Flo is a proud mother of three: two-year old twins and a five-year old. She works in higher education, supporting students working toward their GEDs and navigating their own paths forward. But getting here wasn’t easy.

For Flo, the hardest part wasn’t what she went through; it was trying to understand it.

At 21, she found herself navigating the criminal legal system for the first and only time in her life. 

In 2007, Flo was incarcerated. She shared that she had grown up sheltered and trusted the wrong people, and her inexperience and trusting nature were taken advantage of. She was pulled into a confusing legal system that, even after years of release, overwhelmed her. 

“The hardest part was not knowing what anything meant,” Flo reflects. “You’re expected to follow rules and requirements you don’t fully understand and sometimes those expectations often shift depending on who is overseeing your case. At the same time, you’re not met with any dignity or respect. You’re just defined by your record.”

What she didn’t realize was that her mistake would continue to follow her everywhere. Long after her sentences and requirements ended, the consequences didn’t.

“People think it [your sentence] ends with court or once requirements are completed,” she says. “It doesn’t. It follows you…into jobs, housing, opportunities. And even into how people see you and treat you before they even know you.”

That reality became painfully clear when Flo was offered a position at an institution that claimed to support systems-impacted individuals, only to have the offer rescinded after her background check.

It was a place she was already working for. A space where she had already proven herself.

“It didn’t make any sense,” she says. “It was devastating. A slap in the face.”

In that moment, everything she had worked so hard for felt overshadowed by a past she could not change.

What followed was a period Flo describes as one of her darkest since her release.

Shame weighed heavily. She questioned her worth. She had to relearn how to see herself beyond what had happened, especially as a young person who, at the time, was still learning how to set boundaries and find her voice.

But she wasn’t alone. Her family, her faith, and the unwavering belief from those closest to her kept her grounded. “They saw me as me, not as my mistake,” she says. And slowly she began to gain her confidence and rebuild.

Her turning point came when she stopped asking how she would survive and started asking how she could create change.

“I realized my experience wasn’t just something I went through, but it was something I could use.”

Flo began getting involved in her community – joining programs, seeking mentorship, and stepping into leadership spaces. She served on the state-wide boards for higher education, contributed to initiatives for the Freedom Education Project Puget Sound (FEPPS), and became a certified peer support counselor through the Washington State Health Authority, working with students who shared similar barriers.

Through the Formerly Incarcerated College Graduates Network (FICGN), she found something she hadn’t before: community – people who truly understood.

Professionals. Students. Leaders. People who looked like her and carried stories like hers.

That sense of belonging deepened through her connection with Civil Survival.

From early meetings on college campuses to becoming part of the 2026 cohort of the Unlocking Legislative Advocacy (ULA) fellowship, Civil Survival helped create a safe space where Flo felt supported, empowered, and seen.

“Civil Survival gave me community, safety, and the confidence to step into my voice,” she says. “ ULA helped me understand how policy works, how decisions are made, and that my voice actually belongs in those spaces.”

Through the fellowship, she learned how to navigate systems, but more than that, she learned how to challenge them, how to tell her story, and how to advocate for others.

Her commitment to change has remained steadfast since her childhood. She remembers her grandmother reading her Les Misérables and the story of Jean Valjean stayed with her. Specifically, she recalls the moment when the bishop shows compassion and offers him a second chance.

“That stayed with me. That single act of compassion, how it changed someone’s life. It showed me how life-changing second chances are.”

Flo is clear about what needs to change: a sentence should end when it’s completed. But for many, it doesn’t. Records continue to block access to jobs, housing, and professional licenses, impacting entire families and communities.

Now Flo is looking ahead. Her journey has inspired her to consider running for office, driven by a desire to see leaders with lived experience creating change in communities.

“We need people at the table who understand what rebuilding actually looks like,“ she says.

And what keeps her commitment to community so strong? Her children. 

“I want them to be proud of me. I want their paths to be easier than mine, and to know that no matter what you go through, you can turn it into something meaningful.”

Flo knows she can’t change her past. But she’s already changing what comes next, for herself and others walking the same path.

And through her work, her voice, and her leadership, she’s helping ensure justice-impacted people are given the dignity and second chance they deserve.

Flo, thank you for sharing your story. It takes courage.