This morning, I sat at my desk, in my office at home printing like a wild woman. Pages of inspiration for today's Coming Home session. Excited. Anxious.
I'm always anxious when I teach. Even when I was working 9-5 in apprenticeships, I was filled with dread and excitement all the same when facing a room full of students. Imposter syndrome paralyses me on a daily basis but never more so since I came home from prison.
Despite knowing and trusting in all that I know, all that I do and the work I deliver, I'm still plagued with self-doubt. Can I do this? Should I do this? Will anyone want it? Need it? Take something from it? Is all my well scoped, planned and curated idealism just that - idealistic.
And then I remind myself of every session, lesson, workshop I've delivered over the past 6 years in my time as an educator, facilitator and public speaker - I'm good at this. I care about this. This is my passion and my purpose.
When I designed the Coming Home project course content, I did so in an academic remit, Ofsted stylised lesson plans, neurodivergent adjustment plans, teach, ask, activity, recap. A beautiful combination of all that my TAQA, PTLLS and cert ed taught me - summative and formative assessment. It's the foundations of all good learning, but being passion about what you teach and being a reflective learning role model is just as important; if not more so.
For those of us who have been involved in the criminal justice system, a lack of strong role models is a significant and reoccurring factor of low self-esteem, confidence, purpose, direction and it can perpetuate offending behaviour traits. Negative experiences of school systems, lack of education, too much education, the pressure of the systems; it all ties into what I'm trying to address : engagement with someone who's been there, understands and can help you find your way out of the darkness.
At least, that's what I'd hoped for Coming Home and that's what it has shown to do thus far in it's short lifetime.
Today's session is about all about the digital you, professional vs personal online persona and presence, digital footprint and how to get out from under the media listings on google that cite your crime and not who you are now. Free, trying to be better, do better and rebuild.
Today's session activity - a variety of press print outs of newspaper articles written about female offenders - we were to examine the use of language and how the press dehumanise and demonise women who commit crime or live lives outside of the society norm and that "pressure" I refer to.
"Caged," "Sex-worker," "Addict,"
When referring to women who have been brutally murdered - "Ex-murderer found dead," "Ex-heroin addict,"
Fascinating. Saddening. And all the more reason we use our power within these walls to change it. To be the living, breathing examples of what change can be.
Alas, there is no-one in my classroom today.
The session began at 10am. No-one is here.
Odd. As the event was fully booked online, as a first foray into the world of non-referred work, I let fate decide what women wanted to sign up and attend without the suggestion from their probation officers, offender managers, mental health practitioners, I wanted to test free will.
So imagine my horror upon receiving this text message en-route to my classroom today
I felt sick. Because whilst this is a surprise. It's not.
I've been dealing with shit like this before I went to prison, and after I came home.
Some of the people involved in my court case, rightly, in the moment, felt betrayed by my actions, my dishonesty. But, many years after the fact, they got their day in court, and they got to see me lead down below the crown court and put into a prison van. I was sent to prison. I received a proceeds of crime order. And more than that, I was publicly, nationally, internationally humiliated and maligned in the press far and wide.
Ironically, those words I was due to discuss in today's session; some of them were littered in the articles written about me.
The press reporting of my crime, was a click bait hyperbole of something quite black and white : woman had business, woman got investment, woman lied to investors, woman business went bankrupt, woman lied to investors, investors lost money.
Imagine then, something from 2016, convicted 2020, released end of 2021, remains so prevalent for the people involved that they feel the incessant need to fuck with my life.
Continually, but sporadically, like some twisted game of cat and mouse, always in the background, lurking, and waiting at the most vulnerable moments in time, to appear in the most hideous of ways.
It could be text messages of hate; when I came home, it was barrages of Facebook messages from various accounts wishing me dead, and disappointed I hadn't hung myself in prison.
It was hounding money, telling me a prison sentence didn't get me off the hook and there was still a debt to pay "one way or another,"
It's been like this for years. And I've had enough.
So now, as I sit in my empty classroom surrounded by Coming Home project workbooks and newspaper examples of what women who commit crime are. Let me tell you.
We are human. We are vulnerable. We are broken and recovering.
We are honest. We are working hard. We are changing. We are a constant state of evolution and hope.
I had a waiting list for today's session; I don't know if it was genuine or not or part of this elaborate scam - the irony - a fraudulent act to spam my eventbrite with non-existent people and faux email addresses. The police may not find it as ironic with yet another harassment complain I have filed this morning.
That makes 5 formal complaints of harassment.
The first I placed in 2018. They police told me it was a civil matter. They then came knocking on MY door in 2020 as it was then decided it was a criminal matter - not the harassment; the money. I had committed a crime and these people were acting in frustration.
Second complaint - whilst I was prison. They were harassing my wife, taunting her knowing she was suffering, home alone, with me in jail. They hacked my accounts, they trolled her with false take away orders sent to our apartment, to make sure I knew, and she knew, they knew where we lived.
The third, on the day I came home from prison. On my way home from prison, to probation office, to my apartment, an online complaint - the barrage was incessant. The police took no action; they felt these people were again; frustrated.
I HAD BEEN TO PRISON FOR 10 MONTHS. I HAD PAID MY PROCEEDS OF CRIME. I had lost my liberty, my marriage, my job, my income, my future.
What more did they want from me?
The fourth, a year after coming home from prison, message after message, toxic, hurtful, wishing me dead, reminding me why I wasn't fit to be a mother, hounding me for money.
Re-issuing a county court judgement from 2018 so that my now 2022 salary was deducted with an attachment of earnings order for £350 per month. My first full time job post-prison, having had the conversation with my employer about my conviction, done the DBS check and chat, worked hard to show I'm more than my conviction and got back into education only for the HR department to receive a notification that my salary was to be deducted every month until the debt was paid - it would have taken nearly a decade.
I contested it, wrote to the court, I had been paying the CCJ pre-prison, been sent to prison, instead paid of proceeds of crime order for my fraud, and been released.
The county court said it was a civil debt, it had to be paid, if I wanted to appeal it would cost 10% of the debt to intiate. As if I had that kind of money or strength to fight something that had taken everything from me.
For the people in my case, I know, it was never just money. Yes, a financial loss. But a betrayal.
That's hard to overcome.
But never a slight enough to condone this life sentence.
It's 2024.
I've just won an award for highly commended inspirational woman for my work with Coming Home. A moment of glory and pride. And redemption for me if I"m honest. Setting right some wrongs and rewriting a history that should never have come to pass.
So to have it thrown in my face with yet another anonymous text, another torpedo to my life, my work, my ability to cope and overcome. It makes me sick.
I'm branded, for life, but I unpick that publicly and privately with positive changes to myself, my life, my relationships and my work. It's a lifetime in the making and it will be forever. It's an exhausting task to self-check, self-monitor, overcome the fear, the judgement, the imposter syndrome. It's a wonder I get out of bed on some days, let alone give enough of shit to do what I do, which is go back into the fire and pull other women out. Because if I don't who will?
The system won't. The press won't. The victims won't.
They let us burn.
So who's the victim and who's the perpetrator anymore?
I'm a free woman, I have been since the end of 2021. I've done nothing but claw my way back to stability and hope since then. Overcoming the trauma of prison.
Is it right that I sit in an empty classroom wasting my time and the opportunity for women who need this course, who need this time, who need this hope too?
For what? Some sad little man's games so many years after the fact.
I don't believe in women being sent to prison, but I do believe in justice.
And it's coming for you. As it did for me.
Fairs fair and I'm done being the bad guy.