Priced Out of Dignity: How Labor Injustice Creates Period Poverty in Carceral Settings
Regan Moss, MPH (Columbia University), is a doctoral student at Tulane University where she is a doctoral leader with the Center of Excellence in Maternal and Child Health, a researcher with the Mary Amelia Center for Women’s Health Equity Research, and PI of the Southeastern Collaborative for Women Impact by Prisons. She is an adjunct professor at Auburn University, serving as the lead instructor for the Alabama Extension course focused on maternal health and substance use. She is also a fellow at Columbia University’s Khora Lab, and a consultant at Johns Hopkins University, where she supports research to address the harms of the carceral system. Through qualitative, mixed-methods, and CritQuant methodologies, Moss’s research integrates reproductive psychology, feminist theory, and behavioral science to examine how stigma, taboo, gendered narratives of criminality and morality, carcerality, surveillance, and policing shape reproductive and maternal (mental) health inequities in the Deep South and Gulf South of the US.
Since 2020, Regan has led the Menstruation & Incarceration study team under the mentorship of Dr. Silvia Vilches. She also co-authored the Period Poverty in Prisons Curriculum as a former Board member of PERIOD., in partnership with the Thurman Perry Foundation. She currently serves on the Board of the Prison Flow Project.
Madeeha Anjum is a recent graduate of Georgia Institute of Technology, where she majored in Neuroscience. Madeeha has been a part of the M&I Research Team since 2024. Madeeha also is the Prison and Jail Access Committee Chair at Georgia STOMP. As an aspiring physician and narrator, she aims to make lasting changes in women’s healthcare by raising awareness about gaps in the current research and policy through educational, legislative, and written pursuits.
Priced Out of Dignity: How Labor Injustice Creates Period Poverty in Carceral Settings
The Commissary as A Scapegoat
Individuals who are incarcerated have long faced barriers to period products, whether these barriers be product choice, cost, quality, or quantity. As advocates – as a measure of harm reduction – push for institutional, county, and state policy change to mandate that facilities provide quality products at no charge to persons who are incarcerated, facilities point to the commissary as a place where products can be accessed. Ambiguous policies, such as ones in North Carolina, might even leave it up to facilities to decide whether products are free or available for purchase: “Paragraph (a) of this Rule, each jail shall make these items available either for inmate purchase or without charge, as determined by the jail.” (10A NCAC 14J .0705). This makes it unclear whether people who are incarcerated are actually being provided products. Further, this creates the grounds for facilities to rid themselves of the responsibility of ensuring all persons that use period products during menstruation have access to safe, quality, period products and dignity, safety, and health while bleeding.
The use of the commissary as a scapegoat for facilities raises the question of the affordability of period products available for purchase at commissaries. The 13th Amendment to the United States Constitution abolished slavery except as punishment for a crime. Thus, people who are incarcerated are legally enslaved. As such, they earn no money or cents on the dollar, making the positioning of the commissary as the source of dignity largely inaccessible.
A Closer Look: Wages, Commissary Prices, and Product Availability
To examine how commissary pricing and wage disparities contribute to period poverty in U.S. women’s prisons, we conducted a systematic content analysis of commissary price lists across the Southeastern US. We selected this region due to its high incarceration rates, elevated poverty levels, and documented resistance to menstrual equity legislation. Using publicly accessible primary data sources like The Appeal’s Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) database and the Prison Policy Initiative, we collected DOC commissary lists from 14 states: Tennessee, Georgia, Arkansas, Alabama, Florida, Texas, Mississippi, Louisiana, North Carolina, South Carolina, Oklahoma, Kentucky, West Virginia, and Virginia. The collected listings were published from 2022 to 2024. To analyze, two independent reviewers inductively coded each listing to categorize product type, listing price, quantity, and associated taxes and inter-rater reliability was used throughout the analysis process. To estimate affordability, we compared commissary prices against incarcerated wage data from the Prison Policy Initiative and calculated how many hours of labor it would take to afford menstrual products in each state. Monthly wages were converted to hourly wages by 22 workdays per month and 6.35 working hours per day. In these analyses, wages were reported as ranges and hours-to-afford calculations were calculated at both the minimum and maximum of the range to reflect the full scope of economic burden.
An Impossible Task: Products Out of Reach
Through our analysis, we found that commissary data was accessible for only 11 of the 14 states included in the analysis: Alabama, Louisiana, and Tennessee did not provide commissary lists in response to FOIA requests sent out by the Prison Policy Initiative. North Carolina and South Carolina provided lists that did not include menstrual products, but this is consistent with state laws that mandate free provision. The remaining nine states formed the basis of product-level findings for this analysis. Only three states, Oklahoma, Kentucky, and Virginia, offered pads, tampons, and panty liners. We found that pricing across commissaries varied substantially. For instance, tampon unit prices ranged from approximately $0.15 in Virginia to $0.49 in Georgia and Florida. Notably, wages for incarcerated workers were at or near zero in most states, with the highest recorded wages found in West Virginia at 0.04-0.58 per hour.
In Florida, which was the only state to explicitly list a pay rate according to The Appeal’s list, a worker earning $0.32 per hour would need to work over 15 hours to afford a single 10-count box of tampons.
In Georgia, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Texas, workers earn nothing at all, making commissary access entirely dependent on outside financial support from family or loved ones.
What does this mean?
Free provision of period products through facilities is the only true form of access to products for people who are incarcerated and menstruating. Policies that allow for facilities to either provide products for free or allow for access through commissaries are in effect permitting manufactured period poverty; these policies are inadequate.
Period product access is a matter of human rights, and our results show that prisons systematically deny access to products through financial constraints. When incarcerated people earn nothing or near nothing, commissary-based access to period products is not a choice. These practices are not oversights in our correctional systems, but a feature of carceral control.
Until wages, pricing, and free provision are reformed, incarcerated menstruators will continue to be priced out of dignity.
How can you take action?
Support organizations such as Worth Rises, which are fighting to reform the 13th amendment and abolish all forms of slavery. #EndTheException
Engage with organizations focused on addressing economic and labor injustices in carceral facilities, such as the ACLU of Rhode Island, which is fighting for incarcerated persons to be covered by minimum wage laws.
Advocate for states to mandate the provision of free period products for any person who menstruates in any carceral facility and demand accountability mechanisms to ensure the successful implementation of policies.
To connect about the Menstruation & Incarceration study, contact: ram0083@auburn.edu
My Experience of a Period in Prison – Courtney Alspaugh
Courtney Alspaugh was born and raised in Ohio. She is a certified plumber and a caregiver for her grandmother. When she’s not working, she is advocating for incarcerated women and those who’s voices cannot be heard. She is part of the coalition that championed OH HB29, a law that mandates that all Ohio correctional facilities provide free menstrual products and showers to incarcerated women and girls across the state. One of her favorite activities is spending quality time with her dog.
Managing a Cycle in Ohio Prisons
My name is Courtney Alspaugh. I was incarcerated at Dayton Correctional Institution (DCI) in Ohio for five years and was released in September of 2021. I am a skilled plumber and am currently a caregiver for my grandmother.
While incarcerated, one requirement to receive state pay was to have a state-issued job. So, I applied for a position in maintenance to be a plumber. Working as a woman during my menstrual cycle was a very terrible experience. Having poor quality sanitary pads and constantly asking my male boss to allow me to leave the job site to use the restroom was embarrassing. This was just to see if I had blood in my pants or to fix the pad that had shifted in my underwear, which made me feel gross. I got less work done on those days because I had to regularly stop and leave the job site.
The sanitary pads were so poor that I would tear the cloth and cotton apart, roll the cotton into the cloth, and tie off the stuffed cloth to make a homemade tampon.
Sometimes this was even done on the job site. A lot of the days, I felt depressed and didn’t want to leave my cell. Not having enough feminine products led me to beg other residents or corrections officers for supplies, just to hear them say it wasn’t their problem. I couldn’t get any help, making me feel dehumanized and helpless.
I have a story that is honestly embarrassing to me, and I think that anyone would be embarrassed. When I first arrived at the prison, I was stripped of all my personal possessions and had started my menstrual cycle. I had no sanitary products and was at a loss! I asked other residents and got no help. I asked corrections officers, and they said I’d have to talk to a Sergeant. This was on a Saturday night, and the Sergeant would not return until Monday. I was new and unable to shop at the commissary. That privilege only happens after you are awarded a visitor who can put money into your account. That would take weeks, so I had no other choice. I took one of my state-issued wash cloths and rolled it up and put it in my underwear.
It was one of the most demeaning moments of my life and I never want to feel that way again.
That is why I joined the fight to pass Ohio HB29. I knew that law makers had the power to keep other women from feeling that way too. And although I was released a few years ago, these issues are still a problem today.
I knew that access to feminine hygiene products was a problem in the institution for myself and so many others, and it felt good to help the community I once was a part of. So when the opportunity was presented, I yearned to step up and be the woman I grew to be while inside the prison system. When it was my turn to testify at our very first hearing for HB29, I was very nervous. I knew that I had to be a voice for so many who wouldn’t be heard. As the words started to flow, my mind and body became more relaxed. I saw that the representatives were listening to my story and really trying to focus on what I was saying. Finally having a voice after so many years of feeling like nobody was hearing me felt like a big accomplishment.
It took many years working on HB29, but as we say in prison “all we have is time.” Time didn’t matter, and I didn’t care how long it took. I was fighting for what is humanly right.
During the process of gathering information for HB29, I learned that I was not alone. Many of the ladies in our advocacy group needed guidance to voice their thoughts and feelings. We were worried about the consequences of asking for help. We had subconsciously learned not to ask for help while in prison, and if we got the courage to ask for help, the corrections officers would shut us down. Therefore, having the honor to be the one to help others helped me gain confidence to make changes to the institution.
I believe there are more changes that need to be made in our Ohio institutions.
I would like to see residents receive the correct amount of clothing needed for a full week. There are 7 days a week, but residents don’t get clothing for the full 7 days, including bras and underwear. The clothing provided is cheap, tears easily, and is never the correct size, so residents need new clothing more often than is allowed. When you go to the Quartermaster and ask for additional clothing, you are often told that the timing isn’t “right”. It’s very embarrassing and I remember feeling helpless. It’s also inhumane and should not be the institutional standard for hygiene etiquette. In Ohio prisons, you are issued 5 pairs of undergarments, 5 pairs of socks, 1 washcloth, 1 towel, and 3 sports bras. Women with larger chests have special bras ordered and only receive 3 a year, or when the institution decides to purchase more. These items can only be exchanged every 6 months, and on a “one for one” basis. This means that you have to give one back to receive another one and cannot accumulate items.
I am proposing that the state representatives make changes for the institution to increase the number of clothing items to 7 undergarments, 7 pairs of socks, 7 regular bras or sports bras, 7 special bras, 2 towels, and 2 washcloths. It seems small, but I believe that this minor change could make a huge difference in the hygiene practices as well as helping to improve the residents’ self-esteem. I still care for those inside. Just because I am back in society doesn’t mean that I didn’t gain family inside of the institution.
My Experience of a Period in Prison, Part 2 – Jennifer Toon
As part of Dr. Vishniac’s doctoral research, she conducted 14 interviews with 15 individuals. Nine of these individuals were previously incarcerated women who had experienced a period in jail and/or prison. These women had been incarcerated from days to decades in facilities across the United States and it had been varying lengths of time since their release. Below is a summary of one of these interviews, shared with the consent of the interviewee. This interview was conducted on January 31st, 2022. This interview transcript has been broken into two parts due to length and has been edited for flow. *Note, this interview includes strong language.*
Jennifer Toon is a co-founder and the Executive Director of Lioness Justice Impacted Women’s Alliance. Her involvement with the criminal legal system began at age 15, when she was adjudicated under Texas determinate sentencing laws, leading to 27 years of system involvement. As Executive Director, Jennifer draws on her lived experience to elevate the voices of system impacted individuals, with a focus on LGBTQIA+ people, youth, and people with disabilities. She lives in Austin, Texas with her cat Taylor, who embodies the mischievous energy of Taylor Swift.
PART 2 – IMPACT AND MOVING FORWARD
What do you think the best way to handle menstrual products would be?
Make it an important part of your budget. That’s what the issue boiled down to. In terms of not having access or enough, it’s because you don’t spend any money on them. I feel like if this was something that was intricate to the male experience there would be an over-abundance of it. I think just women being a minority in the system and predominantly men in leadership, at the administrative higher level over the prison system, they don’t understand. It was the same way when I wrote the guy in region over commissary about, ‘Why are you only selling super tampons? This is not helpful. Maybe for a day. Do you understand there’s a reason why there’s different sizes?’ And suddenly we got a bigger pack with multiple different sizes. I think the answer to that is just making the budget, being able to buy the products and being able to give them out freely.
Why do you think this issue exists?
You know, not this past legislative session but the one before, we had a bunch of bills that were passed called the Dignity Laws, concerning the criminal justice system, jails and prison, about the different ways that women suffer indignities, such as being shackled during pregnancy, feminine hygiene products. And TDCJ, during those bills, said, ‘Oh, well they can ask whenever they want. This is not a problem.’ You had formerly incarcerated people continuing one after the other saying, ‘No, it was a problem.’
There is such a disconnect between what is really happening and what is written on that stupid fucking policy paper. I don’t care what the policy says, I don’t care. That is not what is happening in practice. And I don’t understand how you’re not getting that. I think what it boils down to is that they just don’t believe it’s an issue because we have it on paper that that’s what we do.
The only thing that motivates systems to change is the fear of public relations and, ‘Oh, we’re gonna be looked at as hating women or not progressive or-,’ and I think that’s what motivates systems to change or to take notice or to actually move or actually do something. But I think culturally, maybe we’re finally seeing that the ways that we’ve handled the criminal justice system have just not worked and why. It’s not as simple as ‘People can’t find jobs.’ It’s that we treat people like they’re nothing, like they’re garbage, like they’re trash. And the type of psychological, and I wrote another article recently about the psychological abuse that women experience in prison, which is very different from men. There were times me and my friends joked, ‘God, I wish that they would’—not that they didn’t physically hit us or anything like that but I wished it was predominantly that and not this psychological terror. Walking around with bloody clothes on, laughing at us while they make us degrade ourselves. Maybe people with lived experience are finally saying, ‘I’m gonna start speaking up and showing what has happened and telling my story and not being ashamed,’ you know? I know some friends that that this is something that bothered them and ate them up while they were there, but there’s no way they’re gonna get on Zoom with a stranger, or the telephone, even if it is anonymous, and say, ‘Hey, I had to wear a sock, and bleed into a sock and wash it out and dry it and wear it over and over while I was on my period in prison. Cause it’s just such a-, it goes beyond just our normal embarrassment as women. It’s degrading. It’s degrading, what you have to do as a woman when you’re on the inside. This is just one of many ways that women suffer psychologically in custody.
Did you notice any changes over time?
This is a span of 20 years. So, late 90s, there wasn’t really a lot of pain relievers. There weren’t tampons. They certainly were not even nearly remotely accessible if you had to go to an officer and approach somebody. Interestingly, we had not had tampons for years, not because TDCJ wasn’t gonna order them. It’s just that the lady at our unit, she got a bonus every year when she saved money, so she cut tampons out of the budget. I found that out through my boss who worked commissary. He was like, ‘Oh, well, it’s on the order for the unit supply. She just doesn’t order them because she gets a bonus.’ Ugh I was so mad! Like, you know what lady? There’s a special place in Hell for you.
When we complained enough, and they had always sold them on commissary, like a six piece box, but that’s $5, $6 a box. That’s another problem too, why feminine hygiene products are so expensive everywhere, but they were certainly expensive on commissary. But it did get a little bit more manageable when we had tampons accessible and we had some pain relievers like ibuprofen that we could buy on commissary, but that’s it. That was the only major development. When I did finally start writing grievances about, you know, you only offer super tampons on commissary. Those are the only tampons I have access to. It’s not safe to wear those all the time like that. So they ended up selling the multi 24 different size pack but again they’re, like, $11 or something.
But that’s it, really. And when we passed the Dignity Laws? Nothing changed. Next session when TDCJ had to answer for how hard is it with the Dignity Laws and they were like, ‘Well, we already did that, so, I mean, we told you that so there wasn’t really anything to report.’ So nothing really happened.
They took TDCJ’s word for it, which is the probably number one biggest problem with Texas’ prison system, is that we have no independent oversight. So anything, any legislation that is passed, in regards especially to conditions, programming, or anything like that, there is no mechanism to independently verify that those things really happened.
So TDCJ can come to the legislators with their report and say, ‘Oh we did x, y, and z,’ and there you go. And there is no way to really refute that other than to have people that are in the system say, ‘That did not happen. That’s not happening.’ ‘Oh, yeah it is.’ Well, who do you believe, the ex-convict or TDCJ official? And I was proud that there were some legislators, and we testified this year about the other, were like, ‘So all the people came across the state of Texas to lie to us? I don’t believe that.’ But, like you said, how do you enforce something when there’s no enforcement arm? There’s no independent oversight.
What do you think the impact would be on incarcerated people if they had access to the menstrual products and support they needed?
Well, I think it takes away another abusive tool that certainly is used against women and their dignity. If this was accessible, you didn’t have to beg for it, you didn’t have to cancel your visits, you didn’t have to worry about, you know, it’s such a big deal when I need to take a shower cause I’ve bled all over myself. I mean, if all those things were taken care of, well then this is one less way for them to treat me like an animal, like I’m not human. It helps us maintain our dignity, right? That would be the outcome of having these things more accessible. And all the other things that go with that. Stopping the shaming and the guilting and the different ways that they use that to treat us badly.
The women that I see who have come out and have not been successful, usually it’s rooted in an abusive relationship. Most women’s downfall when they get out is, you know, there’s other things like housing, but those things typically people can push through if they have enough self-confidence and drive and support. But women leave the system feeling like they don’t matter, that they’re, like, why else would you treat me like this? You must treat me this way because I’m not worth anything. So then I gravitate towards relationships that treat me that way, to jobs, to a system around me that also reaffirms what you just taught me while I was in custody, which was that I was worthless. Society wants us to come back and be like, ‘I’m ready to be a contributing citizen!’ I don’t wanna give you anything. You treated me like a dog, like an animal. You said I deserved it for what I did. So why do I want to be a part of you? I don’t feel worthy, number one. Number two, I’m angry and rebellious, so I don’t wanna have anything to do with this. So, staying in community, in healthy community, and holding onto your humanity despite all that, I know that has played a huge part in my success.