TACOMA—The conference room at the state Department of Social and Health Services, DSHS, office in Tacoma is crowded and loud. Fourteen tables line the walls labeled with signs like probation, medical center, social services and grocery store.
A bell rings and a voice calls out.
“Week one begins now!”
For the next hour, about two dozen DSHS employees will step into the role of someone newly released from prison. Every 15 minutes represents a week in the community.
Participants of the simulation are a cross-section of community members whose roles influence reentry outcomes including correctional staff, judges, prosecutors, public defenders lawmakers, nonprofit partners, social workers and other interested parties. The exercise is rooted in the department’s commitment to carrying out its work with a pro-equity and anti-racism mindset.
“The impact of the simulation is to create empathy and have people who make decisions around people experiencing reentry understand when they place a requirement or put a restriction in place, how it impacts not just the person in reentry but the community,” according to Megan Pirie, director of the Department of Corrections’ person-centered services division.
The person-centered services division took a major role in designing the simulation, receiving input from several formerly incarcerated people.
“It gives people experiencing reentry an opportunity to advise our department on decisions we are making,” Pirie said.
The Tacoma reentry simulation is one of 36 the Department of Corrections, DOC, is hosting in 2025 and 2026.
The DOC’s communications team shadowed a participant though the exercise. The following is an example of what participants experience:
Meet Florence
Perlita Castillo, a community services office administrator, has been assigned the role of “Florence.”
Florence served 10 years in prison for theft-related charges connected to unmet behavioral health needs. She has a disability and receives Supplemental Social Security Income, SSI, though her benefits won’t begin until her second week home. She wants to explore work options, but any income she earns could affect her eligibility for SSI, creating uncertainty about how much or whether—she can afford to work.
She has saved $75. She has a high school diploma and was a peer leader in prison support groups and would like to explore employment options. She lives with her partner and their children. She’s also one of the “lucky” ones. Her envelope contains a photo ID, Social Security card and birth certificate—documents many people do not have when they leave prison.
Week one: A rough start coming home
With only $75 to her name, Florence already feels uneasy. She decides to donate plasma to bring in extra cash. She spends one transportation ticket to reach the blood donation center, hopeful the $25 payment—available twice per week—will help supplement her income.
At the table, Florence draws a card and hands it to the volunteer.
The volunteer flips it over.
“You have anemia,” she tells Florence. “That makes you ineligible to donate.”
It’s not an uncommon outcome. People can develop anemia during prison, where food budgets are minimized, which often results in a sacrifice of nutritional value. It can take three to six months to restore iron levels, even which supplements and a balanced diet. In the meantime, symptoms like fatigue, dizziness and weakness can make everyday tasks more difficult.
Florence has no job, no insurance and no time. She still needs to report to probation, check in at the career center and attend a Narcotics Anonymous, NA, meeting.
The doctor will have to wait.
She used another bus pass to get to the treatment center to receive medication for opioid use disorder. The cost: $15.
Hunger and exhaustion are setting in. Food becomes the priority.
Florence heads to the grocery store. The line is long. Minutes tick by when she reaches the front, she pays $25 for food.
She has $35 left.
Rent is due in two weeks. At this rate, she won’t have enough. She checks inside the envelope she received at the beginning of the exercise for her disability check, but it isn’t there. No one gave her instructions before release about how or where to access benefits.
Confused, she scans the room and spots the Social Services sign. She digs around in her envelope again. No bus passes left.
“Guess I’ll have to walk,” she says.
The social services table is on the opposite side of the room. By the time she reaches it, she’s met with a sign: Closed.
Without transportation, a walk can take hours. If someone arrives after business hours—or if the staff person they need is unavailable—they’re out of luck. A bell rings, signaling the end of the week. Most people return to their seats, but a few remain standing.
A reentry simulation coordinator calls out loudly.
“You’re out after curfew! Go to jail!”
Several people are escorted to the “jail” station, stunned. For people under community supervision, curfews are often a condition of release. Night-shift work, if they can get it, might free someone up for appointments during the day, but being out past curfew can result in a violation. Any violation can get someone increased time on supervision or even jail time.
As Florence watches people go to the jail, she realizes how much she didn’t accomplish.
She didn’t see her probation officer. That absence could result in a warrant.
She didn’t attend NA.
She didn’t meet with a career counselor.
All because she didn’t have transportation.
The anxiety builds. She hopes next week will be better.
Week two: a race against the clock
Before the second week begins, a simulation worker hands Florence a card.
Your friend stole your phone. Pay $100 at the supercenter.
“I guess I’ll have to go without a phone,” Florence says. Without one, potential employers, service providers and family members will have trouble reaching her. A phone is a necessity—but one she can’t afford.
Her first stop is the transportation center. She spends $5 on bus passes. Rent and utilities are due next week--$500 total. Florence is nowhere close.
Florence owns a necklace worth $50. She uses a bus pass to get to the pawn shop. She hands over her $50 “jewelry” card.
The pawn broker hands her back $25.
“Where’s my $50?” Florance asks. She didn’t realize that pawn shops only offer you a fraction of an item’s resale value.
Half the week is gone and she’s barely made any progress.
Next is probation. She explains she missed her appointment last week because she didn’t have transportation. The officer gives her a stern warning, but allows her to proceed. Florence pays the $30 probation fee and $5 for a required drug test.
She now has less money than when she entered the pawn shop.
She makes her way to the social services office. Several people are ahead of her in line. The forms are complicated and they take awhile to complete. She finally receives her SSI check and applies for Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, SNAP benefits. She receives $75 in food assistance. She talks to a counselor who is there and receives three additional transportation tickets.
The bell rings again.
There was no time to buy groceries. No time to replace her phone. No time for NA or the career center.
Weeks three and four: the wall hits
More cards circulate.
Florence reads hers: You need $40 for a winter coat.
Another simulation worker approaches and places a 10-pound bag of rice in Florence’s arms.
“Congratulations! You have a baby,” she says.
Florence’s partner could not secure childcare today, so Florence will have to be the caregiver.
With child in tow, Florence goes to the supercenter. She pays $140 to cover the phone and coat and uses $25 in SNAP benefits for food. She’s not sure what to do next.
She can’t check in with her probation officer because minors aren’t allowed without prior approval. They aren’t allowed at treatment centers either, so she can’t go there.
(Editor’s note: Reentry centers aren’t equipped to accommodate children in many situations. Field offices are shared spaces where drug testing, pat-down searches and sensitive conversations can occur, which can be traumatizing to children. Furthermore, some individuals reporting may be under supervision for offenses causing harm to children, which creates additional safety risks. Treatment centers don’t allow children to be present when a parent or guardian is accessing services. A few courthouses and NA/AA groups have designated waiting spaces where minors are allowed, but most do not.)
Florence tries the local church to see if they offer childcare. They don’t.
She’s down to $165 cash, $50 in SNAP benefits and a couple of bus tickets. She won’t receive another SSI check for three weeks. By then she’ll be evicted. She glances at the shelter station. No empty chairs.
She needs money—and fast.
Desperate for options, she considers unsafe and illegal options. Asking strangers to watch her child. Trading food benefits for childcare. She could also visit the “chance” table to commit a crime that might bring in cash—knowing that if she gets caught, she’ll go back to prison.
There are no good choices.
When the final bell rings, Florence feels defeated.
The work continues
Castillo removes her Florence badge and reflects on the experience with the other participants.
Even with her professional background, working frequently with people navigating reentry systems, Castillo said the situation felt draining.
“It made me feel overwhelmed, confused and frustrated,” Castillo said. “At times the pressure and lack of immediate support made the idea of returning to illegal activity for quick money feel tempting, which really highlighted how systemic barriers can push people backward instead of forward.”
Castillo added that the exercise, as frustrating as it was, gave her some ideas on how to alleviate some barriers.
“One key takeaway was the importance of more collaboration between agencies serving formerly incarcerated individuals,” Castillo said. She mentioned strategies like having regular cross agency meetings and shared referral processes between DOC, community-based organizations, reentry programs and service providers to help close resource gaps.
In fact, DSHS already has some resources in place to support formerly incarcerated people who are returning to their communities.
The DSHS Tacoma office works with local DOC field offices to arrange appointments for people to come directly to DSHS to help them apply for benefits programs without experiencing long lines. They also offer programs like the Aged, Blind and Disabled, ABD, and Housing and Essential Needs, HEN programs. These programs offer assistance for basic needs including personal health and hygiene items, transportation assistance and rent and utility support. There’s also case management services for people who cannot work because of physical disabilities or mental incapacity. They also have a representative from the Pierce County District Court Resource Center stationed at the Tacoma DSHS office one a week.
The reentry simulations were made possible through a $150,000 federal Justice Assistance Grant administered by the Washington State Department of Commerce. DOC is looking for partner organizations to host future reentry simulations. If your organization is interested in hosting a reentry simulation, email megan.pirie@doc1.wa.gov
