Hey everyone, welcome back to Grace Over Guilt. I’m Dan Kaufman. It’s Friday, which means we’re heading back into the kitchen. Probably the only cooking show on earth where the recipes come with concrete floors, steel doors, and the occasional inmate who thinks washing hands is a government conspiracy.

Tell you what, today’s story is a little gross. But don’t worry, I’m not giving you a visual that’ll haunt your dinner plans. The lesson behind it is worth the ride. It’s one of those simple things that punches you in the face once you see it clearly, and the more I’ve thought about it, the more I realize it isn’t really about the kitchen at all. It’s about life. It’s about responsibility. It’s about what we do when the stuff we’re supposed to rely on… doesn’t work.

So yeah. We’re talking about hand washing.

THE PROBLEM

Now, out here in the free world, washing your hands is just the price of civilization. You touch raw chicken or pet your dog or come out of a bathroom stall, and you hit the sink. Soap. Water. Done. We were all trained on this. Kindergarten teachers, lunch ladies, parents… everybody drilled this into our heads.

But inside jail? Everything you assume is “basic” suddenly becomes a luxury.

A lot of the sinks in the pods didn’t work half the time. Some had no soap. Some were so far from the toilet that people just got lazy (and I say that sarcastically, of course), or they convinced themselves the five-foot walk wasn’t worth the hassle. Some guys didn’t give a shit at all. And some couldn’t care even if they wanted to, because the system didn’t give them the resources to do it right. So many times there was no soap in the soap dispenser, and after doing this so many times, what are you going to do?  Most give up…

Now imagine this: dudes who just used the bathroom, dudes who just woke up, dudes who just finished sweating through group rec… coming into the kitchen to prep food for hundreds of people.

No hand washing.

No checking.

No accountability.

If you’re wondering whether that made me cringe, yes, yes it did. And it should make you cringe, too, because when you’re feeding between 200 and 300 people at every meal, hygiene isn’t a suggestion. It isn’t optional. It’s the thin line between a functioning population and a norovirus outbreak that would make the evening news.

But even worse? The guys weren’t entirely wrong for skipping the wash. The system wasn’t helping them. When you create an environment where there’s no soap, no working sink, no enforcement, no structure… of course, people cut corners. People adapt to the system they’re living in.

But the truth is that adaptation becomes ugly really fast.

THE BROKEN SYSTEM

You start to realize something uncomfortable when you live in an environment like that. It’s easy to talk about responsibility when everything around you is functioning. It’s easy to say “follow the rules” when following them is possible.

But inside, the infrastructure fails constantly.

A broken toilet.

No heat in winter.

No AC in summer.

Medical requests that go unanswered for days.

Phones that don’t work.

Showers without hot water for a week.

You’re surrounded by systems that feel like they were built to fail, maintained to fail, and expected to fail. People fall through the cracks all day long, and the cracks are big.

And you know what happens when systems fail?

People mimic the system.

Chaos breeds chaos.

Neglect breeds neglect.

Indifference breeds indifference.

If the environment is sloppy, people get sloppy. If the environment is restrictive and cruel, people get hard and angry. If the environment is hopeless, people stop trying.

So when I’d see guys walk into the kitchen with unwashed hands, yeah, it bothered me. But I also understood it. The system wasn’t helping anyone succeed. It wasn’t encouraging responsibility. It wasn’t creating standards.

But here’s where things get interesting… because that exact dynamic is what sets the stage for responsibility actually to matter.

THE MOMENT SOMEONE STEPPED UP

One day, one of the older guys in the kitchen, a guy who had been through the system for years, saw a younger inmate walk in and go straight to the prep table. The kid put his hands right on the bread like he was making a commercial for “How to Spread Germs 101.”

The older guy looked at him and said, “Hey man, go wash your hands.”

The kid shrugged. “I washed earlier.”

The older guy didn’t flinch. “Before you came in here, you didn’t.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “There’s no soap in the pod.”

And the older guy gave him this look, a look that said, You think that excuses you?

He walked over, turned on our kitchen sink, grabbed the soap, and said, “Doesn’t matter what the pod has. You’re in the kitchen now. Wash.”

And that was it. That was the start of the change.

Not a policy change from the facility. Not a message from administration. Not a sign taped to the wall. One dude with enough internal standards to say: “We’re doing this right.”

After that, the kitchen implemented a rule. Mandatory handwashing for everyone, no exceptions. Before you touched anything, your hands hit soap and water.

The funny part is how obvious this feels. But that’s the thing about obvious solutions, they don’t happen until someone chooses responsibility over complacency.

THE INSIGHT

The more I thought about that, the more I realized this wasn’t about hygiene. It wasn’t about the kitchen. It wasn’t about inmates.

It was about how responsibility works in the real world when the systems around us aren’t doing their job.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: the world is full of broken systems.

Healthcare fails people.

Education fails people.

Family systems fail people.

Legal systems fail people.

Employment systems fail people.

Financial systems fail people.

You’d think this was some big revelation I got out here, but no — I learned it while standing over 50-pound bags of rice wearing a hairnet.

When systems fail, you’re faced with a choice.

You can complain.

You can blame.

You can wait for someone else to fix what’s broken.

Or you can do something with the tiny circle of influence you do have.

Even if the system is outside your control, your response is not.

MY SYSTEMS FAILED TOO

Let’s shift out of the kitchen for a minute.

The legal system failed me.

My attorney failed me.

The courts failed me.

The criminal justice system that’s supposed to protect the innocent absolutely failed me.

And yes, it made me furious. It still does sometimes. When people say, “Everything happens for a reason,” I bite my tongue because not everything happens for a reason; systems are flawed, people make mistakes, and sometimes you get caught in the gears.

But here’s the point that matters:

Anger didn’t fix anything.

Blame didn’t restore anything.

Waiting didn’t move anything.

Every moment I sat there pissed off at the system, I stayed stuck. Every time I told myself, “They screwed me,” I surrendered more of my power. Every time I said “This isn’t fair,” I made myself the victim of something I couldn’t control.

Victimhood feels justified. It even feels accurate. But it doesn’t rebuild your life.

The kitchen taught me something I didn’t expect: sometimes you have to be the one who steps up not because you caused the problem, but because you’re the only one who can do something about it.

I had to create my own hand-washing policy.

PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY ISN’T FAIR; BUT IT’S POWERFUL

This is the part people don’t like to hear.

Responsibility isn’t always fair.

You can be forced to take responsibility for situations you didn’t create.

You can be forced to rise to standards that the system around you doesn’t hold itself to.

You can be forced to grow in ways you shouldn’t have needed to grow.

But here’s the twist: responsibility gives you power the system can’t take away.

Responsibility says, “Yeah, this is broken, but I’m not letting it dictate who I become.”

Responsibility says, “I didn’t ask for this, but I’m still choosing my response.”

Responsibility is how you reclaim control from systems that will never apologize to you.

And that’s the thread that ties everything together, from hygiene rules in a jail kitchen to rebuilding your life after being wrongfully convicted.

THE LARGER TRUTH ABOUT SYSTEMS

People build systems.

People are flawed.

Therefore, systems are flawed.

That’s not cynicism. That’s math.

If you expect systems always to work, you’re going to live disappointed.

If you expect systems to save you, you’re going to live powerless.

But if you learn to navigate the system with your eyes wide open, you’ll see that what really determines your direction is not the system; it’s your choices in the middle of the chaos.

THE STOICISM LAYER

This ties directly into one of the themes that has saved me more times than I can count: Stoicism.

Stoicism teaches one of the most critical distinctions a person will ever learn:

There are things you can control,

and things you can’t.

Everything else is noise.

In jail, that philosophy became a lifeline.

I couldn’t control what the judge did.

I couldn’t control how the attorney failed.

I couldn’t control the broken legal process.

I couldn’t control rumors, gossip, or opinions.

I couldn’t control the system that locked me up.

But I could control how I spent my time.

I could control how I treated people.

I could control how I carried myself.

I could control my mindset.

I could control my standards.

Washing your hands sounds small. But small disciplines in chaos build resilience.

Stoicism taught me that responsibility isn’t about blame, it’s about power.

It’s not about whose fault something is; it’s about who can respond.

And that’s personal responsibility in its most distilled form.

THE CHRISTIAN LAYER

Now, Stoicism gave me structure. Christianity gave me heart.

Christianity teaches that the world is fallen. Humans are flawed. Systems are imperfect. But grace is available.

So when systems fail, the question becomes:

How do I show up in this moment without losing my humanity?

Personal responsibility stops you from falling apart

Grace keeps you from becoming hard and bitter.

Both matter.

Christianity taught me this:

You’re responsible for your actions, but you’re not alone in carrying the weight of them.

You’re accountable for what you do next, not the brokenness of the system you walked through.

You’re called to rise, even when the situation wasn’t fair.

Grace isn’t permission to be passive.

Grace is the fuel for responsibility.

The kitchen rule wasn’t just about hygiene. It was about dignity.

It was about choosing to do what’s right even in a place that doesn’t encourage it.

That’s Christianity in practice.

REAL WORLD PARALLELS

Let’s zoom this out into everyday life.

Maybe your family system failed you.

Maybe your school system failed you.

Maybe the medical system failed you.

Maybe the business world failed you.

Maybe your marriage system collapsed.

You didn’t choose any of that.

But you’re the one who has to decide how you move forward.

Maybe your parents didn’t teach you emotional regulation. That’s not your fault.

But as an adult, it becomes your responsibility.

Maybe your partner didn’t know how to communicate. Not your fault.

But the healing afterward becomes your responsibility.

Maybe the economy crashed and wiped out your career. Not your fault.

But the next step is your responsibility.

This is the part where people confuse responsibility with blame.

Responsibility is about owning the future, not the past.

THE KITCHEN TAUGHT ME THIS:

Better systems make better behavior possible.

But better personal standards make better character inevitable.

A working sink helps.

A working conscience helps more.

REAL RESPONSIBILITY IS INTERNAL

I wish I could say that the jail kitchen system became more functional after the hand washing rule. It didn’t. The pods still didn’t get working sinks. Soap was still hit or miss.

But our corner of the world improved because we chose to improve it.

People underestimate how far personal responsibility can ripple. You raise the bar in one area, others raise theirs. You model the behavior, others follow.

A lot of guys in the kitchen told me later that the rule changed how they carried themselves back in the pod. Some even started washing more often with what little resources they had.

Turns out, when you raise the standard somewhere, it bleeds into everywhere.

MY LIFE AFTER JAIL PROVED THE SAME THING

The systems didn’t magically fix themselves when I got released.

I still had to deal with fallout.

I still had to rebuild relationships.

I still had to carry the weight of something I didn’t cause.

But the habits I formed inside became the foundation for everything I rebuilt outside.

Responsibility became my new normal.

I’m not saying we should accept broken systems. I’m not saying we should shrug and say, “It is what it is.” We should absolutely fight for better institutions, better policies, better leadership, better design.

But while we work on the big picture, we still have to live in the small picture.

Sometimes the system isn’t going to help you.

Sometimes it won’t protect you.

Sometimes it won’t teach you.

Sometimes it won’t save you.

But you still have to show up.

You still have to choose standards.

You still have to decide on your behavior.

You still have to take responsibility for the world immediately around you, even when the larger world is a mess.

Sometimes life forces you to be the one who says, “This is how it should be done.”

Even when it shouldn’t be your job.

Even when it’s unfair.

Even when you didn’t create the mess.

Because that’s where character comes from.

That’s where leadership comes from.

And that’s where rebuilding your life begins.

So whether it’s washing your hands in a jail kitchen or rebuilding yourself after your world collapses, the truth stays the same:

When systems fail, individuals have to step up.

And when individuals step up, systems eventually change.

Grace over guilt. I’ll see you Monday.