Tag: children

A New Plan

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

You know when you sit down to write your blog or finish it, and you have a plan…a perfectly good plan. Maybe even an interesting plan (you hope)…and instead of following the plan, which is what you’ve focused on, your writing takes you here….

When I was 29, I was in the middle of a divorce. My husband at the time had informed me he was gay…well, that makes it sound like we sat down and talked about it. He informed me by having affairs. Although he said a one-night stand was not an affair. I’m not sure the label really mattered. We were in a marriage counselors office, and the pastor of our church was there with us. I don’t remember why he was there, but he was a friend. The counselor began the session by asking a question, “Can we all agree that at this point (fill in name here) has not acted on his feelings?” I said yes right away. I can’t remember if my husband said yes or nothing. When she got to the pastor, he said he couldn’t answer the question. This is where you’d inject the Debbie Downer music. Seriously, where does a counseling session go after that. I don’t remember anything anyone said the rest of the hour. On the way home he confirmed that he had in fact had an affair…or one night stand or whatever the fuck you want to call it. He didn’t volunteer the information, but he did answer me honestly when asked.

Our separation began that day. I told him he had to go until he decided what he wanted. He didn’t think he wanted to be married anymore…at least not to me. Now if you’re thinking, “They’re both gay?” That’s true we are. I’ve written about it before. Look at my blog post “Gay by Design” and you’ll get your questions answered…or email me. I won’t go back through the whole story now because that’s not where I’m headed…at least I don’t think so. I’ve been surprised once already today.

So, we separated. He, thinking this was a short-term problem, started sleeping on the couch at his office. It was a family run business, and his mom was his boss…and a lovely person. I don’t know why he thought this would be a quick reconciliation, but he did. I was at home with a 4-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 4-month-old infant. So, I was bored. Lol…that would be hysterical, right!?

All of this was taking place in Colorado. I graduated from the University of Colorado, got married, and then made my home there. I always said Chicago was a good place to be from…and I was. I went to junior high and high school in Naperville, the fastest growing suburb of Chicago at the time. Before my wedding, my parents moved back to St. Louis, where my sister and I were born and where my parents grew up. Now the scene is set….

So, I was talking to my mom one day…on the phone of course…and I was stressed. Have you ever noticed how all your children need you NOW as soon as you pick up the phone? It’s a law of nature. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but my mom wanted me to move back to St. Louis and live with them. She wanted me to move “home.” I told her that Colorado was my home now and that I wasn’t going to move. I would not take my kids away from their dad…plus it seemed like a bad idea, although I know she was offering me help. I said no and she said, “That’s okay. You won’t make it out there by yourself and you’ll end up back here.” Excuse me, what the fuck did you just say? That was what I thought but I said nothing. That moment is seared into my memory, so I feel confident that this was her exact quote. Need I say this was not the best time of my life.

I was stunned. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. In my mind I wondered if she wanted me to fail. And why would she? I got off the phone fast. I was devastated. Who says that to their daughter? Their daughter going through a divorce with 3 children under the age of 5? Why would she say that to me? My self-confidence was already at an all time low. And this wasn’t just about me. I had 3 little precious humans looking to me for security and answers to why daddy didn’t want to be married anymore. They depended on me to make everything okay for them even after their world was turned upside down. If I was okay, they knew they’d be okay. I was about as far from okay as you can be but my 3 little babies depending on me was more than enough motivation. Children take their cues from us, so I needed to fake it until I really was okay again.

So, we survived and lived happily ever after…yay. That’s not the point of the story. I’ve been reading about trauma and core language…as in what your core beliefs are that you communicate to yourself. Turns out I have a core message rumbling around in this head telling me that I won’t make it. I’ll never make it…I will always fail. At what specifically? Everything. The things that make you “successful.” In my family, a career and money were the main factors in success. A job people would ohhhh and ahhhh at and enough money to set yourself apart from others…providing a feeling of superiority. Being a “have” and not a “have not.”

Divorced with 3 babies…not a “have” for sure. A degree in psychology…but I “don’t know anything about psychology.” A master’s degree in counseling…but that wasn’t from a “real” school. A child protection worker…let someone else do that. Law degree…check. (I got one). A lawyer representing abused and neglected children…was I afraid to make money? I never even mentioned my last master’s degree. No point. Developed and ran a mindfulness program for young children…a what? So many fails. So many “not enoughs” … not even close.

I’ve heard the definition of sin as “missing the mark.” I think that may be the definition of my life according to my parents, not the sin part, but always missing the mark. Never quite got it right. Never making it…according to them.

But here’s the thing, my thoughts, my actions, my beliefs, my feelings are mine. All mine. They are my choices. No one else makes those choices for me. So, when I hear negative messages about myself, I have a choice…believe it or ignore it. Now when I was younger, it didn’t feel like much of a choice. Kids, even adults, believe what their parents tell them…because parents are supposed to know. Right? It took a long time to learn that just because they said something and they believed it didn’t make it true. It makes it their opinion. That’s all. Certainly, they’re entitled to their opinion…I wish they had not shared them so freely.

But now, now I’m a grown ass women (as my daughter loves to say) and I make my own choices. I decide what I believe about me…not my parents, not anyone else. Even though my parents are dead I still hear their voices in my head. Repeating messages of the past. The question now is how I respond to those voices, theirs and others. Everyone has an opinion. If I go along blindly with whatever the opinion of the day is about me then I abdicate my responsibility to myself. That would be failing…not making it…not succeeding. My success is not something I owe anyone, except myself. And I am the only one who knows what success looks like for me.

We become what we believe…what we think. With our thoughts we create the world. That’s why individuals can experience the same event and each interpret it differently and respond to it differently. We see differently because we think differently. We see differently because the framework through which we see the world and make sense of it is unique to each of us. We all have a story of what is real or not real, true or false, accepted or rejected. Everything we see, hear, feel, or experience goes through that story…the narration of our life…according to us.

I can be taught to believe certain things. I can be told all sorts of stories. And I can experience a lifetime of challenges or successes. Ultimately, the only thing that’s real and true for me is what I tell myself. What I believe is what I make real. That is what is true for me. I am the only person with the power to change the story that I have created about my life. Only me. I created it. I can change it. It is a tremendous act of self love to tell myself the truth…to tell yourself the truth. It requires awareness on my part. To know myself well enough to know what’s true. And the wisdom to know that what’s true today may not be true tomorrow…because I am always changing. You are always changing.

I want to be more…more kind, compassionate, loving, understanding, flexible, open, present, aware. I want that for me. I want that for you. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Love yourself enough to know yourself. Love other people enough for them to feel safe in sharing who they are. And believe them when they show you. Whatever the question is, love is the answer…always.

Not So Stupid After All

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment


So, I have been reading What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo. It’s a wonderful book so I’m reading it for the second time. She was horribly abused as a child, physically and emotionally. The physical abuse was quite significant. I worked with abused children for 20 years. Her story is horrible and compelling. Her ability to describe the process she went through to heal is so honest and real. It’s brilliant…hence the second time reading it. I highly recommend it.


Families are funny, as in strange, for many reasons but for now I’m thinking about how each child in a family is raised by a different parent than the others. I don’t remember who came up with the idea…definitely a family systems person…possibly Bowlby. Family systems theory basically says that a family functions as a system, and everyone has their unique role in keeping the system functioning. That’s a simplistic one sentence summary but it gives you the general idea. Within the system if someone changes or does something different it can throw the whole family off kilter. Kind of like throwing a stick into the spokes of a bike someone is riding…there’s gonna be a crash…. Speaking of bikes and crashes, when I was 9ish I was riding a tandem bike with my friend…who shall be nameless because I don’t remember her name. She was in the front steering, and I was right behind her. With the inherent wisdom of 9-year-olds, we decided that she should steer with her eyes shut and I would direct her, all while riding down a hill that, at the time, seemed huge…we lived in Wisconsin, so it was definitely not huge. Anyway, we started down the hill, and I yelled, “Go left! Go left!” And she went right, way right…into a mailbox. Huge crash, blood everywhere…not exactly. My friend ran off crying and I scraped my knee. And I’m pretty sure it was her mailbox…and it was made of bricks and cement. Only did that once.


Now I’m back from my wandering…All of that was to say that families shift and change, so each child’s experience of their parents is different…as if they were different people all together. That seems to be true for my sister and me. She’s 17 months older than I am, even though she convinced my children that she was younger than me. It took years for me to convince them that she was kidding…I probably had to show them my birth certificate. Little fuckers. ❤️


My sister and I have some very different memories from when we were kids. Our perceptions were different as well. I remember things that my sister doesn’t, and she remembers tons of stuff that I don’t. I seem to remember more painful memories. I was emotionally abused as a child. I believe sister was too, although her perception is different. I was told that I was dumb and stupid. That when they passed out brains, I thought they said trains and I missed mine. When it came to brains I got the short end of the stick. That I didn’t know anything about whatever we were discussing…especially if it was something I majored in or involved my career. My sister was told those things as well. “I don’t know how we had such stupid children.” While my parents lived with us my mom frequently called me a dummy. I am very sensitive about being called dumb or stupid or being told, as I regularly was “that’s the problem you’re thinking again.”


The insults to my intelligence and my ability to think were the most hurtful to me. I am someone who thinks a lot. In fact, I overthink a lot. But I make sense of the world by thinking. My thinking leads to my writing. I think about patterns in my life, I read books and think about the information in connection to my experiences. Sometimes I just sit and think…kind of like Winnie the Pooh sitting there tapping his head and repeating, “think, think, think.” If something is heavy on my mind…I sit and sort and think. So, the implication that I don’t think or I’m too stupid or dumb to understand something really hurts me at my core…in my heart. It damages my understanding of myself and the world…or it used to.


Sometimes I think I have so many degrees because I was trying to convince myself that I wasn’t stupid. When I was getting my master’s in counseling, I wrote a paper on…I have no idea. Too long ago. What I do remember is the professor writing on my paper that I had the second highest grade in the class and that it was a “brilliant” analysis. No one had ever used the word brilliant in connection to me. I cried. That was the first time that I realized I wasn’t stupid. The tears were full of anger and relief…anger at the messages I’d been given growing up and relief that they were wrong. And sadness that I spent so many years believing everything my parents said. They were the adults and so I thought they were right.


I have mentioned before that I have done a good amount of therapy. At one point in my psychological journey, I did EMDR…eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. I called it the light bar…sounds like a bar that serves only lite beer…and I was there drinking with my therapist. Anyway, in EMDR you focus on one memory that is particularly painful and emotionally charged for you…it’s juicy, as Pema Chodron would say. It’s a trigger. I picked being told I was stupid. Back then that was fireworks for me. So, I got the memory in my head and tapped into my feelings, all the while tracking the lights on the light bar moving rapidly back and forth across the bar. When it was over, I had an epiphany. I told the therapist that when my parents told me I was stupid, I wasn’t stupid, I just disagreed with them. I had a different perspective and to them that was being stupid. EMDR took a lot of the fire out of the word stupid…not all of it but it was a huge difference. I thought EMDR was magic.


I also think there was physical abuse in my house. I never had marks or bruises. Although when I was little, I never looked to see. I had some bruises, fingerprints on my arm, once when I was a teenager…from my dad. I think that hitting children is abusive. My sister and I were hit with a belt and a brush…that’s abusive. Even though spanking may have been standard practice in the 60’s, that doesn’t make it less abusive.


I spanked my oldest daughter but not my other two kids. I feel bad because I had to learn parenting with her. At the time, the far-right church I went to encouraged spanking your children. And the church was my teacher. They told us not to use our hands to spank but to use an object…like a wooden spoon. Which I did. Once. That’s all it took to realize they were wrong. We tell children to calm down and stop crying while we hit them…that makes no sense.


The thing about spanking children is that we do it when we’re angry. We ask our child to do something or stop doing something and they don’t. We probably ask more than once and then exasperated we spank them. We teach them that it’s okay to hit people smaller and less powerful than them. We hit the most vulnerable people in our world. We teach kids that when you’re angry and don’t know what to do you can hit someone…and then blame them for it.
We’re teaching our children that physical violence is a legitimate way to solve problems…and it’s not. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” and all that other bullshit. We confuse fear with respect. We think if our children are afraid of us then they respect us. But fear doesn’t breed respect, it breeds resistance, defiance, shutting down. It leads to avoidance. I avoid people I am afraid of. There may be people I fear that I respect but I do not respect them because of that fear. I respect them in spite of it.


One day we were talking about corporal punishment with my parents…not sure what started that mistake of a conversation. My dad told my wife that he made my sister and I go and get the brush to hit us with to humiliate us. My wife was gobsmacked for sure. I was too. Who intentionally tries to humiliate anyone, let alone a child? My mom was angry we were having the conversation and said, “I’m sorry. I guess you had a horrible childhood.” But that wasn’t my point. My point was that hitting children is not a good disciplinary tactic. It doesn’t teach any of the positive things we might want it to. It teaches fear and division. It teaches lying and deception…if I don’t get caught, I don’t get hit. It’s hypocritical to tell children they aren’t allowed to hit and then we turn around and hit them. That’s crazy making shit.


So maybe I’m not stupid but why did it take so long, and so much school, to come to that realization? And why did I need a teacher to praise me to recognize that? Why couldn’t I see it within myself? Hard questions. Maybe we form the internal vessel in our children that holds their thoughts and beliefs about themselves. Children think their parents know everything…at least until they’re teenagers…so when a parent throws around words like stupid, dumb, lazy, or tells them that they are too much or too little, their children believe them. Children incorporate that information as a fact in their lives. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me…that’s some unhelpful bullshit.


Our words hurt and wound and damage other people. The good news is that our words can also heal. If you tell your children how much you love them, that you’re proud of them that means something to them. That is validation that helps them form their image and beliefs about themselves. Instead of tearing them down, build them up with praise…praise for the wonderful qualities they bring to this world. We don’t tell our children often enough that they are kind, compassionate, intelligent, capable, honest, loyal, hardworking, determined, loving, understanding…the list could really go on and on. There is no shortage of words available to describe our children and to encourage them to grow and believe in themselves. And really, I still want to hear those things. I want to feel that I am loved. Everyone wants to be loved. I still tell my adult children how much I love them, that I’m proud of them, and how lucky I am to be their mom. No one is too old for praise and encouragement. No one is too old to love or be loved.


Let’s focus on love. Let’s lead with love. We get plenty of negative messages about ourselves from the world. Now maybe there are people thinking that we can’t just be all about love with our children because the world is a hard place, so we need to do our part to toughen them up. No we don’t. Life will happen and they will grow stronger…they don’t need the negativity or bullying to come from us. That does so much damage. Let’s make sure our homes are places where we encourage and challenge our children to become the best version of themselves. And with respect, kindness, compassion, understanding, and tons of love that person will emerge. In the end, all that matters is how we love people. Let’s love our children and each other fiercely.

Gender…To Assign or Not To Assign…That Shouldn’t Be A Question

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

In the past, I suggested that parents should have a three-day waiting period before they can name their baby. It makes sense to get to know someone before you name them. Now, I have another suggestion, and that is that we eliminate the terms male/female, boy/girl from our vocabulary. What would it be like if someone had a baby and when we asked them the “what did you have?” question they answered “a baby” because after all it’s not a puppy. So, we call it a baby and then refer to it as they or them. What if we did that until the baby grew up and decided what they wanted to be called? Or better yet what if we never needed to be called anything? We were all just people with a name. How empowering would that be? The affirmation of gender identity and expressions…and the respect of all people as unique individuals.

Gender is the first label we give a baby. We want to know what our baby is before it’s even born. We’re so excited about assigning gender that we have gender reveal parties…some of which have caused huge fires and lots of destruction…maybe that’s a sign to stop…but I digress. If we meet someone with children we ask, “What do you have?” Well, they’re children of course. Did I not just say that? But that’s not what people want to know. They want to know the assignments…how many boys and how many girls. What would someone do if we just said we had baby or two children or three adult children?

Gender is a made-up distinction created to categorize people. And to prioritize them. Men are valued more than women, so we need to know who’s most important. We put labels on people to put them in neat little boxes for our own comfort…for our own ease of living or thinking or understanding. For our own valuation and control. And we do it from birth. Hell, we do it before birth with our desire to know our baby’s gender before they’re even born. We act like it’s critical that we be assigned a gender but why? It’s only necessary because we say we must have that label…or because we need to assign value. Because that’s what we’re doing we aren’t assigning gender we’re assigning value and worth.

I think everyone should use the pronouns they/them. Then no one would be misgendered. I have been called “sir” many times. Some of the people at my mother’s nursing home asked her if I was her son. Sometimes I just called he or sir. When I was in high school, we were going on vacation I guess and a flight attendant, (then referred to as a stewardess…see how we can change), told my mom she had a nice-looking son. She was so mad at me. I’m not sure exactly why because I didn’t do anything. I tried to make a joke out of it and said, “At least she said I was nice-looking.” I’m pretty sure the reaction I got was that she should have never let me cut my hair.

I hate being called a man. It’s embarrassing and something more…it’s spirit wounding. It’s humiliating. It feels as though I’ve done something wrong…or that I am something wrong. I’m not sure there’s another way to feel less seen than being misgendered. And why do we need to mention gender all? Why can’t we refer to someone as a person instead of a man or a woman? Why must we assign a gender to everything? There’s no reason to add ma’am or sir to a sentence like “can I help you?” My gender has nothing to do with anything…unless you’re only going to help me if I’m a man, and then you have all kinds of problems.

When I was talking with my wife about being misgendered, she said, “It’s because of your hair.” She’s always helpful. My hair is very short, and I could go shorter. Why am I supposed to have long hair? Long hair is very attractive on some people, but I hate it for me. Certainly, more men are growing their hair long…and I don’t understand…it’s so hot. It’s my personal opinion that people assigned male at birth get all the best hair cuts, all the best clothes…definitely all the comfortable clothes. I’ve always been envious. Women’s clothing is too short and too tight…and shoes with 4 inches heels? Seriously? Fuck no!

When I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to have short hair. My mom made me keep it long and then got mad at me when it was all knotted. She called it a “rat’s nest.” Thanks for that image. The thing is I didn’t sign up for long hair…she did…although her hair was short so that’s confusing. We lived in Wisconsin during my forced long hair period of my life…really it’s just when I realized I couldn’t have short hair. I had to have long hair and, to make it even worse, girls were not allowed to wear pants to school. How fucked up is that? Apparently, I talked to the principal and convinced him to drop that rule. I don’t actually remember. So, the policy changed but not my mom. She still wouldn’t let me wear pants. Fortunately, in the winter it was freezing cold, so girls wore pants under their skirts to keep their legs warm. I did that too. And then instead of taking the pants off when I got to school, I took off the skirt. That way I got to wear pants too…super clever. It didn’t work so well with dresses. Eventually I got to wear pants and in 7th grade I got a haircut…remember the shag? It sounded better than it looked.

There’s some Bible verse that says a woman’s hair is her crown…or some bullshit used to make sure women know their place. The submissive, subservient female always deferring to a man…always. I was accused of hating men once. Why?  Because I’m a lesbian. That’s some bullshit…some so called “Christian” bullshit. Personally, I’m a Buddhist. Buddhist monks and nuns shave their heads. That’s definitely where I belong. How does gender labeling happen in communities where everyone shaves their heads and wear the same robes?

I heard Glennon Doyle talk about gender once on her podcast. She said she feels her gender is something she wears on the outside. She wears her female gender outwardly but doesn’t feel “female” on the inside. I can totally relate to her. I identify myself as female but by societies standards my gender presentation is more male. I like sweats, tennis shoes, and t shirts. My wife says that my shorts are “sweat shorts” not sure that’s a thing. What they are is comfy cotton shorts, men’s shorts because they are longer and looser. I told my mom that tennis shoes are the new dress shoes. She hated that as much as I love it.

I was criticized growing up for not being the right kind of girl or not being enough of a girl. I got the clear message that I was doing something wrong or lacking in some way. When I wore suits for work, I wished I could get men’s suits because they got all the beautiful suits with matching shirts and ties. You will not now or ever see me in a dress, skirt, or high heels…I wouldn’t even be able to stand up in them. When I was in law school, we had to do this argument in front of a mock appellate court. Our mentor person told us that women had to wear skirts or dresses. Now if you know me, you know I don’t speak up much in a group setting, but I told her no. I told her I wouldn’t and that I could not be given a lower grade just because I wore pants. So, I wore a nice jacket with pants, and I got an A. So there. I had a friend tell me once that I just needed to be dressed like GI Joe and I’d be happy…possibly true, but now it’s the older sweats and flip flops version of GI Jane.

We love our labels and categories. Why is pink for girls and blue for boys? My favorite color happens to be blue…although I do look good in a soft, pastel pink. Who makes these rules and why do we follow them? Several years ago, I was asking my grandson what he wanted for Christmas. Besides a skateboard, he wanted a helmet…a purple helmet. Then he added, “not girl purple, boy purple.” Now for him that meant dark purple not lavender. Where did he get the idea that there are boy colors and girl colors? Why am I steered away from dark colors to pastels because I’ve been assigned to the female gender?

I did my best to be gender neutral in toys for my own children and my grandchildren. I did buy my grandson a Mulan doll because he wanted one desperately. He loved it! So much so, he used it as a hammer, and it broke. Some things are beyond stereotypes.

Why do people get so irate over this discussion? Why should anyone care if I want to use the pronouns, they/them? Aside from not being able to classify people the way we want to, why should you care and why should you get an opinion about my identity? You may disagree with me on tons of things…politics, global warming, racism, poverty, any of hundreds of things. What you do not get to disagree with me on is who I am. You don’t get a fucking say in who I am. You don’t get to tell me that we can agree to disagree…fuck no. I say who I am. You have no say, and I don’t need your opinion.

Now Florida, the state that regulates everything but guns, is passing a law stating that you can only identify yourself by the gender you were assigned at birth. WTF!? So, that’s unconstitutional. You can’t make it illegal for me to call myself by the pronouns I choose or to say I am nonbinary or to tell you I’m a female even if I was assigned male at birth. You don’t get to have laws that codify discrimination. Who knows more about who I am, me or a judge? It’s ridiculous that the question even needs to be asked. You don’t get to tell me how I can identify myself. Sorry Florida.

I think it’s too bad that genitalia can be identified at birth, usually. It would be great if it didn’t develop until we were in our teens or maybe at 18 when you’re legally an adult. If they developed later then a child or a teenager could tell you if they were male or female or nonbinary. Or we could just drop gender labels all together since they’re made up. There would be such freedom without gender labels. Maybe we could allow our gender to be fluid and not lose our freaking minds. Why are we so threatened by this?

If I tell you my name is Bob you don’t get to call me Harry, because that’s not who I am. I tell you who I am. You do not get to tell me. If I say I use the pronouns they/them you do not get to call me she/her because I just told you who I am. You do not get to tell me who I am or how I can identify myself. I tell you.

My sexual orientation or gender identity or gender expression is up to me…only me. I know who I am and if you’re lucky I may allow you to know me. I don’t get to tell people that being straight is a sin and they’re going to burn in hell. Why? Because it’s none of my fucking business. And you have no business in my business. You do not get to debate or disagree with my identity. You do not get to tell me that who I am is wrong. We can disagree about all of our opinions all day long. My identity is not opinion. It’s fact. I identify as a woman, and I am a lesbian. That is not up for debate.

Now let’s be real…our world seems to be in a precarious place…our country is for sure. It’s time to stand up and speak out. If we stand by and do nothing, we are complicit in allowing laws like Florida is passing to become the accepted standard. What about all the children growing up and restricted from expressing their authentic selves? What about being judged and told that who you are is wrong? LGBTQ+ youth are FOUR times more likely to attempt suicide than their peers! How many lives do we need to destroy before we, as a country, pull our heads out of our collective asses and stand up for individuality? Why do we not understand you cannot legislate who people are? I thought republicans were against the government being involved in everything…well back the fuck off.

Our country runs on fear. Fear of “others” whoever that is. You don’t understand why I’m gay or why I’m nonbinary, so you won’t allow it. Make a law. The thing is it’s not up for you to allow or not allow. This country was founded on freedom…the freedom for people to be who they are or who they strive to be. What happened to that attitude. We can not legislate everything that we’re told to be afraid of, like people who are “different” in their expressions of who they are. We’re all different in our own ways.

I have a couple suggestions…why don’t we follow this sage advice, “if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all.” Wouldn’t that be refreshing? It would be amazing. And how about, “treat others the way you want to be treated.” That’s a rule I can live with. Let’s make those laws. And finally, can we not just be kind and loving. I guarantee that no one will be turned away from heaven for loving people who are gay, or lesbian, bi, nonbinary, trans, drag queens (who are performing artists by the way), or straight…yes, some straight people are hard to love.

Remember that in the end all that matters is how we love people…because love is going to win. It always does.

A Letter To Brittney Griner

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

This morning, I heard a portion of an interview Robin Roberts did with Brittney Griner. What I heard made me want to write her a letter. I hope it somehow finds it’s way to her through cyberspace. So here goes….

Dear Brittany,

I saw you on GMA this morning and wanted to write you. I wish we were friends so that I could talk to you and tell you to be gentle with yourself. You made a mistake. People make mistakes…all the time. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Some mistakes might have more consequences but it’s still just a mistake. No one should be judged by one misstep. Just today my wife called to tell me that she found her pocketknife in her backpack. This is the backpack that she just took on a flight from Florida to Colorado a week ago. She forgot it was in there. Imagine that. We all forget.

I don’t think you let everyone down. I don’t think you let anyone down. You didn’t plan to commit a crime. You weren’t masterminding a scheme and hoping to get away with it. You forgot. My wife forgot. Please forgive yourself. Don’t let this drag you down anymore. You were a victim. You deserve forgiveness…your own. I’m not sure you need anyone else’s forgiveness.

I know you have a wonderful and supportive wife who fought to get you home everyday. I can’t even imagine was this was like for both of you. You’re expecting a child and I know you have twins. If there is one thing parents know about its mistakes…their children’s and their own. I doubt you would be angry at your own child or blame them if they were in the same situation you were in. You’d help them forgive themselves and assure them that you weren’t mad at them. You’d tell them you understood it was simply a mistake and that all they needed to do was learn from it.

I hope you’re talking with someone about everything you’ve been through. I hope they’re helping you. Forgive yourself so you can continue to move forward. What other people think about you or what happened doesn’t make any difference. You can’t control what other people think. I’d try and be exposed to any negativity as little as possible. Surround yourself with the people who love you and believe the best about you…and there are many…some you know and lots that you don’t. Tell everyone else to kindly fuck all the way off.

Its easy for people to judge when they weren’t there…because they weren’t there. They have no idea what you’ve been through. One mistake does not diminish or define you. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. It was just a mistake…a mistake that was used against you to make you a political pawn. I’m sorry you were used by the Russian government. I’m sorry our government didn’t get you out of there sooner. I am very grateful they did bring you home.

Don’t listen to all the bullshit from the bullshitters. You know who you are. Your wife knows who you are. Your family, friends, and your teammates know who you are. I’ve followed you since Baylor. I had the chance to see you play at the University of Colorado one year. You were amazing. You are amazing. I feel as though I know you because you are genuinely you. That’s obvious to anyone who takes the time to see.

I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad you’re home. I’m glad I get to watch you play in the WNBA again and hopefully in the Olympics. Do what you need to do to heal. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. I’m grateful for the gift of you in this world. The world is a better place with you in it. I’d be proud to have you as my daughter. You are a kind and loving person…and in the end all that matters is how we love people.

May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you live with ease.