This is the final entry in the 5-part blog series. In Part 4, I shared how prison became the place I started documenting my effort to earn credibility back. Here’s what happened after release.

Coming Home With a Felony Label

I walked out of Taft with more discipline, more awareness, and a clear plan. But I didn’t feel free. I was 34, broke, and trying to catch up. My friends were buying homes, getting married, starting companies. I was applying for minimum wage jobs and handing out a book about my time in prison.

There was no celebration. No sense of relief. I didn’t want a meal or a beach or a drink. I wanted to find a way to stop being a burden to my family. And I wanted people to stop seeing me as a risk.

What Doesn’t Get Talked About After Release

People assume release means a second chance. That’s not how it works. You’re still being judged. You can’t get licensed. You can’t vote. Every job application reminds you that you’re marked.

And you’ll still face questions from probation, from clients, from neighbors. Questions that aren’t really questions—they’re tests. Is he still full of excuses? Or is he doing the work?

What helped me get through that wasn’t just the writing or the workouts or the restitution. It was that I could point to a consistent record of doing what I said I’d do. Every blog post. Every letter. Every meeting I showed up to.

That record mattered more than any resume ever could.

What Most People Don’t Expect

I started getting clients right away. Not because I had a clever pitch. Because people had been following my writing from prison. They saw that I didn’t pretend I was innocent. I wasn’t trying to rewrite the facts. I was building on them.

I cold-called lawyers. Some laughed. Some hung up. Some listened. Enough gave me a shot.

Over time, those conversations led to a team. Then a platform. Then White Collar Advice. But it all started because I didn’t stop working when I got home. I kept publishing. Kept writing. Kept proving that I wasn’t coasting.

That’s what helped me build a business—even with a felony that still shows up in every background check.

Why the Conviction Still Follows Me

There are still nights I sit with my wife or my team and think about how stupid I was. I had good parents. I knew the difference between right and wrong. I didn’t need the money. I had no excuse.

But the work helps. So do the people we help. The guy in Arizona who didn’t know his marketing payments were kickbacks. The woman in Texas who thought silence would protect her. The defendants who tell the truth the first time, not after they’ve been caught lying.

That’s what keeps me going. That’s why I still talk about what happened. That’s why I don’t try to bury the conviction. Because someone else needs to hear what I wish I heard at the beginning.

A Question You Need to Ask Yourself Now

When this is over, what will people find when they Google you?

What record will you have left behind?

You can’t erase your name from the docket. But you can decide what gets built on top of it.

You don’t need to pitch a perfect version of yourself. The only way through this is steady, honest work—one step, then the next. Join our weekly webinar every Tuesday at 11AM Pacific / 2PM Eastern or schedule a personal call. You’ll get guidance from people who’ve lived it—and proved they hadn’t given up on themselves.

Justin Paperny