The much maligned and tentative steps into "employability skills" before you even know what you want for breakfast, let alone what you want to do for the rest of your life. Where your maroon folder "Record of Achievement," is supposedly your life long bible, whereby your 25m swim in 1995 is an essential proof for any future prospective employer - whilst the maroon folder remains in the lofts of many parents, the fact that paper will dictate your life and career choices is a sad fact that remains. Alas, in 2022, the digital age has ensured that alongside your bits of paper collated over years of education and employment, you also have a remarkable and very accessible digital footprint, that if, like me, happens to cite your indiscretions, will speak louder than any undergraduate degree ever could, or ever will.
Now, I'm not shy to say, I'm a woman of immense privilege, correction, I had a very fortunate upbringing in a way that brought about excellent education, private schooling, grammar school sixth form for bright minds and then university and a job in London swiftly followed. I ticked every box of the ambitious and well-moulded middle class white girl.
Those who read this blog, those who know my story, the story of Francesca Barker, who was indeed once TheBarkerBaker will know that amongst the shine and pontification of privilege was a childhood marred with trauma, abuse, assault and every real life tick box that every single prisoner I met had also come a-cropper.
It is this chequered past, and this road of many missteps that lead to a chaotic and cataclysmic decade of hope, try, fail and steal to try and fail again.
But equally, it is a decade of chaos that lead me to calm, a calm that brought about my getting back into education, to train, to learn, and to teach. To be the person I wanted to be and to live it with every waking moment.
I was reborn, through friendships, relationships, trust, hope, and hard work. But most of all, I found my integrity as a human being, my authenticity as a person, and what so many of us hope to find and often find it all too late and usually when the world has gone to shit - our identity.
I found myself, my true self, when all I had was eroded, erased, removed and lost as I disappeared into a life behind bars, I left my life on the outside and all of those who love me, holding it together by the seams.
One bang of a gavel, meant the job I had retrained for, relearned for, reclaimed myself for, gone in an instant. My reputation, rebuilt, now in ashes. My relationships, hurting and feeling like a death had occured and a mourning period had begun. It was like I had died, because one minute I was in my life, and then I was gone.
In a pandemic prison era, I landed in the justice system at possibly the worst time, when everything was shut down and the exploitation of the degradation of womens rights, dignities and liberties behind bars were decimated all under the guise of covid. Humiliation, degradation, all designed to break the hopes and dreams, and quiet the voices of those in cages waiting to get out.
I almost lost myself. I spent my first night in a prison cell in HMP Styal evaluating the different ways I could commit suicide, bedsheets on barred windows, tied to a bunk bed up high. A sad affair and motivated by one thing - what will people think of me?
My first morning in prison I pressed my cell call bell and asked the prison officer who appeared at the metal grate in my cell door "Am I in the paper?"
Oh yes.
The easier question would have been : which one?
All of them.
The mug shot from when I was a drug addict 11 years ago rolled out in 2020 like that's who I was despite a decade of recovery and clean living - drug free, but not issue free.
The pap shot long lense of me walking into court, in my favourite "teacher coat" carrying a bag I didn't think I would need because my legal team had assured me it was an open and shut suspended situation.
I even made the New York Post, a compliment, I laughed after it all fell apart at the irony of always wanting my writing to reach print press like that, and it turns out, my story hit their pages, but not my words. Oh no, none of this has ever been my words. It's always been theirs.
My words were in court, in apologies and reparations and they fell silent. The only noise that came from that room was that of the media, who perpetuated their version of events to maximise the exposure and clicks of the once great Barker Baker. The paper that made me, enjoyed their time to shame me. It got more coverage, so well done to that reporter - your writing was poor, your facts were weak, and I write with more grace and poise than your shit rag could dare to dream - even with a phrase such a shit rag my friends, I carry more power in truth than you grasp with your click bait misery.
This is who we are in 2022, a society that revels in the sorrows and shame of others because we live in a world where we are so obsessed with mirroring the success stories and the shining lights, that to rise above our own sadnesses, sometimes its easier to revel in others. It's a sign of the times and not necessarily the misguided morality of who we have become.
I digress.
Today, I sat at my little laptop, at my kitchen table, a change of scenery on a Monday morning, not at my quaint home office desk setup during lockdown, pre-prison, you could never knock me for my work ethic, I graft and I always have, no pun intended readers.
Coffee, sign into outlook, see what monday brings, locked out. Odd. But familiar. Sign into teams. Locked. I know how this story ends, for just 6 months ago, I had a similar state of affairs and the tingling in my throat knows how this is going to play out.
I email my boss to let him know I can't access the systems. No reply. I email HR, no reply. My phone rings at 10:30, I sat down to work at 8:30.
The recruiter who sourced me for the role, setup the initial interviews and introductions and laid the breadcrumbs that lead here, to this - Francesca Barker-Mills, Marketing Manager.
"Fran I've been asked to give you a call and let you know that your employment has been terminated with immediate effect. It has come to light over the weekend that you have a criminal history that wasn't made fully aware,"
- Interesting. Throughout my recruitment process, through the recruitment agency, the employer, the employers partners, I was never asked about any criminal convictions, never asked about any criminal disclosure or necessity. Never made aware of any potential issues regarding criminal history as it was a post that required no vetting or DBS.
The law in this country is : Unless an employer asks you to disclose, you don't have to. As it happens, in the second line on my CV - the CV that made its way through the hands of the recruiter, the CEO, the marketing director, HR and partnerships person, cited intrinsically under the section I have aptly named CORE SKILLS because as far as I'm concerned, my lived experience of the justice system is a huge part of the my work ethic, my morals, my drive, and my skill set and I am proud to own it and stand by it - more than anything, because of the way the world works, it's best to air your dirty laundry in a positive way before it's waved from someone elses garden.
The exact wording on my CV is "Lived experience - exoffender custodial sentence, lead by example of empowerment, education and hard work,"
I had assumed having been offered this job, taken up this job, worked my ass off for this job, that one of the key attributes of them hiring me was my excellent CV, more than that, my impeccable interview skills - interviewed several times, by several tiers of management, and then reference checked to the hilt. Previous employers, previous freelance contracts, personal refereee alongside this.
All wonderful endorsements of the one absolute fact that negates any bullshit press coverage : I am damn good at my job, because I have worked hard for it, I have educated myself to know what I am doing, I have worked for companies that have empowered me to build a fierce reputation and skill set than make me formidable at what I do.
Imagine then, as an empowered young woman, fresh out of jail but finally feeling more like me than I have since coming home, on the cusp of regaining some proper financial stability and regularity for my wife and I - now more important than ever, we had the joy of our first IVF appointment just 3 days ago. Imagine, on a Monday morning feeling grateful for the life you live and the path you walk now, to have the rug pulled so ungraciously from under you.
And why?
Because I have a criminal conviction. Yes, and if you had dared to ask me, I would have told you, actually, I have two.
Neither of which define me as a person, and certainly not as a marketing manager.
The law denotes I didn't have to - you didn't ask, and I had assumed you knew, having poked around in my Linkedin profile which cites its very very blatantly, and indeed references this very blog. The fact I talked prolifically in my interviews about my passion for criminal justice and my political lobbying and work in the womens charity sector.
Discrimination? Perhaps.
But let's be honest.
I don't have it in me to fight for the injustice of it. I feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall. I strive, I work, I succeed but it's always with the almighty taste of "gratitude" that any opportunity that comes my way is one born out of risk - I'm not a risk - if we are getting pedantic, statistically according to my probation and OASY risk assessment, I'm 0.02% likely to reoffend again.
I'd bet on that horse.
I'd bet on me.
I do every day.
And more fool you for not doing the same.
Shame on you for making me feel anything less than fucking brilliant.
Because I know who I am and I know my worth, and I am not A3039EP of HMP.
I Francesca Barker-Mills, and I am more than you know.
