Shatter Your Shame, Chapter 1- Sneak Peek
Shatter Your Shame, Chapter 1- Sneak Peek
Note From Noél
In the past 365 days, I’ve only seen my husband’s face one time — and that was inside a federal prison visiting room filled with hard plastic chairs.
Our four incredible children — Cambria, Willow, Lula, and Zion — have lived an entire year without feeling a warm hug from their loving father. Brett was the centerpiece of our lives, and we have been broken ever since he said his final “goodbye” to us one year ago TODAY.
These past twelve months have been, without question, the most painful and challenging days of my life.
The Bartletts are officially in a season of struggle — one filled with nonstop storms that seem determined to sink our family’s ship into the deep, dark pit of prison.
BUT…
Our GREAT and REDEEMING GOD is taking our day-to-day pain and transforming it into a purpose-filled path.
I won’t pretend to fully understand God’s grand plan for our family’s prison story, but it’s undeniable that something beautiful is being birthed in the middle of our suffering.
Brett’s daily letters began as a lifeline — a way for our heartbroken family to stay connected while he serves a long federal prison sentence more than 2,000 miles away. Somehow, someway, those handwritten letters have become so much more than simple prison updates.
My humbled husband CHOSE to live a purpose-filled life while navigating the pit of prison, and the impact of that choice is tangible. Brett’s one-of-a-kind prison stories about his barbed-wire brothers are proof that our prickly past can actually purify us into the people we were always meant to be.
Brett and I have a deep heart for our people — the ones who are hurting, hiding, and suffocating beneath the weight of shame. We know all too well what it feels like to live with The Sinister Shadow of Shame lurking and looming over your soul.
That is why I’ve chosen to publish Brett’s handwritten manuscript.
I believe far too many of my brothers and sisters are slowly suffocating under the shame of their past.
Shatter Your Shame is not just another book to me. It is a transformative tool — one that I believe God will use to eradicate the Sinister Shadow of Shame from people’s lives.
I also want to be very clear: I completely understand that not everyone reading this is in a financial position to purchase a physical copy of the book right now — and that is absolutely okay. Because I feel so compelled to share Brett’s shame-slaying stories, I will be posting many portions of this book here on Proud Prison Wives for FREE.
Finances should never keep someone trapped in shame.
That said, if you are able to purchase a physical copy, please consider placing a preorder. The kids and I are squeezing every penny we have right now, and bringing this book to life requires countless late nights of editing, formatting, and emotional labor. Your generous preorders give me the resources I need to finish and publish this transformative work.
I am so deeply thankful for this intimate community. Because of your prayers, encouragement, generosity, and love, Cambria, Willow, Lula, Zion, and I have survived the hardest year of our lives.
Thank you for bringing purpose into our suffering — and love into our hearts.
Below is the first full chapter of Shatter Your Shame. It tells the powerful story of Brett’s barbed-wire brother, Mr. Wolf.
If you — or someone you love — is suffocating under the weight of shame, please read it. Please share it.
Always remember:
The Shadow of Shame has no place in our lives because of the blood of Jesus Christ.
With so much love,
Noél
(A wife choosing to worship — even while in pain)
Please help me publish Brett's second handwritten manuscript from federal prison by placing a pre-order today!
Your generous pre-order doesn’t just support a book — it gives me the ability to keep showing up late at night when the house is quiet, the kids are asleep, and my heart is heavy, so I can pour everything I have into editing, formatting, and finishing this labor of love.
If you feel led to get a first edition copy of Shatter Your Shame, please text me at (714) 410-2191. Your support truly helps me keep going on the hard days and brings Brett’s words of redemption and hope to life.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for standing with our family and helping this Proud Prison Wife carry her husband’s one-of-a-kind prison stories into the world. I could not do this without you.
Now Here Is The First Chapter Of...
SHATTER YOUR SHAME
Day 1: Is It Possible?
“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” - Brené Brown
Alright, my dear friend,
Our epic Shame-Shattering Journey starts TODAY.
In just ten short days, you will begin experiencing a level of freedom you never thought was possible for someone with “your past.”
First, please hear me clearly: I am so extremely proud of you for making the courageous choice to slay your shame. I commend you for committing to this purpose-filled path.
As your self-proclaimed Shame Sherpa, I am honored to walk through the messy mud WITH YOU. Your shame does not scare me. I’ve slayed some serious shadows over here in federal prison.
I will never judge you or condemn you.
I fully understand that your past is a serious part of your story. But I also know this:
the worst decisions you made in life are NOT THE REAL YOU. They are chapters in your story — not the title God wrote over your life.
As someone who once suffocated beneath my own shadow of shame, I am 100% certain of something powerful —
Your past can actually pave a path toward your God-given purpose.
But…
Before we take one single step into the messy mud, I need to ask you the most important questions of this entire journey.
- Do you seriously believe it’s possible to shatter your shame?
- Do you truly believe you can transform your worst life decisions into your greatest strength?
- Do you know — without a doubt — that your past can pave a path toward your God-given purpose?
- Can God really turn the mess you created into a miracle?
- Be honest with me right now. I promise I will always be honest and authentic with you.
- Is it possible that someone “like you” can actually shatter your shame?
If I had to guess, your answer to all of those questions is probably…
“Maybe.”
- Maybe someone like you can find a way to shatter your shame.
- Maybe someone like you can transform your worst decisions into your greatest strength.
- Maybe someone like you can use your past to pave a path toward your purpose.
- Maybe God can turn the mess you made into a miracle.
I get it.
I completely understand why your answer might be “maybe.” Most people stuck in a serious shame cycle believe their shame story is too big, too daunting, and too devastating.
I know I did.
Before I shattered my own shame, my honest answer to these same questions would have been, “Probably not.”
The insidious Shadow of Shame had wrapped itself around my life and sold me the lie that someone like me no longer deserved a God-given purpose.
And just to be clear — I am NOT downplaying your past or the devastating consequences that followed your worst decisions.
Friendly reminder: I am handwriting this manuscript from a federal prison cell.
I fully understand that there are very real repercussions today for the terrible choices of yesterday.
The question is NOT:
“Hey, do you regret decisions you’ve made in the past few years?”
I already know the answer to that pointless question.
Of course you do.
EVERY person on earth has regrets.
Today — the very first day of our journey together — I am simply asking whether you believe it’s possible to SLAY the Shadow of Shame that is severely suffocating your life.
Ooohhh… I bet you think your shame is something special. Just like I once did.
You’re worried your “special” shame might be too strong.
Too dark.
Too secret to shatter.
I think this is the perfect moment to share a story about my good friend and barbed-wire brother — “The Wolf.”
He also believed the Shadow of Shame in his life was "special". Too strong. Too permanent to ever be shattered.
Honestly, I don’t blame him.
He is currently serving a 15-year federal prison sentence for murder.
That is a serious and severe Shadow of Shame.
Here’s the utterly embarrassing story of how I met “The Wolf” on my first day of prison — and how I eventually had the absolute privilege of becoming this incredible young man’s self-proclaimed Shame Sherpa.
My friend, as YOUR self-proclaimed Shame Sherpa, it’s time for me to share this story with you.
Sit back. Relax. And soak in how this loving father slayed his Shadow of Shame and shattered it to oblivion.
Always remember:
SHAME HAS NO PLACE IN YOUR LIFE BECAUSE OF THE BLOOD OF JESUS.
With His last breath, He said,
“It is finished.”
The Wolf Saves a Fresh Fish
I will never forget my first day in federal prison.
Every surreal detail of incarceration is seared into the deep crevices of my brain.
Dressed in an oversized, stiff jumpsuit that scratched against my neck and swallowed my hands, I was marched across the freezing cement compound by a broad-shouldered correctional officer whose silence felt heavier than his presence. His boots struck the concrete in steady, authoritative thuds while mine shuffled half a step behind — not walking like a free man, but moving like property being transferred.
He didn’t speak once during the long walk.
Not a single word.
But everyone else did, without even opening their mouths. I could feel their eyes before I fully saw them.
Heavily tattooed men paused mid-conversation. Some leaned back against the fence. Others stood up slowly from concrete benches. A few smirked. A few didn’t blink at all. Their gazes tracked me like hawks circling something small and wounded.
Every step I took felt like it echoed louder than it should have. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. I became painfully aware that I didn’t belong here — and they knew it.
A “fresh fish.”
When the large and looming officer finally pulled open the metal door to my new living quarters, a wave of air hit me so hard it felt physical.
Sweat that had soaked into mattresses for years.
Cheap ramen seasoning clinging to humidity.
Sewer gas creeping up through old pipes.
Bleach attempting — and failing — to mask it all.
The smell didn’t just enter my nose. It settled in my chest. The air itself felt hostile — thick, used, and unforgiving. And I hadn’t even stepped fully inside yet.
Then he spoke.
“You’ll be sleeping in the 60-Man Dorm.”
A.K.A. The Jungle.
A place where predators are sent after months in “The Hole.”
PERFECT.
“The Freshest Fish You Have Ever Seen” (ME) is assigned to sleep in a 60-man jungle filled with hardened prison predators.
FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC!
Welp. Tell my wife and kids I love them. It ain’t lookin’ good for me.
The moment I stepped across the threshold, the sound hit me first.
Not loud in volume — loud in layers.
Metal clanging.
Men laughing too hard at something that wasn’t funny.
Dominoes slapping against plastic tables.
A television blaring from the corner.
Voices overlapping. Arguing. Negotiating. Posturing.
It wasn’t chaos.
It was controlled chaos.
The kind where everyone knows their place — except you.
The correctional officer walked me two steps inside and pointed toward a rusted metal bunk sitting near the center of the dorm.
“That’s yours.”
No explanation.
No orientation.
No “good luck.”
Just a finger point… and then he turned and walked out.
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him.
CLANG.
That sound echoed differently from the others.
That sound meant something.
It meant I was no longer visiting.
I was staying.
For a brief second, everything felt like it slowed down.
Sixty men.
Sixty personalities.
Sixty survival strategies.
And not one of them looked like mine.
Some stared openly. Others pretended not to. A few whispered. One guy grinned like he had just spotted an easy payday.
My bunk sat there like an island in the middle of a shark tank.
Thin mattress.
Cold steel frame.
No privacy.
No escape.
I placed my small stack of issued belongings on the edge of the bed, trying to look steady.
Trying to look like I belonged.
Trying not to look like what I actually was.
Terrified.
And that’s when the air shifted.
You could feel it before you saw it.
Conversations paused.
Chairs scraped.
Boots shuffled closer.
The Jungle had noticed.
And it was about to test the newest fish in the tank.
The moment the correctional officer vanished, the air shifted. I was no longer standing alone — I was standing exposed. A pack of predators converged on my assigned metal bunk like sharks scenting blood, forming a tight circle around me. Their shoulders boxed me in. Their eyes locked on. They pressed in close — too close — firing off prison slang and interrogation-style questions from every direction. The words came fast and sharp, so aggressive and overwhelming that my knees began to shake and my balance nearly betrayed me.
“Yo homie, what car you drivin’ in during your bid?”
Outside world translation:
“Hey man, you better pick a gang — or you’re going to have some serious problems.”
“Ay man, let me see your paperwork. I need to verify you’re clean.”
Translation:
“I need to verify what crimes you committed and make sure you didn’t snitch. You’ve got 30 days to show me.”
“Yo, give me your toilet paper. That’s your ‘fresh fish’ tax.”
Translation:
“We’re going to steal from you because you’re new.”
As this unwelcome and unnerving lingo was launched at me, the cement walls of The Jungle started spinning like a dark version of the teacup ride at Disneyland — except there were no bright lights, no cheerful music, no exit line. Just concrete. Just eyes. Just pressure.
The only thing keeping me upright during the verbal assault was my death grip on the rusted metal bars of the bunk beside me. My knuckles turned pale against the chipped paint, and my hands were slick with sweat. A cold wave poured from my pores and soaked the oversized jumpsuit I was swimming in, gluing the stiff fabric to my back.
My vision blurred at the edges.
I remember thinking, This is it.
Not dramatically. Not heroically.
Just honestly.
I’m not built for this.
I could feel sixty pairs of eyes evaluating me — measuring weakness, calculating leverage. I wasn’t just new. I was exposed. Unclaimed. Unguarded.
And the most humiliating part?
They could see it.
I wasn’t standing there like a hardened inmate.
I was standing there like a husband who missed his wife… like a dad who still tucked his kids in at night… like a man who had absolutely no idea how to survive what was happening around him.
My heart pounded so violently I was sure someone would call it out.
The room tilted again.
And right before my body decided to quit on me — right before I either passed out or made some terrible, panic-driven decision my first day in prison —
A young man with a big, bright white smile tapped me on my shoulder.
“Hey man, I think you should come with me. There’s someone you need to meet. Let’s get you out of here.”
With zero legitimate survival options, I followed this fellow felon down a maze of beige hallways.
We stopped in front of a dark cell door.
“Knock.”
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
The smiling man gestured for me to open it.
With trembling fingers, I wrapped my hand around the cold steel handle and pulled.
The door groaned as it opened, metal scraping against metal.
Inside, the cell was dim. Not dark — just dim enough to feel intentional. A single fluorescent light hummed faintly above, flickering every few seconds like it couldn’t decide whether to stay on.
In the exact center of the cell sat a lone plastic chair.
And in it… a silhouette.
Broad shoulders. Elbows resting on knees. Still.
Waiting.
The air inside that small concrete box felt different than The Jungle. Quieter. Heavier. Focused.
I stepped in.
One step.
Then another.
And before I could even process what I was seeing —
WHAM.
The door slammed shut behind me.
I’m not going to lie to you — I thought this was it. I couldn’t even survive 24 hours in federal prison. How embarrassing for my already fragile masculinity.
I really was a fresh fish about to be eaten by the predator sitting silently across from me.
The smiling young man had just lured me into “The Wolf’s” den. A place no inmate wants to end up on his first — or last — day.
The intimidating figure stood up from the perfectly placed plastic chair and stepped toward my shaking body.
“The Wolf.”
A tall, toned Native American man with tattoos covering nearly every inch of his very muscular body.
He stopped six inches in front of me and stared directly into my soul.
Not a single word was spoken for two VERY long minutes.
He stood there like a stone-cold statue — silent, steady, completely unbothered.
Waiting for me to explain myself.
The silence felt like a thick, heavy blanket wrapped around the room, pressing against my chest and making it hard to breathe.
I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. My mouth went dry. My thoughts scrambled, searching for something — anything — to say without sounding terrified.
Because I was.
Somehow, someway, I managed to stutter:
“Hi… my name is Brett. I’m new here. Nice to meet you.”
The Wolf shifted his soul-piercing gaze back to the smiling young man, waiting for an explanation.
The young man broke the silence.
“Wolf, the dudes in The Jungle are already trying to take advantage of him. He clearly has no idea what he’s doing. He’s about to make some VERY poor choices. I just felt like you needed to meet him. I’m telling you — there’s something different about this guy.”
Silence.
Then, The Wolf leaned down until our eyes were level.
He pressed his long pointer finger into my chest.
“Brett, you tell those MOTHER FU***** predators — if they lay a single finger on you, they answer to The Wolf. Let those pieces of SH** know… YOU HAVE PEOPLE.”
Oh man.
I wish you could’ve seen my face. I could’ve caught flies for hours with my mouth hanging open.
The Wolf turned to his locker, dug around, and grabbed something. He took my limp hand and placed an old rusty lock in it, and almost in a whisper, he said:
“Brett… you’re in fu***** prison now. Predators will try to take advantage of your kindness. Lock your sh** up. Protect yourself.”
Then he sat back down in that perfectly centered plastic chair.
The smiling young man motioned for me to leave.
As we walked out, he smirked.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to mess with you now. They know The Wolf has your back.”
The next morning, I was summoned to walk the track with him in The Yard.
Walking beside The Wolf sent visible tension through the predators staring out from The Jungle window. Conversations quieted. Eyes followed. It was clear — nobody wanted problems with him.
And now… they knew I was walking with him.
Through what I can only describe as divine intervention, I had become one of The Wolf’s people.
Twenty-four hours earlier, I was a flopping fish gripping a bunk rail, trying not to pass out.
Now I was walking the yard beside the most feared man on the compound.
For four hours, we walked the loose gravel track.
Step by step.
Lap after lap.
Boots crunching against stone.
And slowly, his story started coming out.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
Just piece by piece.
And I could see it.
The Sinister Shadow of Shame was crushing this man.
Not prison.
Not the sentence.
Shame.
He believed the lie that his worst decision made him permanently unworthy.
Unworthy to be a father to his daughter.
Unworthy to reconcile with his tribe.
Unworthy to seek forgiveness from his victim’s family.
Unworthy of a second chance at life.
These weren’t small lies.
They were cemented shame bricks he had carried for over a decade.
Heavy.
“Special.”
Unmovable.
You could hear it in his voice when he talked about his daughter.
You could see it when he mentioned his tribe.
There was strength in his body… but defeat in his eyes.
I was already years into my shame-slaying journey.
And I could see THE REAL WOLF.
Not the charges.
Not the tattoos.
Not the reputation.
The man.
I knew — with absolute certainty — that his past could pave a path toward purpose.
Because of the blood of Jesus Christ…
The Wolf IS WORTHY of being a father.
The Wolf IS WORTHY of reconciliation.
The Wolf IS WORTHY of seeking forgiveness.
The Wolf IS WORTHY of a second chance.
Yes — the consequences are real.
Yes — the pain is real.
But…
OUR GOD IS THE GREAT REDEEMER.
HE TURNS MESSES INTO MIRACLES.
Midway through our walk, The Wolf abruptly stopped.
The gravel shifted under his boots.
He didn’t look at me right away.
When he finally did, his hardened eyes were filled with tears he clearly wasn’t used to letting surface.
“Brett… why are you different? There’s something different about you. What is it?”
There was no sarcasm in his voice.
No ego.
Just hunger.
Without hesitation, I told him:
“I slayed my shame. And now I walk in a freedom I never thought was possible for someone with my past.”
The tattoo-covered man LOVED that I felt free in federal prison.
Freedom inside a fence.
Freedom in a sentence.
Freedom in a place designed to strip it away.
Before our walk ended, I asked him the same serious question I asked you on Day 1.
“Wolf, do you believe it’s possible to shatter your shame?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Yes. I’ve seen your freedom. I want that — for my family and me. Help me.”
That’s all it took.
Not a program.
Not a seminar.
Not a perfect environment.
Just belief.
Over the next several months, we walked through the messy mud together.
Lap after lap.
Conversation after conversation.
We removed shame bricks from his back-breaking backpack and began building a path toward purpose.
The Wolf:
• Reconnected with his daughter.
• Sought forgiveness from his victim’s family.
• Enrolled in college classes — completing them with paper and pencil from a prison cell.
• Wrote a public letter to his tribe seeking reconciliation.
• Began walking this compound in FREEDOM.
And when I say freedom, I mean it.
Not the kind that opens gates.
The kind that opens hearts.
He shattered his “special” shame.
And now he is living out his God-given purpose — behind barbed wire.
So let me ask you again:
Do YOU believe it’s possible to Shatter Your Shame?
Jesus does.
That’s why with His last breath — after taking on the weight of the world and making the greatest sacrifice in human history — He said:
“IT IS FINISHED.”
The Shadow of Shame has no place in your life.
God can turn any mess into a miracle.
Your past CAN pave a path toward HIS purpose.
And I’m with you ALL THE WAY.
We’re lifting shame bricks starting today.
Day 1 is complete.
Tomorrow, we talk about “The Real You.”
And you’ll hear about the smiling young man I call “The Networker.”
Get some rest.
Day 2 is coming.
And we are about to rescue THE REAL YOU from The Shadow of Shame.
WE GOT THIS.
Sincerely,
Brett
(The Freshest Fish You Have Ever Seen in Federal Prison)
Reflection Day 1
As I think back on that first walk around the yard with The Wolf, I realize something now that I didn’t fully understand then.
The most dangerous thing in prison isn’t always violence.
It’s shame.
Shame isolates you.
Shame lies to you.
Shame convinces you that your worst moment is your permanent identity.
And I watched a strong, feared, tattoo-covered man carry shame that weighed more than his sentence.
But I also watched what happened when he chose to believe — even just a little — that freedom was possible.
It didn’t change his past.
It didn’t erase the consequences.
It didn’t open the gates.
But it changed him.
And when a man changes on the inside, everything else eventually shifts around him.
That first day in The Jungle, I thought I was the weakest man on the compound.
But what I learned is this:
The real strength in prison — and in life — isn’t pretending you’re untouchable.
It’s having the courage to face your shame… and refuse to let it define you.
The Wolf wasn’t “special.”
His shame wasn’t “too big.”
It was just heavy.
And heavy things can be lifted.
So before we move into Day 2, I want you to sit with this:
If a man serving fifteen years in federal prison for murder can begin walking in freedom…
Why not you?
The Bible says,
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”— Romans 8:1
No condemnation.
Not less condemnation.
Not reduced condemnation.
None.
Shame may scream.
Your past may accuse.
People may remember.
But in Christ, condemnation is finished.
And if condemnation is gone…
Then freedom is possible.
Available for Pre Order!!
Please help me publish Brett's second handwritten manuscript from federal prison by placing a pre-order today!
PRE-ORDER TODAY
Text me at (714) 410-2191 if you’d like to order Shatter Your Shame as a special First Edition!
Brett and I are so excited (and honestly still a little in awe) to officially announce the pre-order for our new book, Shatter Your Shame.
This book was written inside a federal prison—on random pieces of scratch paper, with a dull pencil, behind razor-sharp barbed wire and an electrified fence. What started as handwritten prison letters has turned into a powerful testimony of redemption, responsibility, faith, and purpose.
Shatter Your Shame is for anyone who carries the weight of their past, the burden of regret, or the quiet pain of shame—and is ready to see how God redeems what the world calls broken.
Brett writes with raw honesty about the worst decisions of his life, the consequences that followed, and the miraculous way God met him in the pit of prison and transformed his shame into purpose. These are one-of-a-kind prison stories that will help you heal, rise, and walk forward unchained.
Pre-order Shatter Your Shame today and be part of a story God is still writing.
PRE-ORDER DETAILS
📖 Shatter Your Shame (Paperback)
📦 Books will begin shipping around End of April
PRE-ORDER PRICING
• 1 book: $25
• 3 or more books: $20 each
(Perfect for small groups, book clubs, churches, or gifting to someone who needs hope.)
Every pre-order directly supports the countless late nights and early mornings I dedicate to editing, refining, and preparing Brett’s raw prison manuscript into a finished, life-changing book.
This journey hasn’t been easy. Prison is heavy. Shame is heavy. But God is proving—once again—that He specializes in turning massive messes into healing miracles.
Thank you for believing in redemption.
Thank you for supporting our family.
Thank you for helping us share this message with the world.
With so much love,
Noél
