I was released from a halfway house Friday morning. I had been there for 14 months, okay, four days shy from 14 months, but to me it felt like a lifetime.

Sleeping in was a joke even on my day off. Sadly, the staff were only paid $11 an hour and found the job on Craigslist . My morning alarms were someone yapping away on the intercom like it was karaoke hour. I would get write ups depending on how staff read the rules. I had emotional and close to physical battles over laundry. I dropped a lighter in front of the assistant director, helped women with responses to their write ups for hugging each other and have spent countless hours staring out the window when I lived on the second floor. There was never a dull moment yet each moment I was away from my children I felt pieces of my heart break off.

Each time I left the building I had to have a piece of paper approved by my case manager, turned in at least three business days in advance. These were called CIT’s, and no one knows what that stands. These needed to be complete with clear details on route, bus or walking, walking times (to the minute because they could google map it, as a resident of the halfway I was not allowed to just jump on a computer anytime to do that), location address and phone number, and purpose. Purpose was important. Job search was about it, unless you were a resident at or above Level 2, then you would do the same thing with a pass. Only those were to be turned in at least 8 days in advance, no later than 5pm on Monday, to be valid only for the next weeks Tuesday and beyond.

Thankfully I am good at paperwork. And patience. And ambiguity. And paperwork. And answers that just lead to more questions. Have a question? Put in a cop-out, now known as a communication form. Just more paperwork.

The main point of being in a halfway house is to work. YOU MUST WORK A MINIMUM OF 32 HOURS A WEEK. They take 25% off the top, and you are only allotted up to $100 a week…as long as your funds request was in by 5pm Friday. Money would be given the following Friday. Residents are told to take the first job that comes our way, and believe me, we want to, because job search can lead to a host of problems; write ups if you are early to your location, or late. Information needed (see above CIT) was a real bitch to find in our outdated phone books. If you didn’t find a job within 30 days there were preliminary hearings with the case manager and probation officer to look forward to. These would lead to loss of privileges, extra community service hours and/or going back to jail.

I made it. I made it out. So did many others, while I was there, so it may not seem like such a big deal to someone who doesn’t know the whole story. This is but a short blurb.

I am grateful and blessed and look forward to many more blogs and telling my story. After all, this is how we rise.