Turning the Tables: From Housewife to Inmate and Back Again

For Gia, Gabriella, Milania, and Audriana

I thank God every day for blessing me with each one of you. You are my everything.

I am so proud of you, especially for your strength and grace during the time I was away. Seeing how strong you all were— and the love you showed me—helped me get through all of this.

Vi voglio tanto bene con tutto il mio cuore.

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE you all to infinity and beyond.

Love, Mommy

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain . . .

—VIVIAN GREENE

Epigraph

Author’s Note

Letter to the Reader

Prologue

1
 Growing up Gorga

2
 Becoming Mrs. Juicy Joe

3
 Housewives—Jersey Style

4
 My New Reality

5
 Orange Is the New . . . Nightmare

6
 Drama Queens, Dressed in Greens

7
 TV Wars

8
 Tabloid Spies

9
 Snitches and Snakes

10
 Turning the Tables

Photographs

Acknowledgments

About Teresa Giudice and K.C. Baker

N
ames and identifying characteristics of all inmates and others I met at Danbury have been changed, and in some instances, those described are composites.

T
o the world, my life seems like an open book. People think they know everything there is to know about me from what they have seen on TV and read in the tabloids.

But they don’t. Not even close.

I want people to get to know the
real
me. I want the world to see who I really am—not what the media or
The Real Housewives of New Jersey
has made me out to be. Don’t get me wrong. I’m blessed to be a
Real Housewife
. It opened up so many new worlds for me and brought the most amazing, life-changing opportunities my way. Bravo, Sirens Media, and Andy Cohen have been so good to me, and for that, I will always be grateful. Andy has been so supportive of me through everything. He kept in touch with me in prison, to make sure I was OK. I love him for that.

But at the same time, I feel like I have been misunderstood. A lot of people have said they think I’m mean. Look, I’m not proud of everything I’ve said and done in the public eye. But I’m not a bitch. I’m good-hearted, laid-back, and a caring mom, but like every other person out there, I’m not perfect. My parents raised me to be a good person, which is something I’ve strived to be my whole life. I have always been a hardworking student, a faithful employee, a good wife and mother—and never broke the law in my life. I never meant to, anyway. As you read my story, you will come to know that my children, my husband, and my family are all that matter to me, not money or fame. As I have seen firsthand, fame can be a tremendous blessing and a horrendous curse.

I guess because I’m a strong person and
very
confident, some people think that I’m the nastiest person out there or whatever else they choose to project onto me. I think some people don’t get the way I express myself. Sometimes the first thing I think of is what comes out of my mouth—and it’s taken the wrong way, which evidently causes problems. Whenever that happens, I think,
Uh-oh—I didn’t mean to say that that way . . .
That’s something I need to work on.

My family and friends who know me totally get me. But with new people I meet, I find that once they get to know me, they come to see that I’m very genuine, down-to-earth, fun, and loyal. If I love you, then I love you with all my heart. When one of my bunkies in prison really started to get to know me, she took me aside one day and said, “Wow. You’re such a sweet person. You’re so different than the way they portray you on TV and nothing like what I’ve read. I can see that you only care about Joe, your daughters, and your parents.” (I do. I worry about my parents’ health all the time and I pray every day for my family . . .)

What you see with me is what you get . . . but the media doesn’t always show the real me. They don’t always give the full side of the story. I can’t completely blame them, but I can open my heart to all of you, in my own words. I love life. I am blessed to be happy and healthy, and surrounded by amazing family and friends. I would never hurt my loved ones—or anyone—in any way. I don’t have that in me. But I’ve found out the hard way that there are other people out there who
do
want to hurt you. Who wish for bad things to happen to you. My problem is that I am too trusting and see the good in everyone, which has gotten me into a lot of trouble over the years.

At the same time, though, being in the business I’m in, you need to have thick skin. I definitely do and it’s something that helped me a lot in prison. I’m sweet but not a pushover, and I stand my ground when I have to. I’ve also learned to keep my guard up more. It’s too bad, but it’s what I have to do now.

Before all this happened, I thought I had the perfect life. What I have now realized is that
no one
has a perfect life. Everyone carries a cross in this lifetime. A lot of my time on this earth has been a fairy tale. But as you may know, I have gone through some very tough times, too. Tough times I’ve had to weather with the entire world watching, judging everything I’ve done without knowing all the facts . . .

In 2014, I was sentenced to fifteen months at the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury, Connecticut, for federal bankruptcy fraud and conspiracy to commit wire and mail fraud. Going to prison was very difficult for my family and me. I missed my girls, my husband, my parents, my family, and my friends. My parents were heartbroken, but they have been there for me, just like Joe, my daughters, and the rest of my family and my friends. And, of course, my amazing fans. I couldn’t have gotten through prison without the Trehuggers. You have no idea.

Since I went to prison, I’ve learned a lot about life—and so much about myself. I’ve met the most incredibly good-hearted people. People with an inner strength I cannot believe. I made some really great friends in prison, who helped me survive since the day I got there.

My faith was one of the things that helped me the most in prison. Praying and getting closer to God helped me get through one of the most difficult times of my life. I took care of my body and mind by walking and running around the track as much as I could, taking exercise classes, doing yoga, eating clean (as clean as you can eat in prison!), going to church, reading inspirational books—and reflecting on how I could use this experience to change my life. I planned to come out of prison a stronger, better person. I wanted the world to see a new Teresa. A different Teresa. Well, actually, the Teresa I always was.

I had so much fun strolling down memory lane for this book, but it also brought back some painful moments. In life, we all go through bad things, but I’ve found that revisiting tough times forces us to appreciate the good even more. I do. That’s for sure.

Thank you for reading my story. I want you to know that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE you all! I couldn’t have made it through this ordeal without each and every one of you . . . God bless you and
tanti baci
!

I
had been dreading this moment for more than a year. But here I was, finally, on my way to prison.

After saying goodbye to the loves of my life—my husband, Joe, and my four daughters, Gia, Gabriella, Milania, and Audriana—my lawyer, James J. Leonard, Jr., drove me to the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury, Connecticut, from my house in New Jersey, so I could surrender myself to the Federal Bureau of Prisons. The prison would be my home for the next year of my life. No amount of preparation could have gotten me ready for this moment.

I was supposed to turn myself in at noon on January 5, 2015. But James, who I call Jim, had talked to prison officials about letting me turn myself in earlier—in the middle of the night—so my daughters wouldn’t have to deal with the swarm of reporters, photographers, news vans, and TV cameras we knew would be lying in wait outside my house the morning I was scheduled to surrender. I didn’t want them to ambush my family with their popping flashbulbs and intrusive questions. It made me mad that I had to give up my last few, precious hours with my family because of the media and the paparazzi, but I knew I had to do what was best for my girls.

During our almost two-hour drive to the prison, a white van chased us for a bit on I-287N in New York. Before I could duck out of sight, a pap who was riding in the back of the van snapped some pictures of me, Jim, and a friend of his named Mike, a former FBI agent he had brought along for security. I still have no idea who that was, since I don’t believe those pictures ever saw the light of day. Good.

When we finally got to the prison, we circled the perimeter trying to find the back entrance (so I could go in unnoticed) and passed a small group of reporters and photographers. They were rubbing their hands together, trying to keep warm. They had been waiting for me, probably for hours at that point. They wanted a quote from me—or even better for their bank accounts, a picture—at one of the worst moments of my life. But they didn’t get either, thank God. Jim and the prison made sure of that. Cameras flashed when we turned into the prison entrance, but I ducked down in the backseat so they couldn’t get a shot of me. Knowing how much some of the media had hurt me and my family over the years, I didn’t feel so bad the paparazzi were standing outside, freezing in the frigid January wind.

We drove onto the prison grounds and made our way up a steep, winding hill. Once we reached the top, I gasped when I saw a huge building surrounded by a towering fence that was topped with a seemingly endless twirl of razor-sharp barbed wire. A chill went through my whole body. I had never been to a prison before, let alone surrendered to one to begin my own sentence. I had only seen foreboding prison walls and fences like this in the movies and on TV (though, ironically, I still have not seen
Orange Is the New Black . . .
even though the real-life Piper Kerman served her sentence at Danbury, too).

We got out of Jim’s Denali and made our way to the intimidating building ahead of us. I pulled my black coat a little tighter as we walked through the gate that led to the prison. It was three in the morning, so it was pitch-black outside. I couldn’t even see the moon. I shuddered again, and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. I still couldn’t believe that I was really here.