Long-term imprisonment is one of the most complex resettlement challenges in the justice system. The timescales are different. The psychological journey is different. For the 2,000+ people released each year after serving a long-term sentence, the barriers to returning to society are profound.

In May 2026, I visited HMP High Down alongside The Hardman Trust team for a ‘lifers event’ – with thanks to the Shaw Trust CFO team for facilitating such a meaningful event. As a Trustee at the Hardman Trust, there has been no greater learning experience than sitting with the people we support- both current and future- to listen to their irreplaceable first-hand insights after decades of incarceration.

What came through is the intersectionality of this cohort and what they’re actually up against on their resettlement and desistance journeys:

• Intense isolation and the psychological weight it carries. One of the men shared candidly: “I don’t have anyone to come and visit. I like art and painting. Do your grants allow that?”. I invite you to reflect on that for a moment. No loved one to check in on you. Ever. Birthdays. Christmas. Poor health. How would you maintain a sense of identity, purpose and hope, in the absence of social connection?
• Institutionalisation and how it quietly erodes the confidence needed to rebuild a life, manage financial decisions and budgets. Another man reflected: “I’ve been in the system since I was about 15. The crazy thing is I’ve seen some of the guys from the YOI back in the day in here too. We couldn’t believe it when we saw each other. This is all we’ve known and grown up in”. The prison regime for long-term incarcerated people can create a perverse dependency, stripping these men of their autonomy and the everyday decision-making skills that most of us build through childhood (from managing money and budgets, to choosing where and how to live). I wondered how well equipped these men would be, on release, to secure accommodation, pay their bills (online), manage a budget – all at once, for the first time in years.
• Navigating recategorisation and preparing for what comes next. As one of the men said: “What’s Cat D gonna be like? What are the people going to be like? Are the prison officers going to be helpful? I hope they let me carry on with what I’ve been studying and let me keep the laptop”. I wondered how I would feel if I were told to leave my home and move to an unfamiliar neighbourhood, with no say on the timing or the local amenities that matter to me. I know I would find that unsettling and overwhelming, and that it would add anxiety and unease to my attempts to settle in.
• The wait for a parole board hearing and how to use that time purposefully. As one of the men said: “I’ve got my parole board hearing later this year. I’ve done a lot with my education and courses. I hope it goes well but let’s see”. I walked through a scenario in my mind of this man doing everything asked of him and within his control (e.g. every course completed, good behaviour), only for the decision to turn on things he has little control of (whether stable accommodation or a job has been lined up in time). I tried to imagine what a ‘no’ from the parole board would mean for him. How would he cope with waiting months, sometimes longer, to be considered again? Would he pick himself up again?
• Re-entering a world that’s moved on and the vulnerability it brings. As one of the men said: “Is it true that places don’t accept cash no more? Someone told me that the supermarkets don’t have staff no more and you pay for things yourself. The on-line banking stuff is crazy”. I imagined these men walking into a supermarket for the first time in decades to do their food shop — the sensory overload, the sheer range of products, self-service checkouts they've never used before, all while working out a weekly budget on the spot. I wondered if they would drop their shopping basket and leave because it felt too overwhelming.

My visit was a powerful reminder of the very important and impactful work of organisations such as the Hardman Trust. We are privileged that lived experience sits on our Board, through former Hardman grant recipients, now serving as Trustees, directly shaping our strategy and how we respond to the emergent needs of people who are serving, or have served long-term sentences. It also amplified why there is so much more to do for this cohort of people. Sadly, our justice system is designed to process sentences. It isn’t designed to prepare people for what comes after one. The Hardman Trust bridges this gap. We specialise in the specific needs of long-term prisoners, providing tailored, practical and financial support to encourage personal growth and meaningful focus in and after prison. We empower individuals on long-term sentences to take ownership of their futures.

We have a new Prime Minister with a pressing inbox, a new Prisons Minister, a new Justice Minister; working against a backdrop of an inherited prison capacity and resettlement and rehabilitation policy framework. We have a newly launched Independent Review of the Prison System in England and Wales, due to report by December 2026. We have future MoJ-commissioned community support services for men that are still taking shape. Each of these is an opportunity to get long-term resettlement support right for the men who shared their stories and for those after them.

If I could ask for three things, based on the lived experience stories I heard:

• Please reimagine support for people serving long-term sentences through the lens of social capital and connectedness, so they have belonging, relationships and community ties that make a different life feel possible.
• Please resist the temptation to respond to the loudest voices or system pressures (capacity, safety, cost), while neglecting the specific needs of people serving long sentences.
• Please ensure that helping people serving long sentences become good neighbours to others, is planned with the same rigour as other resettlement elements, like probation.

We cannot continue to forget this overlooked cohort of our prison population. What comes next for them is the hard, slow journey of finding their place in a world that has moved on without them. Real reintegration cannot happen in a vacuum—it requires inclusive communities willing to support people as they make this transition. They are our future neighbours and we owe our future neighbours a system that prepares them for what comes next.

Whilst we never lose sight of the gravity of the offences committed or the lasting impact on victims and their communities, supporting successful rehabilitation and resettlement is vital to preventing future harm and building safer, stronger communities for everyone. The best way to ensure public safety to society is to invest in resettlement support, to ensure people leaving prison are supported to become productive returning citizens.

Blog by Liton Ullah