In my experience
What is it like to work with Britain’s most violent criminals? Prison psychologist Dr Rebecca Myers gives us an insight
Midway through a session with a small group of prisoners, Kyle *, who had been convicted of serious sexual offences, shoved his chair back so it clattered against the wall. He glared at me, yelled that he’d had enough and lurched forward. I shrank back but he was so close that as he shouted, I could see right inside his mouth. The prison officer in the room immediately stood up to defend me, but three other prisoners were quicker and one of them got between me and Kyle, pushing him aside. Kyle fled the room with the prison officer following, leaving me alone with five other sexual offenders. Three of them had just protected me, but I still wouldn’t dare turn my back to write on the flip chart.
Episodes like this one were all part of my 15 years working as a prison psychologist. I had always found true crime interesting – Iread all the books and watched the TV programmes.
Then I studied Psychology at university and, throughout my degree, I knew exactly where I wanted to work – amaximum-security prison for men. I never had any real interest in working with women. They seemed too complex, tragic and emotional. Men seemed far simpler.
Some people want the gory details of a crime, I just longed to know why some humans make terrible choices and commit atrocious acts.
Understanding others
My mother had left the family home – and me, my father and two younger sisters – when I was 14. It wasn’t a crime but her actions had consequences. I wonder if this sparked my interest in psychology, keen to understand her, and others’, behaviours.
When my family discovered I was starting work as a psychologist in a prison, they were naturally terrified for my safety. But my friends marvelled at my career choice and said they would have loved to have a job like mine.
When I walked into Graymoor Prison for the first time, I was a 22-year-old psychology graduate. I’d been warned not to wear anything revealing, scarves or necklaces, which present a strangulation risk, and heels, which make running away hard.
There were close to 800 men incarcerated: not all that murderers, rapists and child molesters. My expectations were very different from reality.
The prisoners were not caged and handcuffed, Hannibal Lecter-style, neither were they strange-looking like I’d imagined. These people looked no different to the rest of us. I’d thought surely they would have if they had done such horrific things?
While talking to these prisoners, I realised that while their crimes had been heinous, it didn’t mean they as people were bad. In fact, most of them were polite, and wanted to engage, to b
