GROWING up, there was no specific moment when my mum Bernadette, 48, sat me down and revealed I’d spent the first 13 months of my life behind bars. It was just something I always knew.
Likewise, I’ve never hidden this part of my identity, even though a lot of stigma surrounds anyone who’s been in prison – including children there through no fault of their own.
Ellise’s heroin addict mum was in prison when she gave birth to her Credit: Jam Press/@ellisetiax
Ellise as a baby in prison Credit: Jam Press/@ellisetiax
It was 1997 when Mum was jailed for three years for her part in a shop robbery.
Addicted to heroin, which she’d started using at 15, she committed the crime to feed her habit.
She already had my sister Georgia, who was three at the time, but had no idea she was five months pregnant with me when she was sent to HMP Styal in Cheshire – and only found out during her medical.
Devastated at being separated from Georgia, who was living with our dad Mark, she was shocked at the prospect of having a baby in prison.
Since her arrest, Mum had been clean for several months, so there were no concerns about me being harmed by drugs in her system – but she wrestled with immense guilt that she’d put her unborn baby in this situation.
She was also panicked about whether or not I’d be taken from her, until the prison authorities explained that I’d be allowed to stay with her for the remainder of her sentence.
Mum had antenatal care in prison, and on July 18, 1998, her waters broke while in the shower. I was born just 54 minutes later in the entrance of a nearby hospital, weighing 7lb 10oz.
Of course, I don’t remember the first year of my life, but Mum always said that this time meant everything to her – being able to care for me after she’d been terrified that we’d be separated.
My dad and sister were also able to visit us once a week. Mum and I shared a room and, after breakfast, I’d be looked after in the prison nursery, while Mum went to classes to learn how to function in society, as well as parenting skills.
In the afternoons, she’d take me for walks around the grounds, and in the evenings the female inmates would cook together, feed the babies and put us to bed.
Family sent in essentials like clothing, toys and nappies, and there was an on-site shop every Thursday, where Mum could buy things using her child benefit money.
She served 18 months in prison and we were released together in 1999 to live with Dad and Georgia.
Ironically, while in prison, we’d been happy and life was simple.
It was after she was released that my childhood became rocky.
Ellise growing up with her mum and sister Credit: Jam Press/@ellisetiax
The mum with her dad and sister Georgia Credit: Jam Press/@ellisetiax
Mum struggled with her mental health and was diagnosed with schizophrenia and psychosis, a legacy of childhood trauma and substance abuse.
When I was two, Georgia and I went to live with our aunt and uncle as Mum and Dad were both struggling with substance abuse again.
Life with them gave me and my sister the stability we needed, but I still saw Mum regularly and I loved her. Then, when I was four, Dad died aged just 29 from pneumonia, which was devastating.
When I was 10, Georgia and I began splitting our time between our aunt and uncle’s home and Mum’s place, as by then she was in a better place mental-health-wise.
That arrangement continued until we left home.
Mum went on to have three more children in a new relationship, and I grew close to my half-siblings, who are closer in age to my own kids than they are to me.
My childhood wasn’t a ‘normal’ one, but it has shaped me into the person I am today, and I don’t resent it.
Mum and I have had our ups and downs over the years, and in lots of ways I have felt like the parent, not the child.
We are very close, though and I love spending time with her.
Our children go to the same school, so I see her there and we get together as a family – she’s a great nan to my kids, who are aged seven, six and one.
They are too young to know about my upbringing, but I’ll explain when they’re ready.
Mum is very proud of me and says my determination comes from the bad start I had in life, and she’s right.
The circumstances of my birth don’t define me, but they do spur me on.
One day, I’d like to go back to the prison where my life began, and speak to the women there with their own children. I want to reassure them that there can still be a bright future after jail, and everyone deserves a fresh start.
BTW
Around 100 babies are born every year to women who are serving time in UK prisons.*
Prisoner mothers in the UK are permitted to keep their babies with them for no longer than 18 months.
Sources: *Centre For Women’s Justice
