Step One: Get Honest
I hate interviewing for jobs. I HATE it. Humans are equipped with a natural flight or fight system and it isn’t until those brief moments prior to being called back into an office with unfamiliar faces, that I know which instinct will hit me the hardest.
In my mind, I KNOW that on the surface I look good to a potential employer. I am highly educated, intelligent, and driven. I have an extensive resume and I am very careful about my physical presentation. I have long blonde hair and I smile at all the right moments. I nod my head and laugh when appropriate. I make sure not to cross my arms or exhibit any body language that could be perceived as withdrawn or defensive. I am careful to sit in a relaxed posture with my legs crossed, body leaning in toward the person(s) interviewing me.
As I sit and listen to my potential employer chirp away, I await the dreaded moment I know will come; that awkward part of the interview process in which I am asked a certain question in the form of a statement, “So, tell us a little about yourself.” This is the point in which my mind races in a frantic effort, “Where to begin?”
While I am certain many others have experienced this same moment, I am also equally certain that for most, they do not experience it for the same reason. I experience anxiety in this moment because below the surface, in between the carefully crafted lines of my resume, hiding behind my education and smile, is a former heroin addict and convicted felon.
I was a teacher, a mother, and a wife. I WAS many things. There is a stigma associated with addiction. That stigma is many things, and one is that substance use disorder, is a choice. I did not go to career day at school thinking that homelessness and IV drug use sounded amazing.
In fact, I hated drugs, and I too once shared the opinion that addiction was a choice. I resented and hated my older brother for being an alcoholic because, I couldn’t understand why he would not stop. I hated him even more when the bottle finally drowned his sorrows and him. He died at 29 years old.
Many years after his death, I became sick. I was diagnosed with dysplasia and the early stages of cervical cancer cells were detected at my annual pap-smear. I could not take off work for surgery or I would lose my income. I had to take prescription pain killers until I was able to have a partial hysterectomy. I did not realize the effect they had on me, until the day came, as it always does, that there were no more prescriptions to be filled.
I did not know what withdraw or detox was, but I quickly figured it out. I also quickly remedied it by purchasing pain killers off the street. There is most definitely a slippery slope, and this is where mine began to quickly spiral down.
I quit my job, sold everything I had, broke the law, and went to jail. In the years of 2011-2013, second chances in the form of rehabilitation programs were not as plentiful, nor was the law as lenient. I was in jail a year. I can firmly attest that jail is the worst; at least in prison you can have a job and smell fresh air on occasion. Luckily, the court system took mercy, granted a reconsideration, and allowed me to come to Huntington to get the help I so desperately needed.
My mugshot in 2012 when I was processed at Southern Regional Jail in Beckley.
I entered a program and I graduated. My father begged me to return home to Bluefield. He would say to me that, “Huntington’s the heroin capital!” What I tried to explain to him was, I had found Hope in Huntington.
I had never been in a place in which I had witnessed a community so supportive. I had never witnessed people fallen from grace, pick themselves up through their fellow’s support, and then so selflessly do the same for others.
I found Hope in Huntington. I found grace. I found community and I found support.
Once upon a memory, I used to panic in job interviews. Once upon a time, no one would hire me because of my mistakes. Once, but no more.
Today, I have the pleasure sharing my story. Today, I have people tell me what a special story I have, and as much as I would like to take that credit, I can’t, because I am not alone. There are many of us, all with special stories, and it is here, on Mountaineer Media, that my Hope is you will join me each week to learn about other individuals, the programs, the resources, and how we ALL found Hope in Huntington. My HOPE is that my readers find it too.
