The stigma that comes with being in prison is difficult to overcome because it is both internal and external. My daily mantra reminds me that I am worthy and deserving of all good things, especially a way to feed myself and my family that gives us choice and freedom. I remind myself that just because I’ve been charged doesn’t mean I have to spend the rest of my life paying off a debt that society says I owe. Sometimes my internal pep talks are difficult because there is always a subconscious stain on my reputation.
Before heading to the federal prison camp in Alderson, West Virginia, I took a job as a barista for a popular coffee chain. The forced transition from accounting, my previous field of work, was due to tax-related charges against me. The interview with the barista went great and the manager hired me almost immediately. I had no experience, I was over 40, and I only had an administrative and accounting degree. Nevertheless, she considered me an ideal candidate for the vacant position. I had a rocky start and several times I thought I was going to get fired because I had no idea what a latte was, let alone how to steam milk.
Over the next year, I learned my job and excelled at serving clients. My manager even once commented that the store’s culture had changed for the better since I’d been there because of my attitude. Right before the fateful day of my sentencing hearing, I decided to share my legal problems with my manager. She decided to testify on my behalf. With tears in her eyes, she read a review from a client who was so pleased with our interaction that he shared it with corporate. In August 2019, I left my job and home to give up. I took comfort in the thought that I could return to the job and company I loved.
I was released after less than a year due to the pandemic. After I strapped the monitor to my ankle, I called my former manager to let her know that I had come home early and was excited to get back to work as soon as possible. I was better, more focused and ready to prove it. Weeks passed and she still didn’t propose to me. She finally told me that she was afraid to submit my name for re-employment because she couldn’t justify hiring someone who had served time in prison. After a few months, she finally called and offered to return. Even though everyone got a pay raise because they agreed to work during COVID, I will come back with the same $9.34 an hour. My work schedule has also become less convenient than before. The colleagues who were there before my imprisonment began to treat me differently. My manager was constantly watching my ankles and the length of my pants to make sure my monitor was visible.
I ended up looking for work elsewhere. It was a struggle because I could no longer work in the financial sector. Nobody trusted me. After a period of confinement, your mind and body begin to deteriorate, so working in a warehouse or manufacturing environment is not practical. Your temperament is not prepared, and the sudden change in the situation is shocking. After the ankle monitor was removed, I became concerned that my probation officer would come see me at work – no matter how hard they try to look like your friend, they still look like probation officers.
There were a few days when I didn’t have the mental or emotional fortitude to leave the corner of the bed in the corner of the bedroom. What I was able to do was take an online course from Inmates to Entrepreneurs (I2E), a non-profit organization that does what its name suggests. I was able to write a business plan for Queen Coffee Bean. I was able to do more research about coffee and the coffee industry. I was able to create a website to sell the beans I roasted. It gave me the opportunity to share what I loved with a community of people who only knew me for the joy I sent to their doorstep. Thanks to the relationships I built with I2E and encouraging feedback from clients, I was able to begin to rebuild my confidence. I’m writing this now from my thriving coffee shop in High Point, North Carolina, where people gather to enjoy delicious drinks, specialty coffee beans, and an inclusive atmosphere.
When I wake up every day, I have another opportunity to achieve my dream. I serve coffee to people who are sympathetic to my background and support my business, but do not hire me to work in their business. Without entrepreneurship, I’m not sure where I would be. I couldn’t find a place that would pay me a decent salary or a company that had resources for returning citizens. I love my life, and this is largely due to my capabilities and desire to work for myself. I am learning a lot on my entrepreneurial journey and becoming a better person because of it. I can’t say the same thing would happen if I had to live by the standards of people who have no idea what I went through. I love my journey from prison inmate to entrepreneur.
Claudia L. Shivers – Founder Queen of coffee beans in High Point, North Carolina, and is both an alumnus and board member. Prisoners for entrepreneurs. She is a mother, social justice advocate and writer from The Winters Group.
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