(The One About How to Start Reflecting on It Instead)
Hey friends,
If you’re anything like I was thirty-five years ago, the last thing you want to do is sit quietly and think about the past. You’ve already lived it. You’ve already paid for it. Why drag it all up again?
Because running from your history doesn’t make it disappear – it just keeps chasing you. Every time a job application asks about convictions, every time an old friend’s name pops up on Facebook, every time your kids ask an innocent question that brushes too close to the truth, that unexamined past jumps out and bites.
I spent years dodging mirrors, changing the subject, and pretending the 1992 RICO indictment never happened. But the more I avoided reflection, the heavier the shame became. Reflection isn’t punishment – it’s the only way to take the power back. When you finally look at your history without flinching, you stop being its prisoner and start being its author again.
My Wake-Up Call
One night during home confinement, I couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, the kids were asleep, my wife was breathing softly beside me. I stared at the ceiling and felt the full weight of everything I’d done: the satellite decoder scheme, the lies to investors, the embarrassment I brought to my family, the cancer my son was fighting while I was too proud to ask for real help.
Instead of pushing it down like I usually did, I got out of bed, grabbed a legal pad, and just started writing. No editing. No pretty words. Just the ugly truth. By the time the sun came up, I had six pages of raw honesty – and for the first time in years, I didn’t hate the man who wrote them. I felt… lighter. Not fixed. Not redeemed yet. Just lighter.
That single night of forced reflection was the beginning of accepting my history instead of letting it define me in secret.
Why Reflection Works (Even When It Hurts)
Reflection does three powerful things:
1. It separates who you were from who you are becoming.
2. It turns vague guilt into specific lessons you can actually use.
3. It builds self-compassion – because once you see the full picture (the fear, the desperation, the bad decisions), it’s harder to keep beating yourself up like you’re still that same broken person.
Most of us avoid reflection because we’re afraid of what we’ll find. But the truth is: you already know the worst parts. Putting them on paper doesn’t make them worse – it makes them manageable.
Your Reflection Exercise This Week
This isn’t therapy homework. It’s a practical tool I still use when old shame tries to sneak back in. Grab a notebook, find a quiet spot (kitchen table at 5 a.m., car during lunch break, whatever works), and give yourself 20–30 minutes. No phone. No distractions.
Step 1: Write the Facts (5–7 minutes)
No feelings yet – just the timeline. Bullet points are fine.
- What exactly did I do?
- When did it start? When did it end?
- Who was directly hurt (family, victims, coworkers, myself)?
- What were the legal/financial/family consequences?
Example from my pad that first night:
- Sold satellite dishes with illegal decoders, 1989–1991
- Indicted Feb 1992, 12 federal felonies, home confinement
- Lost house, truck repossessed, bankruptcy
- Applied for Food Stamps because I couldn’t feed my family
- Kids had to hear it on the radio
Keep it factual. No “I’m a monster” or “It wasn’t my fault.” Just the record.
Step 2: Write the Why (5–7 minutes)
Now dig a little deeper. Ask:
- What was I feeling right before I made those choices?
- What fear or pressure was driving me?
- What lie was I telling myself to justify it?
For me:
- I was terrified of losing the house while my son was sick.
- I felt like a failure as a provider.
- I couldn’t feed my family.
- I told myself “this isn’t really stealing satellite signals – it’s just bending a broken system.”
Be brutally honest here. This is where the shame starts to crack open – not because you’re bad, but because you were human and scared.
Step 3: Write the Cost & the Lesson (5–7 minutes)
- What did my choices ultimately cost me and the people I love?
- What did those costs teach me that I couldn’t have learned any other way?
My answers:
- Cost: trust with my wife and kids, reputation, financial security, years of peace.
- Lesson: Desperation is a terrible decision-maker. Pride keeps you from asking for help. Honesty – even when it’s ugly – is the only way out of the hole.
Step 4: One Sentence of Acceptance (1 minute)
Finish with this:
“I accept that [brief fact of what happened]. It was wrong, I paid for it, and I’m choosing to grow from it every day.”
Mine was:
“I accept that I committed federal fraud out of fear and pride. It was wrong, I served my time and paid my fine, and I’m choosing to live honestly every day.”
Read that sentence out loud. It might feel awkward or even fake at first. That’s okay. Say it again tomorrow. And the next day. Repetition turns acceptance from a feeling into a fact.
What Happens Next
You don’t have to share this with anyone yet. This first reflection is for you. But once you’ve done it, something shifts. The past stops feeling like a secret weapon someone could use against you. It becomes just… history. A chapter. Not the whole book.
I still do a version of this exercise every year around the last week of the December – when I’m thinking about how to be the best version of myself for the next year. Not because I’m stuck, but because remembering keeps me grateful – and keeps me vigilant.
Quick Check-In
After you finish the exercise, come back here and drop one sentence in the comments (anonymous if you want):
“What’s one thing you learned about yourself from looking at your history without running?”
No pressure to overshare – just one honest sentence. I’ll be reading every word.
You’ve already carried this weight long enough.
Now let reflection do its job by lightening the load – one page, one sentence, one day at a time.
— Joe