it looks like Santa has forgotten us this year, we both have some ill-defined, unspoken hope that it will be a better day.

Skip forward a month; a year; and an odd decade (or 5), and I realised that without embracing change in our lives (or how we see things) we only risk relegating ourselves to stagnation.

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At this year’s EnQueer Sydney Queer Writers Festival, author and community lawyer Sam Elkin joined formerly incarcerated trans woman Stacey Stokes and proud trans woman and manager of Open Doors Youth Service (Qld) Necho Brocchi on stage at Qtopia Sydney for an intimate discussion about trans incarceration.

Rehabilitation is pointless without forgiveness and another chance at doing right.

During our interactions with numerous inmates these past 24 months, we have learned that we are not alone in the pursuit to rehabilitate through the medium of education.

Imagine being a prisoner of your own body. Unable to sit, stand or walk, looking down at your useless abs, legs and feet as you lie motionless for months.