Empowerment through Consequence

To finish the moment, to find the journey’s end in every step of the road, to live the greatest number of good hours, is wisdom. –  Ralph Waldo Emerson

I only became aware that I needed to stand up and voice my beliefs after realizing the personal consequences of unfair legislation.

I have been reading up on everything that I was unable to read about for the last three years. Binders, websites, resources. Luckily there is a lot out there.

A big BIG thank you to M. Dante.

I liken it very much to a baby taking her first steps, and peering up a huge stair case…the journey ahead. So, I will research, read, reach out, ponder and look within in order to learn how to continue on this very worthwhile journey before me.

It is easy enough because the way I have personally lived my life has been by a few rules:

Do the least harm to all I meet

I was raised that if you didn’t have anything nice to say, then keep your mouth shut. Over the years I have been able to generalize this. One of my fave quotes is “Even a fish could learn to stay out of trouble if it would keep its mouth shut.”  So very true.

I am usually the one sitting quietly on the side. I try not to say anything unless it brings some value to the conversation.

Disclaimer: If you are close friends or family this does not apply. I will continue to be a silly sing-a-song-that-I-hear-a-beat-to-and not know the words kinda chic.

Any positive moment is movement towards what is positive

Through my early readings I see many sex work advocates upset over legislation that doesn’t address exactly what they want. I keep in mind it is a process, and as long as we are going forward and not backwards, it is a step in the right direction.

This saved my ass when I was repeatedly denied requests I put in (mail with smudges, visits, passes, electronic monitoring, write up appeals…the list could go on). Although the outcome was not what I wanted (usually) I felt I was going forward just by requesting, questioning and trying to be heard, because I did get some answers that weren’t always “no’s”.

Standing together and not bickering amongst ourselves is a step towards change. Wasting time and energy against each other is what those who wish to dispel our cause wants. Ask some of the women I did time with, I was always talking about how we needed to support and be there for each other, not bicker, tell on or ostracize. That is what makes us weak, and by us, I mean women because it has been my personal experience that men call this b.s much sooner and work towards getting things done, not focusing on petty issues.

Tell my truth

Over time my truth has changed. I feel as if I have lived several lives, and you know what? I am okay with that. More than okay. I find my strength in that. It means I have a broader view of the world, of people and most importantly I am open to know myself. After all, I  see life as a journey towards who I authentically am as a person, woman, mother, friend and human. I define my journey, not any one else. I find empowerment through consequence.

Freedom of mind = Peace within

Freedom from fear. Such a simple statement yet it isn’t always been attainable. Like many others, I have struggled with fear. I have spent countless hours mulling over my fears,  spinning in my mind, writing and dissecting it in my brain.

I have been out on electronic ankle monitor (EM) for 18 days now. Today is my lock down day, which is a part of EM (one day a week has to be a lock down day) and I am going over some of my journals that I had both at Hiland Mountain Correctional Center and at the Glenwood Center.

Here is an excerpt from 9/22/2016:

It will snow soon.

I can remember the first snow of certain years. 2007, when I got home and walking outside with Tracy. My body sore and beat up. 2014, walking to work in Education, (I was at Hiland Correctional) unsure of were my life would go. 2015, walking the yard, looking at the mountains. Sentenced and wondering about EM. It’s 2016. Not yet for EM. I have 20 months left in less than a week. 20 months ago it was May 2014. I wasn’t arrested yet. It has gone by quickly. Time. I did it amidst so many uncertain
ties, chaos, sadness. I’ve been here 5 months and it seems like the blink of an eye some days.

 

I will write about all of this. Episodes. This IR (incident report) is a two-part episode. Elisa leaving, an episode. Trish. Mary’s health. My birthday. Laundry struggles. No quarters to be found. Karaoke queen. IHOP BLT”s (yes Ginger that’s where the $1000 I loaned you went so you could discreetly bring it to your car).  Garbage dates. Director John calling me at work to ask about money.

For the most part I read my journals now and see scattered notes, cryptic.

I had been afraid of staff reading them and I would get into trouble somehow. But I am piecing them together, just as I am piecing this whole journey together for something whole.

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Live Your Life

Just because I am out on electronic monitoring doesn’t mean that my life is butterflies and sparklers. First of all, butterflies scare the crap out of me. Fun fact: Check my walls and you will see a few butterflies though, dead and under glass or just plain not real.

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I have come far since July 2014. My life has changed, for the better. I have said countless times back at the halfway house that they didn’t break me. The joke was, at medication call, staff would ask if I had any meds I needed to take and I would reply “Not yet!”.

For those that have never been incarcerated, let me tell you it is a test in patience. It can make you confront your fears or drown in them, and worst yet, you have time to look back and think about what could have been different…what will be different…then finally, what is different.

I find the disparities between women and men in sentencing here in Alaska vastly discouraging, Countless women sit behind bars due to minor violations while men are usually handed far less severe consequences. Us women, on a whole, have a lot to lose. Typically we are mothers and employees, and being incarcerated means our children are the ones who pay, whether by foster care or loss of a parents love. It is not easy for the ones beyond the walls. Jobs aren’t held just because we are in, and finding another one can mean fast food or some other low paying employment. A necessity to remain in good standing with the probation officer as well as a legit way to pay bills.

At the halfway house where I was we were told to take the first job offered. I wasn’t allowed an office job. I had an amazing job offer at a small marketing firm but it was a no-no to have access to a phone or a computer at the halfway house.  My employment background is office and marketing/HR. I had no choice but to go the typical route: restaurant work. If I am guilty of sex trafficking, so be it, but I can honestly say that I have been subjected to labor trafficking just upon the basis of what it was like to find a job and keep a job while there. I have been called a retard and a bitch from my store manager and sent home and not given any option to quit without consequences. A job is money in the pocket to the halfway house, and I was only a number and a check.

I still find it hard to believe that I was sentenced to five and a half years for running a business. Yes, an illegal business, but I truly thought the independent contractor agreements covered me. Excuses and blame, according to the lawmakers. Either way, I carry on. Unbroken. Stronger. Left to gather my thoughts and put it all out there. So, now I can. Now I will. And I hope others follow suit.

Have a great day!

 

 

This is how we rise

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.