Too many make federal prison harder than it needs to be. Why? It’s easy to lose perspective while serving a prison sentence (I know I did initially). While inside, I saw people focus so much on what they’ve lost that they miss what remains, setting them up for a miserable experience. I’m not insane, so I am dismissing how difficult federal prison can be, but if you can step back and take stock of what you still have, your time will be more productive.
I met people who spent every day in federal prison consumed by frustration. They complained about their lawyers, Judge, family or fixated all day on the unfairness of it all. Many of these people, like me, didn’t realize how good we had it and how these complaints landed on others.
In a federal prison camp, many people are barely scraping by. Some don’t have family to visit them. Others work multiple jobs for a fraction of what commissary costs. Hearing someone else lament about losing a high salary or the stress of a short prison term can sound out of touch to people. It’s not that your struggles aren’t valid—they are—but when they dominate your narrative, you alienate others and look like a cry baby.
Think about how your life looks to someone else. Maybe you still have a family that supports you, sending money for commissary or visiting regularly. Maybe you have skills that can help you find opportunities after release. It’s not about pretending everything is fine but appreciating the pieces you can still rely on. Gratitude doesn’t solve every problem, but it shifts the focus from what’s gone to what’s left.
I’ve seen the impact of this mindset firsthand. One man I worked with in the kitchen had a wife who visited every other weekend, children who stayed connected, and resources to make prison life manageable. But all he could see was what he’d lost—his career, his status, his freedom. His constant negativity isolated him. Other people avoided him because his complaints felt like a dismissal of their struggles. In contrast, another man I knew with far fewer resources took a different approach. He looked for ways to help others, whether it was tutoring someone for their GED or just listening to someone who felt stuck. His time wasn’t easy, but he was respected and supported, which made a huge difference.
It comes down to a choice. You can focus on loss, or you can focus on what’s left. The first leads to isolation and bitterness; the second opens the door to connection and even moments of hope. Gratitude doesn’t erase the difficulty, but it gives you a foundation to help get through it.
If you find yourself fixating on what’s gone, ask yourself: What do I still have that others might wish for? Is it a phone call from family? A chance to spend time with your kids during visits? Even the ability to put together a meal from commissary items is something not everyone has. Once you start recognizing these things, your perspective shifts. You begin to see ways to make your time meaningful—not because prison is easy, but because you’ve chosen not to let it break you.
Looking inward doesn’t mean ignoring the pain of your situation. It means recognizing that pain alongside what remains. It’s about finding value in small things, appreciating connections, and showing up for others as much as yourself. That choice doesn’t just make prison more bearable—it ensures this experience doesn’t define your life after it’s over.
I am thankful to share the lessons I learned in prison. I hope you find value in them.
Justin Paperny
