I was walking to Nobu in Newport Beach to have dinner with Michael Santos and Matthew Boyer when a journalist called to ask me: “What’s the greatest consequence of being a convicted criminal?”
At first, it seems obvious. Pleading guilty. The Department of Justice press releases. Federal prison. Losing everything you worked for. When you’re in the middle of it, every stage feels like the worst thing that could happen.
But as I kept walking, I realized something I hadn’t said out loud before. The greatest consequence isn’t the loss of money or time. It’s the isolation that comes afterward.
Taking Everything to the Extreme
When I was a defendant, every email or phone call with my lawyer felt like life or death. I obsessed over every update. I panicked when there was no update. I thought if I just worried enough, I could control what was coming.
That’s not unique to me. I hear it from defendants every day. They live in a constant loop of “What does this mean? How bad is this? What will happen to me?” And they assume that once sentencing is over and prison is behind them, the worst is behind them too.
But it doesn’t work that way.
Indifference Comes Later—and It’s Its Own Cost
A few days ago, someone I didn’t know called me, asking to join our team. I spoke with him briefly and said it wasn’t a fit. The next day, he called back threatening to leave negative reviews unless I paid him.
Not long ago, a video I filmed reached a couple million views. The comments rolled in:
“You sound too smooth—typical thief.”
“Nice watch. We know how you got it.”
“You’re just another criminal who got lucky.”
Here’s the truth: none of it bothered me. Not the extortion attempt. Not the online attacks. Not the assumptions about my life or character.
That indifference comes from living with a felony conviction. And with it comes a kind of loneliness most people can’t understand. It’s not just that people judge you. It’s that you stop reacting—to the praise, the hate, or anything in between.
Why This Matters for You
If you’re under investigation or heading to sentencing, you may think your work is over once you plead or once you report to prison. You tell yourself you’ll focus on preparing when the time is right—maybe closer to release.
That is a critical mistake.
Judges, probation officers, and BOP staff are looking now. They’re asking:
- Are you thinking beyond yourself?
- Are you preparing for the personal and reputational fallout?
- Are you documenting efforts that show you understand the scope of what’s happened?
Too many defendants spend all their time fixating on the next hearing, the next motion, or the next call from their lawyer—and in the process, they ignore the one area they can influence: what judges, probation officers, and BOP staff see in their written record and personal conduct.
The Misstep That Costs You Leniency
Most people underestimate the importance of demonstrating change early. They think, “I’ll deal with the hard stuff later—right now, I just need to get through sentencing.”
But the court doesn’t separate the legal from the personal. They will look at how you handle yourself, how you talk about the harm, and what you’ve done to prepare—not just for prison, but for what comes after.
Michael Santos pioneered this strategy through the Release Plan Workbook he authored and donated to thousands of federal prisoners. That workbook laid the groundwork for what is now becoming a recognized standard in policy. It showed defendants how to document progress in concrete, measurable ways that judges, probation officers, and BOP staff take seriously.
Today, defendants can also use PrisonProfessorsTalent.com, a platform where individuals publish their release plans, document personal growth, and build the type of digital footprint that proves to probation officers, case managers, and judges that they are worthy of a second chance.
And if you think a last-minute apology or a handful of character letters will convince a judge or probation officer you’ve changed, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.
It takes daily, consistent work. That might mean writing about what you’ve learned. Preparing a reentry plan. Documenting efforts to repair harm. Not because it will erase what happened, but because it’s the only way to prove you’re doing more than waiting for the next court date.
When that journalist asked me about the greatest consequence, I thought back to those early days as a defendant—overwhelmed, emotional, trying to control everything. Now, on the other side, I know the answer: it’s the isolation that follows, and the indifference it creates.
What are you doing now to show you’re preparing for both?
If you want help building the assets that judges and probation officers take seriously, join our next webinar on Tuesday at 11am Pacific / 2pm Eastern, or schedule a personal call. Start now—not when it’s convenient.
Justin Paperny
