The stigma associated with being in prison is both internal and external and is difficult to overcome. My daily mantra reminds me that I am worthy and deserving of all good things, especially the way I provide for myself and my family that gives us choice and freedom. I tell myself that just because I’ve been indicted doesn’t mean I have to spend the rest of my life paying off the debt that society says I owe. Some days it’s hard to reprimand internally because it’s an ever-present, subconscious stain on my reputation.
Before going to a federal prisoner of war camp in Alderson, West Virginia, I took a job as a barista at a popular coffee chain. My involuntary change from my previous job in accounting was due to tax-related charges against me. The barista interview was great and the manager hired me almost on the spot. I had no experience, was over 40 years old, and only had knowledge of office work and accounting. Still, I felt she was the perfect candidate for the position I had open. I had a rocky start, not knowing what a latte was, much less how to steam milk, and several times thinking I was going to get fired.
Over the next year, I learned my trade and excelled at customer service. My manager even said that the store culture had changed for the better compared to when I was there because of my attitude. Just before the fateful day of my sentencing hearing, I decided to share my legal issues with my manager. She chose to testify on my behalf. With tears in her eyes, she read a review from a customer who was very happy with our interaction and shared it with the company. In August 2019, I left my job and home and turned myself in. I felt relieved knowing that I would be able to return to the job and company I had come to love.
He was released after less than a year due to the pandemic. After strapping the monitor to my ankle, I called my former manager to let him know that I was home early and that I was excited to get back to work as soon as possible. I was better, more focused and ready to prove it. A few weeks passed and she didn’t make me an offer. Eventually she told me she was afraid to submit my name for rehire consideration because she could not justify hiring someone who had gone to prison. A few months later, she finally called me and asked me to come back. Everyone’s pay has increased because we agreed to work during the pandemic, but I’ll be back at the same $9.34 an hour. Work schedules are also less relaxed than before. My colleagues who were there before I was incarcerated started treating me differently. The manager was constantly monitoring my ankles and the length of my pants to see if the monitor was showing.
I ended up looking for work elsewhere. It was difficult because I could no longer work in the financial industry. No one believed me. After being incarcerated for a certain period of time, one’s mind and body begin to deteriorate, so it is not reasonable to work in a warehouse or manufacturing industry. Your temperament is not prepared and a sudden change in environment is a shock. Once the ankle monitoring device was removed, I was worried that my probation officer would come and see me at work. No matter how hard your probation officer tries to look like your friend, he or she will still look like a probation officer.
There were a few days when I didn’t have the mental or emotional fortitude to leave the corner of my bed. What I was able to do was enroll in an online course from Inmates to Entrepreneurs (I2E), a nonprofit organization as the name suggests. I was able to write a business plan for Queen Coffee Bean. I was able to find out more about coffee and the coffee industry. I was able to create a website to sell the beans I roasted myself. It gave me the opportunity to share what I love with a community of people who only know the joy I send to their doorstep. Thanks to the relationships I built through I2E and the encouraging feedback from my customers, I was able to start rebuilding my confidence. I’m sitting in a thriving coffee shop in High Point, North Carolina, writing this. People flock there for delicious drinks, specialty coffee beans, and an inclusive environment.
Every day you wake up, you are given a new chance to make your dreams come true. I offer coffee to people who identify with my past and support my business, but who wouldn’t hire me to work for their company. I don’t know where I would be without entrepreneurship. I have yet to find a place that pays a living wage or a company that has resources for returnees. I love my life. Mainly because I have the opportunity and desire to work for myself. I have learned a lot in my entrepreneurial journey and am becoming a better entrepreneur. I can’t say the same thing would happen if I had to live my life according to the standards of people who don’t know what I went through. I am enjoying my journey from prisoner to entrepreneur.
Claudia L. Shivers is the founder of Queen Coffee Bean in High Point, North Carolina, and an alumnus and board member of Inmates to Entrepreneurs. She is a mother, social justice advocate, and author for The Winters Group.
Further must-read commentary:
The opinions expressed in Fortune.com commentary articles are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the author’s opinions or beliefs. luck.
