Stay Invisible
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-Stay Invisible-
My Former Cellmate (The One Obsessed With the Color White):
“Which one of you BI***ASS, PUNK-ASS, RAT-MOTHER-F***ERS told staff I was doing drugs in my cell?! Step outside RIGHT NOW and handle this like men! Come on, cowards! SAY IT TO MY FACE! You’re all a bunch of PU***ASS BI***ES! Let’s go!”
Those were the words my former cellmate barked at me and a handful of other prison puppy trainers yesterday in the chapel library.
It was a cold, mellow Monday morning. All of us trainers were quietly waiting for our mandatory 90-day review with staff when the office doors suddenly exploded open. My old cellie stormed in, shaking with rage. Staff had just informed him he was being kicked out of the dog program for alleged drug activity.
He was ready to fight anyone regardless of who actually “ratted.” One flinch and it would've been on.
Before prison, I probably would’ve needed a new pair of pants after seeing a tattooed man like him pacing and threatening to smash someone’s face in.
But, I'm no longer intimidated by this constant threat of violence that surrounds me on a daily basis. This environment forces you to adjust quickly.
So I activated invisibility:
-No direct eye contact. That would signal I'm ready to rumble.
-No flinching or squirming of my body. This would signal that I'm guilty of the alleged "ratting."
-No guilt signals. Continue reading my dog training book called "The Dogs Mind." The fact I just started reading while he was yelling signals that I have nothing to hide and no concern over the current moment.
Doing these things shows:
“I have nothing to hide. I’m not involved. I’m not intimidated. I’m not a problem.”
These might seem like silly things to you, but for me it's survival here.
Five minutes later, my cellmate huffed and puffed himself right out of the chapel.
No violence.
No involvement.
And I was able to blend back into the background.
This kind of explosive outburst?
Sadly… extremely common in here.
This was the man I lived with right before I moved in with Conrad. We were cellies for maybe two weeks — two VERY stressful weeks. On the very first night, he proudly showed me every one of his stab wounds as if to say, “Don’t mess with me, or bad things will happen.”
He has spent 25 years in prison and has become heavily institutionalized — a product of the system.
When a person becomes institutionalized, their answer to everything is violence.
A disagreement? Violence.
An uncomfortable moment? Violence.
A perceived disrespect? Instant violence.
Prison is an upside-down world I pray none of you ever experience. Out here, things aren’t resolved with conversation. They’re resolved with fists, threats, and whatever else someone can get their hands on. If something escalates, it almost always ends violently. That’s the reality this place produces.
It took me months to understand that truly civil conversations simply do not exist behind barbed wire.
And once I finally accepted that, I activated a God-given gift I didn’t even know would save my life:
the ability to become invisible.
Ask anyone who’s been to a dinner party with me — blending in is kinda my thing. I’m a big-time introvert with the talent of disappearing into a room.
That skill has become my survival strategy.
While others gossip, gamble, or join groups that demand “performances,” they draw attention to themselves — and attention in here is dangerous. I, on the other hand, spend my time training Mr. Conrad, reading, and writing.
I exist on the outskirts of prison life. I’m not interesting to most of these men, and honestly… I LOVE THAT. It’s like I walk around with an invisible forcefield.
And for that, I’ll forever be thankful for something Michael Santos — my prison mentor — told me long before I stepped into my first cell.
I had asked him, “Michael, what’s your #1 recommendation when I walk into prison?”
He didn’t even blink.
“Brett, learn to become invisible.”
I didn’t fully understand at the time. But almost a year in now? I see exactly why he said it.
Here’s how I stay invisible day to day:
1. Headphones ALWAYS on.
Even with no music playing, I always make sure my large headphones are pulled over my ears.
This silently communicates: “I’m not listening to you. I’m not spreading gossip. I’m not a threat.”
2. I carry a book, notepad, and pencil everywhere.
When other inmates see what is in my hand, they automatically know that I'm NOT interested in any inappropriate "prison activities" such as gambling, cards, or drugs.
3. I never look into anyone’s cell.
By respecting their space, I'm telling them I don't care what they are doing inside their private prison cell. Even if they are making NOT SO GOOD choices inside the cell, I'm no threat because "I SEE NOTHING & HEAR NOTHING."
4. I avoid direct eye contact.
Eye contact here can escalate things fast. Looking away says: “I have zero interest in conflict.”
Every inmate here would describe me the same way:
“He stays in his own lane and doesn’t bother anybody.”
Thank you, Michael for this beyond helpful tip. I am so grateful!
In my letters and updates, I don’t usually write about these “typical” prison moments. I refuse to give extra attention to the darkness here. It is unworthy of our hearts and minds. In my humble federal prisoner opinion, far too many people glorify the ugliest and most destructive parts of prison life — and when you glorify the darkness, you rob the spotlight from men like Mr. Wolf. Men like Mr.Wolf are making huge strides in overcoming their past and building a better future for their family. I feel compelled to write about these type of men and moments. I personally believe the more breakthrough stories I share like Mr.Wolf's, the more other prisoners start to believe transformation is actually possible.
Those are the stories I choose to tell — because God is doing remarkable things in the middle of this broken place. Hope is rising in an environment designed to crush it. Transformation is happening where most people assume it never could. That is what I want my prison journey to reflect — not fear, not chaos, not violence, but God’s faithfulness.
My desire is for these updates to glorify God, not the darkness. The darkest places often give birth to the brightest miracles.
Thank you for letting me share the light that’s breaking through here every single day.
I pray these stories will eventually reach other barbed wire brothers nationwide.
The men here are hungry for change… they just need to know it’s possible.
Love all of you,
Brett (an invisible barbwire brother)
– A Note From Noél –
Well… I honestly hate updates like this one from Brett.
Letters like these rip open the part of my heart that tries so hard to stay numb. They remind me — all over again — of the terrifying reality he wakes up to every single day. The danger. The unpredictability. The constant darkness pressing in on him. It suddenly feels closer, louder, heavier.
A few months into his sentence, Brett wasn’t doing well. The weight of prison life was crushing him, and I could feel the fear creeping into our home like smoke. It was swallowing me, and it was swallowing our kids. We were holding our breath just trying to survive.
And then one day, he messaged me and said he was DONE giving the darkness a microphone. He wanted to choose hope — to intentionally look for God’s fingerprints in the men around him. He wanted to shine light in a place designed to suffocate it.
Hope over fear.
Light over darkness.
And that single choice shifted everything — for him and for us.
Now, every morning before work, Brett sends each of us — me, Cambria, Willow, Lula, and Zion — individual messages. Not copy-and-paste ones. Thoughtful, intentional, personal encouragements that somehow reach straight into our day and steady us. And every night, before he’s locked inside that cell, he sends us more — goodnights filled with love, humor, prayer, affirmation, and intentionality.
It still amazes me.
He is surrounded by darkness we will never fully comprehend…
yet he’s the one lifting US up.
Encouraging US.
Covering US in hope.
Even encouraging the men around him who are fighting their own battles.
THIS is the real Brett — the man I fell in love with, the man I married, the father of my babies. And I am so deeply proud to be his wife.
I hate prison. I hate what it demands of him. I hate the distance, the unknowns, the constant ache of missing him beside me. I hate knowing he has to be brave in ways most people will never understand.
But I love — with every fiber of who I am — the man God is refining inside those walls.
Every single day, I pray for angels to surround him, shield him, and bring him home safely — back to the family that needs him, misses him, and loves him fiercely.
I won’t pretend — this letter spiked my anxiety. My heart still feels tight in my chest. But even in that, we are choosing FAITH over fear. Jesus is still our peace. He always will be. And we are held — even here.
Thank you for praying for Brett’s safety, his protection, and his continued invisibility superpower. Thank you for praying for our babies. Thank you for praying for me.
We love you more than you know, and we don’t take your support for granted — not for a second. 💛
Sincerely,
Noél (a slightly terrified, deeply faithful, and unbelievably proud prison wife)
