Reflecting on and Managing the Emotional and Ethical Challenges of Letter Writing as a Method of Data Collection With Prisoners

Abstract

In the context of prisons research, letter writing serves as a unique way to access prison participants without gaining formal His Majesty’s Prison and Probation Service (HMPPS) approval and does not place any demands on the time and resources of prison staff in comparison to in-person data collection methods such as interviews. Despite this method becoming increasingly used, especially throughout the Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, there is not a lot of research on the challenges and risks of letter writing to the researcher. This article examines the emotional and ethical challenges of letter writing as a method of data collection specifically with prisoners, focusing primarily on the challenges and risks the researcher must navigate. While the criminological literature is slowly catching up on the discussion of emotions in prisons research, there remains gaps in newer, or indeed, more innovative methods used in criminology. This article discusses the challenges involved in the time between letters, not knowing if letters have arrived, the distance between the researcher and the researched, ending correspondence and appropriate long-term support. As the article progresses, positionality becomes central to these discussions. As well as highlighting these challenges, the article offers strategies and discussions about managing these challenges for future researchers, such as keeping logs, debriefing with colleagues, and ensuring long-term support for participants is in place before the data collection period.

Introduction

Researcher well-being has become an increasingly discussed part of undertaking qualitative research. This is particularly true for researchers studying sensitive topics (Mallon & Elliot, 2019). Today, applications for ethical approval address researcher well-being just as much as participant well-being (UKRI, 2021), asking researchers to identify potential risks and harm they might face and how to mitigate the potential risks. In prisons research specifically, the conversation about researcher well-being and more broadly, emotion in research has progressed slowly. Arguing that criminology, unlike other social sciences, has resisted the conversation about emotions in fieldwork, Jewkes (2012) encourages researchers to disclose the many and complex emotions and experiences they go through before, during and after their fieldwork in prison. Since then, Jewkes and others have now highlighted the emotions (Cuhna, 2014; Ferrell, 2003) and indeed sensory experiences (Herrity et al., 2021) involved in doing research in prisons. When my research plans moved from in-person interviews in prison to letter-writing as a method of data collection, I assumed this method carried little risk. Indeed, the literature on letter writing as a method is, overall, positive (Davidson & Birmingham, 2001; Knoetze, 2013; Stamper, 2020). There exists only a small body of literature highlighting the potential challenges of this method that are specific to prisons research (Bosworth, 2005; Burt, 2020). The challenges discussed primarily focus on the logistical difficulties of sending and receiving letters to prison. However, there is a dearth of literature that explores the emotional and ethical challenges the researcher must navigate when using letter writing as a method of data collection with prisoners.

There is a growing body of research about the impact of undertaking challenging emotional work, including the experiences of secondary trauma (Pearlman & Saakvitne, 1995; Skinner et al., 2023), burnout (Freudenberger, 1974) and compassion fatigue (Rager, 2005). Emotionally demanding research is conceptualised by Kumar and Cavallaro (2018) as work that demands a tremendous amount of mental, emotional, or physical energy and that, in turn, affects the researcher’s health and well-being. Four types of work might be considered emotionally demanding include, (1) work that is on sensitive issues, (2) research that relates to personal trauma experienced by the researcher, (3) the researcher experiences trauma during a period of research and (4) unexpected events that occur. While there is growing recognition and value in recognising emotions in knowledge production (Camacho, 2016), addressing the emotional labour involved in criminological research can be particularly challenging given its traditionally positivist and masculine history as a discipline (Wykes & Welsh, 2008). Criminology has been described as lacking humanity (Wozniak, 2008). These issues can be particularly challenging for doctoral or early career researchers who have the cumulative experience of being new to research and not having a lot of experience researching emotionally challenging topics (Garrihy & Watters, 2020; Waters et al., 2020).

The emotionally challenging nature of this study brought numerous emotional and ethical challenges to the forefront that I was unprepared for. As the importance of researcher well-being continues to be explored, it is important that researchers understand the potential risks of harm involved in this type of data collection, and appropriately plan for the emotional and ethical challenges involved in letter-writing. This article reveals some of the emotional and ethical challenges faced during a period of data collecting as a postgraduate researcher, including continuous and often disappointing trips to campus to check the post room, uncertainty of whether my letters had indeed been received at all and the distance between the researcher and researched when participants indicated distress. The article begins by first discussing the importance of researcher well-being when undertaking emotionally challenging work, then, the article introduces letter writing as a method of data collection. The article then explores some of the already discussed logistical challenges of the method before detailing the emotional and ethical challenges I faced during my period of data collection. The article then discusses then circles back to the importance of researcher well-being and offers some potential strategies for managing those challenges. Overall, the article contributes to the literature on letter writing as a method of data collection and to the body of work on managing researcher well-being when undertaking emotionally demanding research. Specifically, the article adds to the literature on the challenges and risks of using letter-writing as a method as well as offering some discussion on how we can manage these challenges, including keeping logs, debriefing with colleagues, and ensuring long-term support for participants is in place before the data collection period.

Letter Writing as a Method

Participant writing aims to produce rich and insightful narrative data. The method of writing allows participants to take their time and respond with a level of thought and reflection that other methods may not capture. In interviews, typically, people respond very ‘in the moment’, correcting themselves or re-articulating their thoughts on the go. Indeed, there are many benefits to that in-the-moment response, however, allowing time for participants to record their thoughts in a way that best represents them can be incredibly empowering and even, therapeutic for participants. Milligan (2005) argues that correspondence methods, like letter writing, are particularly useful when exploring sensitive issues, as they offer a space for participants to reflect on their experiences safely and comfortably as well as placing the ownership of the data more firmly in the participants’ hands. Without a researcher present, it is hoped that letter writing offers participants more control in their narrative. There is a comfort, perhaps, for participants in knowing that they will never need to meet the person to whom they are disclosing their private and personal thoughts and experiences (Stamper, 2020).

While letter writing is considered a dying social practice by some (Stanley, 2015), letters have a particular meaning and history within the prison setting where other forms of media and communication are restricted. Prison letters have been studied for decades, demonstrating the important role they have played in maintaining family, friendship, and community ties (Foyster, 2014). Beyond a means to obtain practical support while in prison, letters have also been reflective and sentimental, providing social and emotional support for both the incarcerated and their families. Countless memoirs from prison attest to the important role letters play in offering hope and battling feelings of isolation (Mandela et al., 2018; Salah-El, 2020). Indeed, expressive writing, of any kind, has been demonstrated to have emotional and physical health benefits (Burton & King, 2004).

In the context of prisons research, letter writing serves as a unique way to access prison participants without gaining formal His Majesty’s Prison and Probation Service (HMMPS) approval and does not place any demands on the time and resources of prison staff in comparison to in-person data collection methods such as interviews (Burtt, 2020). Prisons are difficult to access and often hidden from the public view (Coyle, 2018). Access to prisons for research purposes in the UK is limited, especially when research aims do not align with current HMPPS areas of interest. The process of gaining approval from HMPPS to carry out research in prison is lengthy and often relies on pre-existing relationships with prison governors, which can severely hinder a postgraduate or early-career researcher who has not yet built these relationships. Furthermore, when research falls out of the areas of interest – a document which is regularly updated to reflect the key strategic areas where the Ministry of Justice would like to see more research carried out – researchers find themselves struggling to justify the time and resources needed. Letter writing also serves a range of practical benefits, including researching a population who are not bound to one geographical location, or indeed, one prison site (Vannier, 2018). Burtt (2020) describes the ability of letters to reach an otherwise unreachable population.

Despite the use of letter writing as a method of data collection in prison being a somewhat niche methodological choice, there is a growing body of work on the challenges of using correspondence methods of data collection in prison. The literature that does exist, however, primarily focuses on the logistical and practical challenges involved in this method. Bosworth (2005), for example, highlights the lack of control over how words are received and perceived. In an interview, the researcher and the participant can clarify and interpret the tone more easily, letters, however, require both the researcher and the participant to clearly articulate their thoughts in one attempt. Burtt (2020) highlights that recruitment for letter writing holds an inevitable bias insofar as it prevents the illiterate from taking part. Even when we, researchers, take steps to reduce some of the problems associated with literacy, there is a process of self-selection inherent in advertising in, say, prison newspapers. Other problems that have been written about include confidentiality, primarily that of participants, given that prison authorities could access and read the correspondence as letters are routinely checked coming in and coming out of the prison (Jardine, 2024). In an article about the challenges and pitfalls of using letter writing as a method to facilitate insight into prison life during the pandemic, Maycock (2021) touches on some of the ethical and methodological challenges associated with letter writing. Some of the issues Maycock highlights include letters going missing, low response rates, and managing one’s duty of care to participants in times of concern. However, Maycock does not elaborate further on managing these challenges. Furthermore, Jardine (2024) touches on some of the ethical dilemmas that come from correspondence methods, including not being able to see or know if the participant is upset during the research, however they do not pose this as a potential harm, also, to the researcher. Challenges thus far, then, have been primarily discussed as logistical issues. Even when issues of ethics come up (i.e., confidentiality, duty of care), they are not elaborated on or discussed in relation to the researcher’s well-being. Some of the issues discussed already provide distinct emotional and ethical challenges to the researcher that are worth exploring.

The Emotional and Ethical Challenges

Introducing the Study

Below I write about a series of emotional and ethical challenges associated with using letter writing as a method for data collection with participants in prison. These challenges were experienced during a study conducted as part of my PhD. This study was designed to explore LGBTQ + prisoners’ experiences of safety and support in the women’s prison estate, with a broader aim of contributing to the pains of imprisonment literature (Sykes, 1958). There is a dearth of literature on LGBTQ + experiences in the women’s prison estate. However, the Prison Reform Trust (2021) have estimated that 22% of the women’s prison estate identify as non-heterosexual. Furthermore, Carr and colleagues (2016) have argued that despite the assumption that women’s prisons are more accepting of gender and sexual diversity, both homophobia and transphobia remain “serious problems” (p. 15). Thus, research on this topic is crucial.

Originally, I intended to go into prison to carry out semi-structured interviews on the same topic of study: LGBTQ + pains of imprisonment. However, due to the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) outbreak, I was unable to access prison at the time. I considered other possible avenues of researching this topic, I could either collect data from afar (letter correspondence) or carry out online interviews with ex-prisoners. Due to the continued media attention on LGBTQ + prison issues in the UK (Brooks, 2023), I decided I wanted to speak to prisoners facing these issues currently and thus would utilise correspondence methods. The method of letter-writing was particularly appealing for my chosen topic of study, given that I could access participants from across the UK without travelling to multiple prison sites – thus, being able to offer the opportunity to take part to more people. After reviewing the available literature on conducting a letter-writing study with serving prisoners (Burt, 2020; Maycock, 2021), I designed a research pack which included, a consent form, an information sheet, a question sheet, writing paper, and a pre-stamped envelope for participants to use when responding. The questions sheet was broken down into 3 components: (1) space and place, (2) identity, and (3) safety and support. Each section only had two or three questions, which were then used to generate further discussion. Some of the questions around safety and identity are inherently sensitive questions which undoubtedly heightened some of the challenges I go on to discuss. I advertised for participants in Inside Time – a prison newspaper that is distributed to all prisons in the UK monthly. The criteria for taking part included being over the age of 18, currently being held in the women’s prison estate and identifies as part of the LGBTQ + community.

A Note on Sending and Receiving Letters in Prison

Anyone can write a letter to a prisoner in the UK. There are no restrictions on the number of letters prisoners can receive. To send a letter, you must have the person’s name, prisoner number and the address of the prison. Prisoners are granted one free letter a week. They can write more often but will have to pay for postage. Most letters are checked by prison staff. Prisons cannot, however, open letters from solicitors and courts except in special cases. These rules of engagement likely vary in other parts of the world. Overall, however, letters are generally the encouraged mode of communication in prison. In American federal prisons, prisoners must sign an agreement to permit employees to open incoming mail. There are also weight limits for incoming and outgoing mail. In Canada, if the prison deems the number of letters someone is receiving as ‘disruptive’, they can impose a limit. More recently, we are beginning to see a shift in some institutions toward the use of email. There are multiple services in the UK, America and elsewhere that allow for quicker back-and-forth digital correspondence – indeed, while this may be quicker, incoming and outgoing emails are still checked by staff and the services can often be costly.

Before delving into some of these challenges, it is important to acknowledge that I have chosen to engage in this process as part of a research project. However, there are millions of families to whom letter writing is the only form of communication with family or friends who are in prison.

The following vignettes do not provide an exhaustive list of the challenges faced but provides an insight into some of the challenges worth considering when undertaking this method of data collection.

Time Between Letters

Letters going in and coming out of prison are monitored. In other words, all correspondence (except legal correspondence) must be checked before entering or leaving the prison. This means that although a letter might arrive at the prison within a few working days, the process of mail being checked and passed on to the participant may take much longer. Similarly, when someone in prison wants to send a letter, these are, at the very least, glanced at as a precaution before being sent out. This process is in place as a security measure, where staff are expected to check for threats, drugs, explicit images, and any other content that is not allowed. At any given time, a prison could be experiencing a shortage of staff or a high volume of incoming mail which may result in long waits for these checks to be carried out and therefore, for participants to receive their mail.

As I carried out this research between academic term times and primarily worked from home, I spent the entirety of the summer months travelling to the university campus once a week to check for any received mail. For the duration of the bus journey, I imagined walking into the post room having received lots of responses, but I also had to mentally prepare myself for no responses that week. Despite my attempt to prepare for no response, walking into the post room to find no responses week in and week out was disheartening. In the first four to five weeks, no responses were recorded. I found myself increasingly worried about the study as the weeks went on. I worked hard to brush those negative thoughts off and reminded myself it could take time. As the weeks went by, I noted that it could take up to 8 weeks for a letter to be received, read, and returned – much longer than I first anticipated. Despite knowing this, every trip to the post room had the potential to make or break my day. Throughout the study, it became commonplace to battle not allowing every trip to the post room to impact my mood and motivation levels for that week. I found that the less responses (or, of course, no responses) meant lower overall motivation to get things done that week. Indeed, waiting and anticipating the arrival of these letters was consuming a large part of my time and energy.

Not Knowing if Letters Had Been Received

While prison staff routinely check mail coming in and out of the prison, there is no confirmation notification to confirm whether a letter had or had not been received/dispatched. This can lead to long periods of waiting and uncertainty. Indeed, there are multiple reasons letters may not have been received and/or dispatched, including mail strikes and staff shortages. Furthermore, prisoners are occasionally moved prison without much warning, or some may be released. The lack of clarity, however, proved challenging at times.

Multiple instances involved participants who had previously responded, then, not getting in touch for a while. This could have been due to one of the many reasons stated above. Indeed, it may be that the participant was busy and simply had not gotten around to responding. While all these things were possibilities, I had no confirmation of what exactly was happening or why. This led to a much longer period of data collection than initially planned, I was not sure after how much time (if at all) it was appropriate to assume the letter was lost or not received which would warrant a follow-up letter. On one occasion, I re-sent a letter to a potential participant who initially sounded very excited about taking part in the research, they responded to confirm that they no longer wished to take part. On several occasions, participants responded to be follow-up letter to confirm that the first letter was not received. Several participants who indicated initial interest then did not respond after I sent out the research pack, including a follow-up attempt. I noted that those three potential participants were from the same prison. I had considered the possibility that particular prison site was not allowing the letters in and/or out of the prison. It was later brought to my attention, by another participant, that some prisons do not allow pre-stamped envelopes. This may have been the reason for all participants at one particular site not receiving my letters, or rather just a coincidence. There is still little clarity on this issue. While I appreciate a degree of uncertainty is common with all research, I found the uncertainty of letters being received/dispatched challenging to navigate at times as it was my only mode of communication with participants. While this appears primarily as a logistical challenge, in combination with the time between letters, I found this uncertainty stressful and found myself doubting the effectiveness of letter writing as a method of data collection.

Distance Between Researcher and Researched

The distance between the researcher and the research participant has been written about by other researchers (Archibald et al., 2019; Mirick & Wladkowski, 2019). These articles primarily discuss distance as a challenge to the rapport or relationship between the researcher and the participant. Building a rapport with research participants is an important part of doing research and is considered an essential skill for a qualitative researcher. Opportunities to build rapport might include non-verbal cues, or shaking hands, exchanging small talk, and sharing food or drink (Deakin & Wakefield, 2013). Correspondence methods, such as letter writing, eliminate these opportunities. Rather, researchers rely on good communication, shared interests perhaps, language; and tone, even, to establish a good relationship.

During my data collection, I found the distance did not negatively impact the rapport I had built with participants. Rather, the distance only became a challenge when one participant indicated they were distressed and in need of help. This only happened on one occasion. The participant detailed their experience of being in segregation for a long time and struggling with their rapidly declining mental health. By the time the letter had reached the post room, the letter was at least two weeks old. I struggled to come to terms with the fact I could not immediately contact the participant and check in on the situation. I made the necessary call to the prison safer custody line where you leave a message to be picked up by a member of staff. I was disappointed to realise I would receive no callback. I wrote back to the participant but heard nothing for months. Much to my surprise, months later the participant got in touch after a stressful move to another prison. This distance between the researcher and the research participants can leave the researcher feeling helpless and indeed leave the participant feeling potentially unheard.

Ending Correspondence

Negotiating the end of an interview, or a meeting may also rely on the non-verbal cues discussed above. There are tips and tricks provided in multiple ‘how to’ articles about qualitative interviewing for ending the interview (Magnusson & Marecek, 2015). Ending written correspondence proves more challenging. There is no ‘natural end’ to the correspondence. The letters can become, almost, routine.

I decided early in the research process that I would ensure that I always responded to participants; I did not want a participant to feel that their letter was ignored in any case. In each response, I enclosed a pre-stamped envelope in case participants wanted to get back in touch. This meant that some conversations continued back and forth for some time, encouraging the lack of a natural end. I was surprised when multiple participants reached out months later to ‘check in’ and update me on their situation. The question of ‘when does it end?’ becomes an ethical question, then. The experiences participants relayed to me were often difficult and complex, thus our conversations were lengthy. I felt a commitment to continue engaging with participants and where possible, to help participants. However, I also had to create a boundary to ensure I was complying with the ethical guidelines. Our conversations were no longer relevant to the study which I had, at this point, already analysed and written up. These conversations did find a natural end, and participants were reminded of long-term support options.

Appropriate Long-term Support

At the end of any sensitive research, it is recommended that the researcher directs the participant to relevant long-term support services where appropriate. This ensures that participants are adequately supported beyond the research process. This is an ethical duty that researchers take on when they work on sensitive topics or indeed with vulnerable populations. Having this support in place also ensures an appropriate balance between getting close enough to participants while not getting too close (Maier & Monahan, 2009). This is often a difficult balance to achieve and is important both during the research process and after the data collection phase is finished.

Having built a good rapport with participants who shared some extremely personal and difficult circumstances, I battled with my role as a researcher as well as my innate sense of injustice and sympathy toward participants. I had to consistently remind myself of my role during my correspondence. I struggled with the idea that I could not offer my participants more. This was particularly clear to me as the research was ending and I was unable to provide any long-term support for the participants. Instead, I had to look elsewhere and encourage participants to utilise the few support services available to them. Given that the research focussed on support and safety, and participants highlighted the lack of long-term support options for LGBTQ + prisoners, this was particularly challenging. I made sure to recommend the few organisations that could offer support; however, I felt a lack of closure with what I was able to offer participants. I had hoped that the conversations I had with participants were, a potential outlet for participants who maybe had not been offered the chance to talk about these issues before.

Reflections on Shared Identity and Researcher Positionality

It is a growing practice to reflect on how the researcher’s identity, emotions and actions shape the research they do (Jardine, 2024), and while the researcher may be physically absent from the field in this case, the research materials represent their presence. It is worth discussing then, that many of these challenges are, in hindsight, potentially connected to my shared LGBTQ + identity with participants. As a queer woman myself, these challenges became more than mere logistical or practical challenges, and instead, morphed into emotional and ethical challenges. I felt a great deal of connection and sympathy for participants, I was especially angered at the violence and human rights violations participants detailed in their letters. I believe that our shared identity resulted in a closeness between the participants and me. While some participants outwardly expressed their gratitude in getting to share their story, feelings of trust, rapport and a sense of closeness emerged in other, more subtle ways. For example, while some participants wrote in formal manner to begin with, they became more relaxed and open in their communication style as time went on. Participants continually referenced their distrust for people yet engaged in deep, personal and meaningful conversations that require a degree of trust and respect to have. This closeness was fostered by both the participants being open in their responses, but also by my validation of participants feelings and experiences. I did not hesitate to validate, agree and offer my condolences to participants who have faced cases of bullying and discrimination in prison. Participants who were aware of my shared identity perhaps saw me, then, as more than a researcher, but someone who could understand and support them. This was evident when some participants wrote to me months later to update me on their situations.

Emerging literature in the field of ‘convict criminology’ (Earle, 2016; Tietjen & Kavish, 2020) has identified the impact of lived experience on one’s research experience. Convict criminology was born out of a frustration over the “sanitized presentation” (Richards et al., 2018) of prison life across the academic literature. Convict criminology promotes researchers with first-hand experience of the criminal justice system to better represent the realities of which they knew. Indeed, while I have not shared the experience of incarceration with participants, our other shared LGBTQ + identity allows us to draw some important parallels to this literature. Namely, that researchers with first-hand experience can produce more thoughtful and nuanced understandings of the realities participants face. Researchers who share an identity with participants can reveal often overlooked or misunderstood aspects of participants experiences. Secondly, the literature in this area would support the idea that our shared experiences and LGBTQ + status would promote a more authentic rapport. Indeed, participants may have trusted me more because of this shared identity, and thus engaged in deeper reflection throughout the research (Bukamal, 2022). However, it is important to acknowledge that this shared identity can also result in heightened emotional reactions from researchers to participants stories. Certainly, I found myself personally moved and challenged by some of the participants’ experiences. Therefore, it is important that researchers consider and reflect on their positionality before, during and after the research process to better prepare for and manage potential challenges.

Discussion and Conclusion

While some of these challenges made me question the suitability and effectiveness of letter-writing as a method of data collection with prisoners, I believe that the method can produce rich, insightful, and generous data on lived experiences in prison. I found the method useful for allowing participants space to think and reflect on their identity in ways that a more immediate back-and-forth interview method would not allow for. Additionally, I was able to reach a greater number of participants across the UK by using this method. Every methodological approach comes with it is own challenges that researchers can anticipate. These challenges become easier to manage once they have been properly identified and examined. This article aimed to reflect on and discuss some of the challenges associated with a lesser-known method – letter writing to prisoners. It is important to caveat this discussion by firstly highlighting that these challenges will likely vary across different communities, contexts, and countries. Indeed, more research on this method is required to better understand these differences.

In future letter-writing projects, acknowledging and understanding these challenges and indeed potential strategies for managing them will only allow researchers to collect and analyse data more effectively and meaningfully without facing burnout or compassion fatigue. Below, I discuss some potential approaches for dealing with the challenges discussed throughout this article. Indeed, this is by no means an exhaustive list of strategies and I would encourage researchers, particularly postgraduate researchers, and early career researchers to continue this conversation, speak with project supervisors and seek additional support when necessary. Furthermore, the strategies discussed are based on my first-hand experience, they are not a concrete set of strategies that are guaranteed to mitigate all challenges associated with the method.

Firstly, although it sounds very simple, I suggest including a section in the participant information sheet about the role of a researcher. Explain what the researcher can and cannot do. This will help participants understand the role of a researcher better. It is also important for the researcher to remind themselves of the role. This might be particularly important when working with vulnerable groups, who may face higher rates of isolation and therefore hope for more out of the researcher. Furthermore, to help the researcher justify their role and indeed take the weight off their shoulders regarding long-term emotional support for participants, ensure that there is a long-term support plan in place before beginning data collection. Find out, ahead of time, what organisations or charities are available to the population involved in the research and direct participants there if they require additional support. It might also help to reach out to those organisations to let them know about the research taking place and ask how best participants can be directed to them.

Secondly, I recommend keeping a log of when and where letters are sent. This might help the researcher recognise a rough timeline for how long letters take to come and go. I noticed a pattern with my responses, letters coming from certain institutions were quicker than others. Being aware of this can help mitigate the worry about the time things take. Additionally, when relying on the postal service, check the postal services website to ensure there are no delays or strikes in certain areas. This may also impact the time between correspondence. If after ten weeks there is no communication, send a follow-up letter to the participant. Confirm the date of the sent letter and simply explain that a follow-up had been sent to make sure that the letter had been received. Remind the participant that they are not obliged to respond but that this was an opportunity to do so. Keeping a log of this will help keep track of where and when letters have been sent, and therefore when it might be appropriate to follow up with participants.

Thirdly, in the instance of immediate concern about a participant’s well-being, call the safer custody line for that prison. Most prisons in the UK have a telephone number available to call to report well-being issues, the details of which can be found online. You will be asked to leave a message: give the name of the person and their prisoner number. The safer custody line is not obliged to call back, but it can offer some peace of mind to know that the concern has been reported. Be prepared to have a conversation with your supervisor or a colleague you trust if this happens. It can be unsettling to receive no response and to be left waiting to hear back from a participant who has expressed something concerning.

And lastly, recognising that these challenges become emotional because of shared experience or shared identity can help researchers better prepare for them. There is no use in minimising or ignoring researchers’ positionality, we all approach research with different experiences and from different perspectives. Acknowledging and reflecting on this will only help you throughout the research process. I recommend keeping a research diary where you can reflect on your experiences and emotions or talking through your potential concerns with a trusted colleague or friend may help.

These approaches aim to help manage some of the challenges of letter writing as a method of data collection with prisoners, in turn, ensuring that you and your participants’ well-being are at the forefront of your data collection phase. Indeed, this list is not exhaustive, and you simply cannot predict all the possible challenges when doing qualitative research. However, the more often we share our experiences of the emotional and ethical dilemmas and challenges we face doing research, the better prepared we can be. This article has highlighted that letter writing as a method of data collection with prisoners can produce rich and insightful work, however, researchers should be aware of the unique emotional and ethical challenges involved in using this method. Researcher well-being should be a priority in criminological inquiry, and indeed in prisons research specifically.

This article hopes to open the door, once again, to the conversation about emotions in prison research and encourage other doctoral students and early career researchers to reflect on and write about their emotions in prisons research. Future research in this area might include a comparative study reflecting on the uses of letter-writing in different countries, where processes, rules and regulations differ. Indeed, this is likely to alter the emotional and ethical challenges for the researcher. Other avenues of research might include assessments of the effectiveness of letter-writing for producing rich qualitative research, while participant writing outside of prison has been studied in-depth, it would be interesting for this to be replicated in prison. Finally, future research may also wish to explore participants’ feelings about letter writing as a research method.