This is Part 4 of the 5-part blog series. Part 3 ended with a call from my lawyer: I was going to prison. What I did next determined how I’d be treated after release.

The First 24 Hours

When I reported to Taft Federal Prison Camp, my mom and brother dropped me off. I tried to shake hands with the guard. He looked at me like I was clueless and said, “We don’t shake hands with inmates.” Four hours later, after the intake process, I stepped into a camp full of strangers in khakis and white t-shirts, some of them laughing, as if they did not have a care in the world.

I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know how anyone could smile in that place. I barely spoke to anyone until the next day.

Then I met Michael Santos in Dorm D.

He’d already served more than 22 years. He looked me in the eye and said, “How are you doing, young man?” I told him the truth. “Not great.” He replied, “I’ll serve every day of your sentence with you.”

And he did.

What Most People Waste Inside

For the first three months, I exercised for hours every day. I convinced myself I was being productive. Michael corrected me. He asked, “How much are people going to pay you to do those pushups?”

The answer was obvious. No one.

That’s when he pushed me to start documenting what I was doing with my time. Not vague reflection—actual proof. Book reports. Daily writing. I started a blog from inside. Mail started coming in from readers. That blog turned into a book. That book turned into White Collar Advice.

None of it was the plan. But all of it began with one step: stop wasting time on activities that feel productive but don’t prove anything.

The Record I Built From a Prison Library

Every day I documented how I was using my sentence. I sent letters to my probation officer. I showed them how I was preparing to contribute again. I didn’t just say I was going to follow the rules. I showed them how I was building a work ethic they could rely on.

That’s what separated me from the guys still sitting around talking about who their lawyer screwed and why they didn’t deserve to be there.

I read books and wrote short essays about what I learned. I published them. I shared them with my family, my probation officer, and even the BOP. That work changed the tone of how I was treated. Not immediately—but consistently. The pattern mattered.

What Made Me Credible When I Came Home

When I got out, I didn’t have to beg for a second chance. I already had one. My probation officer, Isaiah Murrow, knew I wasn’t just another guy trying to talk his way into early release. He had read my work. He had seen the consistency. So when I told him I wanted to help other defendants, he gave me the space to prove it.

That never would have happened if I had spent my sentence bench pressing and watching ESPN. It happened because I used each day to create something I could point to.

Most people wait until after prison to start rebuilding. I started inside. That’s why I didn’t stay stuck in it.

A Question You Need to Ask Yourself Now

If someone looked at how you’re spending time today, what would they learn about you?

What would your probation officer say? A judge? Your victims?

You don’t need to impress anyone. But if you want to be taken seriously, you need to show—not tell—that you’re using this time for something that matters.

Don’t waste your sentence doing time. Document it. Prove it. Join our weekly webinar every Tuesday at 11AM Pacific / 2PM Eastern or schedule a personal call. We’ll show you how to build a daily record that makes people pause and rethink their assumptions about you.

Justin Paperny