Still Broken

November 10, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Well, it has been a week…not even a week yet. Fuck. My wife asked me how I was doing on Wednesday or Thursday, and I said I felt overwhelmed. She asked me why, as in specific reasons, not questioning my emotions. I said, “I don’t know…the end of our democracy.” And that silenced us both.

Since then, my fears have just multiplied. You may ask, “Why?” I will lay it out for you:

*Putin, seeing the election results, said that a “new world order is forming.”

*The plan for mass deportation of undocumented migrants in this country regardless of circumstances or the devastating impact on the economy.

*A federal judge striking down Biden’s program for undocumented spouses, as illegal. The program designed to keep families together.

*The undoing of the constitutional right to reproductive healthcare, including the right to an abortion.

*The blatant plan to reverse marriage equality.

*Texts sent to Black Americans telling them they have “been selected to pick cotton” at a nearby plantation. These texts went out to adults, as well as, college and high school students. And these texts were not just in Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana the states considered the deep south…were I guess people expect such racism, seriously? They were sent in New York, California, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Wisconsin, and Michigan. And that is not the entire list. What is happening?

*The rise of fear, anger, and hate, and a growing attitude of us vs them. The use of those emotions as weapons to pit us against each other…even when what we are hearing is not true.

*The supreme court granting the president almost complete unchecked power. The branches of government designed to act as the checks and balances of presidential power no longer function that way.

*The President Elect already preparing pardons for the January 6Th rioters who attempted to overthrow our government and disrupt the peaceful transition of power. People died that day. 174 police officers were injured. One was killed.

*Elon Musk promised a cabinet position where he will cut the federal budget by 3 trillion dollars. And they have told us that people will suffer.

*RFK Jr. will oversee the Department of Health…and specifically women’s health. There is nothing that makes less sense than a man appointed to make the rules or guidelines for women’s health. He is an unapologetic anti-vaccination and conspiracy theorist…which could lead to the return of illnesses that previously were eradicated by vaccines.

*Referring to anyone who disagrees with the administration as the “enemy within” and the threat of using the armed forces against citizens of this country.

*And the last thing I am going to mention (and I could go on), the President Elect plans to destroy the Department of Justice and fire all career prosecutors, to remake the justice system in his image and use it against his enemies…that would be anyone who disagrees with him.

I feel like I am living in The Hunger Games…only this is no game. I love movies, but I do not want to live in them. They are fantasy and not real…except when the leader of our country wants to make it real. The elite having all the privilege, access, and opportunity and everyone else existing to meet their needs and keep them happy. And to entertain them…fooling themselves into thinking that the game you are entering is a privilege rather than an atrocity. But in the end, it took 3 books, Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, prevails…but a lot of shit goes down before that can happen.

Back in 2020 I wrote a blog called, “Broken.” At the time I was feeling devastated because of Covid and the tremendous loss of life and the murder of George Floyd. I am sharing the link here (http://karenraines.com/2020/06/03/broken/) because I am still broken. We are broken. Our country is broken. It is easy now to feel like everything is out of our control and there is nothing we can do, but that is not true. This week I joined the ACLU and signed up to volunteer. It’s a small step but it’s a step. We all must make ourselves keep moving forward.

Here’s the thing, I always write about love. Love as a guiding principle in my life. The need for love in our treatment of other people. Seeing people who may not be the same as us through a lens of love. Love conquers hate. Love is bigger than any person’s bigotry. Love produces more love. When we act with love for ourselves, our communities, our country, our world, our actions become compassionate, filled with kindness, and a desire to connect, not separate. We come to care for one another and want the best for each other…regardless of the color of your skin, what pronouns you use, who you love, where you’re from, or what language you speak. We see and share our common humanity. In the end, what matters is how we love people. We have some serious work to do.

Love is powerful and healing. We need some healing…some big fucking healing. Is that going to happen right now? I hope so but I think we are in for a rough road ahead. While fear, anger, and hate are in the oval office love will appear to be losing…but it will not lose.

Love has been on my mind all week and I’ve been confused on how to proceed. I do not feel loving right now. I am scared and angry. So, I turned to some teachers to find comfort and direction. Buddha said, “In this world hate never yet dispelled hate. Only love dispels hate. This is the law, ancient and inexhaustible.” And St. Francis had a beautiful prayer that can help us move in a positive direction. “Make me an instrument of your peace, Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury pardon; Where there is doubt, faith….that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; To be understood, as to understand; To be loved as to love.”

Now there are some marching orders. But I am not marching right now. I am staggering. We are staggering. I still feel a deep sense of shock and loss. We need to feel all the feelings and not rush ourselves to get over it. Take time. Time to care for yourself and those around you. Think about ways to get involved and stay involved. Imagine a world where equality is the norm, and everyone has the same opportunities. Imagine no racism, sexism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, elitism…all the isms and phobias eliminated. Picture that world. Create a picture in your mind or on a vision board. Look at in several times a day. Make it the first image of your morning and last image you see at night. Look at it and believe in the possibility…the possibility of real change. Let that image guide you to the next best step for you…for us. Remember, in the end all that matters is how we love people…especially when it’s hard. Love always wins. Let’s win together.

It’s Not You…Oh Wait…Yes It Is

September 11, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, I’ve been reading It’s Not You by Ramani Durvasula. It’s a book about healing from relationships with narcissistic people. It’s a very good book and I recommend it…if you, like me, are wanting to go down the rabbit hole of making sense of your life…processing shit and all that. As I’ve been reading, I keep thinking the name should be, “It’s not you…oh wait a minute, yes, it is.” The “you” being me. It makes me laugh, and cringe. The rabbit hole is not for the faint of heart.

One of the best things that I have learned from studying Buddhism is that I always need to look at myself first. Meaning that I cannot control anything but me, so I need to be aware of how I am interacting with myself, people around me, and the world…all the time. This completely changed my perspective, and it’s really fucking annoying. It’s so much easier and neater to blame someone else. I guess it’s the Buddhist equivalent of Jesus telling people not to worry about the speck in your neighbor’s eye when you have a log in your own. Get the log out and carry on. Leave your neighbor alone.

If you ever want to rid yourself of false beliefs about yourself, I can tell you a sure-fire way to crush all your illusions…move cross country to Florida with your parents and have them live with you. No more illusions about me. My wife and I were laughing last night about me telling her that I always thought that I was easy going, laid back, and that I just go with the flow. We were laughing because I am none of those things…not really at all…maybe if I tried hard…nope. My wife is all those things plus a slow Texas drawl…just to hammer it home. You have probably guessed by now that I tend to talk fast. I know it’s a shocker. We are speech opposites.

I always say that my English bulldog, Abby, is me as a dog. She can’t eat gluten either and she has joint problems like me. That’s just physical stuff. She has my attitude too. Abby wakes me up every morning between 7:15 and 7:45. She does this by coming to my side of the bed and talking to me. Her talking is a cross between a growl, a soft bark, whining, and any other sound she can come up with. And she does not stop until I do what she wants…scratch her ears. Then we get up and I take her out and then feed her. Now she does not eat when I feed her. She lays down for a while and then she comes and talks to me because she wants her medicine…meaning she wants the food I put the pills in. After her medicine she lays down and naps. About an hour later, the talking starts again. Now she wants some smoothie. I make them most days and she gets a little in her bowl. After her smoothie she sleeps. Around 3 she wants to go out again. Then she starts talking to me about her dinner. She eats at 5:00. She’s early and persistent. After dinner she wants her walk so she can go to bed. Abby cannot go for a walk until about 8 pm because it’s too hot for her. I spend 3 hours telling her it’s not time and that she must wait. Once her walk is complete Abby wants to go to bed. This is different than napping because she goes into the bedroom to sleep. The catch here is that she wants me to go to bed too. I actually say, out loud to her, “It’s too early and I’m not going to bed at 8 just because you want me to.” Eventually, she gives up and goes into bed…she’ll be back in an hour or so, to stare at me clearly annoyed and wondering if I’ll ever go to bed.

This is our schedule every day…every damn day. Abby likes a routine. She likes things the same day after day. She wants consistency in her schedule. She doesn’t like surprises or big changes…or little changes for that matter. Abby is not easy going and laid back…me either. She does not go with the flow, unless the flow involves extra food. I’m not so flowy either. Abby is stubborn. Me too. I think I get that from her. My mom told me once that I was stubborn, and I responded, “What did you expect? I was born to stubborn and stubborner.”

Moving my parents to Florida was an adventure for sure. I went to St. Louis two weeks before our actual move date to help them pack. Aside from packing, I was there to encourage my parents to downsize. They were going from a two-bedroom condo with just the two of them to a three-bedroom apartment where they only had the master bedroom. Aside from bedrooms, all the space was shared. Sharing was hard for them. Letting go was hard for them. After much arguing…well, they argued with me, I didn’t say much…they sold some of their furniture.

They had so much stuff and very unrealistic expectations of what it was worth…maybe not unrealistic so much as sentimental. Their furniture was beautiful but not what people were buying in 2022. They wanted hundreds of dollars for each piece and that is not what people pay when they buy used furniture. I understand this was difficult for them. I had just done the same thing to move from Colorado. It was a lot of change.

The day we moved in, after 3 days of travel, we were all tired and ready to be settled. I remember how this scene played out…. My dad was in his wheelchair in the middle of the family room and the movers were coming in with tons of boxes and furniture. The office was filled with boxes…stacked 3 or 4 high…and this was just their stuff. My stuff wouldn’t be here for a month. The family room was overflowing with furniture. There were two recliners, a full-size sofa, a huge coffee table, a hutch/desk with a chair, a buffet, two end tables, and a wooden chair. The movers could barely walk through to unload more boxes…everywhere. So many boxes.

I felt more and more overwhelmed as the stuff piled up. So, in my laid-back, go with the flow voice I announced, “We can’t keep all of this. It’s too much furniture. We have to get rid of some of it.” My father responded, angrily, “I’m not selling anymore of my god damned furniture! You gave enough of it away already. Nothing else is going!” To which I growled, “Then you’re gonna need a storage unit.” And with her own special flair for the dramatic, my mother said, “Go ahead and sell it! Sell it all! Tell the movers to put it back in the truck and take it to the dump.” Don’t you wish you had been there? I don’t…oh, but I was.

Eventually, we did laugh at this exchange, but it took a year for it to be funny. This story is important because it is the moment I began to realize that I had a distorted vision of myself. This idealized self was beginning to reveal itself to me, as false. To me it’s better to be easy going and laid back and because I value those qualities, I guess I decided I had them. No one wants to say, look at me, I’m a control freak and everything makes me nervous and anxious. Don’t you wanna be just like me?

If you want to deal with yourself honestly, come to Florida. It’s where all the false shit gets stripped away. Maybe it’s the humidity. It’s a hurricane for your self-image. The problem was, if my false self wasn’t me, who is me? I feel like I should have been asking this question about 40 years ago…I probably did, and I just don’t remember. I think the question of who we are comes up throughout our lives. Mainly in times of transition…like moving…or losing a job, the end of a relationship, getting married, having a baby, having another baby, kids leaving home, retirement, becoming a grandparent, death, our own, our parents, spouse, child…you get the idea.

Transitions are hard. Although, in my mind, if you are laid back and easy going, then transitions are a piece of cake. You don’t worry or fret because you take it all in stride. If you go with the flow, you have a fluid and flexible understanding of yourself. Things change and you’re fine because you knew things would change. Because they always do. You aren’t derailed because it was expected.

Change makes me anxious. I did not know I was an anxious person until recently. Until…you guessed it, Florida. Fucking Florida. My wife has asked me a couple times, when I may have seemed stressed or on edge, what I was anxious about. The first time I said I wasn’t anxious. I may have even said that I don’t have anxiety. Watch out for the lightening strike….

Anxiety feels bad to me. Not the actual anxiety, the label. In my mind, and speaking for me only, it means I’m weak. It is not okay for me to be weak. I can’t look or act weak. That would be bad. I must be strong…all the time. I don’t get taken care of; I take care of everyone else. I don’t need help; I do things on my own. I’m good in a crisis. I can handle an amazing amount of shit. People can count on me, and they know that.

Now that my anxiety has been labeled, I’m noticing it often…probably not as often as it happens but more than never, so there you go. I had been trying to put more words to this feeling. Explaining words, but I couldn’t find them. Until I reached a part in Stephanie Foo’s book, What My Bones Know, where she says that she’s always on edge…all the time. That’s what I feel. On edge. I’m on edge all the time. Because of that feeling, because I don’t like that feeling, I am always trying to anticipate any problem and solve it before it can rear its ugly head…before it’s a problem. For example, when I am checking out at a store, I have my wallet out and my debit card in my hand. I am ready and waiting. Why? Because I don’t want to make anyone wait for me or slow anyone down. I don’t want anyone mad at me. I’m on edge because of fear. Fear of anger, even from a stranger. I don’t want to be in anyone’s way. Maybe I’m afraid of taking up space in the world. Maybe I feel guilty that I take up space at all. I’m not sure. But that type of situation makes me anxious…puts me on edge.

I have been thinking that I should have named my blog, On the Edge, because that’s where I live. Or since I am trying to move, Off the Edge. I like to think that I’m packing to move off the edge. Permanently. But where does one go when they move off the edge? That’s the only home I’ve known. What do I bring besides my laid back, easy going self?

Now you may be expecting me to wrap this up, all happy…at least semi-happy…with a neat little bow of acceptance and understanding. But I don’t have anything like that in my back pocket. In fact, I don’t even have back pockets. If you were raised in a home with a narcissistic parent or guardian, you are familiar with the feeling of being on edge. You might have lived in a state of chronic tension and anxiety. Waiting for the next explosion of anger or rage from the narcissistic parent…or both parents as they feed off each other’s explosive emotions. On the edge was where I heard threats of abandonment and verbally, and sometimes physically, violent fights. I spent much of my life walking on eggshells. I was trying my best not to piss anyone off…and always scared I would.

My circumstances have changed. I am an adult now…mostly. I can care for and protect myself. I don’t need to be on edge now. But those fears still impact my reactions and my behavior. I still have anxiety…just ask Florida. I feel afraid of conflict. I hate fighting. I hate yelling. I hate screaming. I almost feel panicked. I am afraid for my physical safety and emotional safety in those situations…even if there is no actual threat to me.

Living with my parents opened my eyes to a lot of things. I was not aware that I’m always on edge. It helped me tremendously to read someone else’s description of their life and to realize she was describing me. I am learning to be aware of my body and what I am feeling. I can ask myself whether there is an actual threat to me in this moment. I can pay attention to my body, because my body feels the truth of the situation, regardless of what my mind is trying to sell me. I can ask myself, what is happening right now? What is triggering me? Is my anxiety reasonable or out of proportion to the situation?

The singer, Harry Chapin, famous in the 70’s, until his death, at 38, in 1981. He had a song called Circle, and in it he talked about our lives being a circle and that the seasons keep coming around again and time passes. I think he was onto something there. I think our lives are circles in another way too. The issues we struggle with come around over and over too. I have worked through difficult and painful situations, only to have them come around again, and again. The thing is each time the pain comes around it’s different…because I’m different. I have a different perspective than the first or second or three hundredth time I’ve looked at a difficult or hurtful pattern. The problem is changed because I am changed.

There’s the hope I see. Life is circular so I have numerous opportunities to change patterns. To strengthen relationships or let them go if they are harmful to me physically, emotionally, or mentally. I can control me. I cannot control anyone else…and God knows I’ve tried. So, what does that mean for me? It means I need to focus on me…how am I acting or reacting to what is happening around me? How am I interacting with myself, with other people, with the world in general? What is my body telling me? What is my mind saying to make sense of the current circumstances? What is the story I’m telling myself and is it true? Is the story based on facts or on fears?

I have the answers to all those questions inside of me…well, I’m 90% sure I do. I need focus on my own eye log and leave other people’s splinters alone. I need to be kind and compassionate with myself. To give myself the same grace that I am willing to offer to others. Love myself, even the parts of me that feel crazy sometimes. I deserve, for myself, the same love I would extend to another person. That love will lead me to greater understanding myself and others. I cannot love you, not really love you, unless I really love me first. Love is the answer. We can choose to allow love to guide us to our authentic and vulnerable true selves. We can risk opening and allowing. I can change. We can change. We have everything we need already.

Love is the answer to all the questions. Love moves me off the edge…if I allow it. I can see everyone and everything through the lens of love if I choose to. I knew love was the answer…because in the end all that matters is how we love people, including ourselves…starting with ourselves.

I’m An Orphan…Right?

March 20, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Can you be an orphan at 63? Well, 63 and ¾’s to be accurate. Personally, I’m not sure but my sister says that we’re orphans now. My mother died March 17^th. St. Patrick’s Day. My sister and I think she did that on purpose. Now no one will ever forget the day she died and it’s a national holiday for us Irish folks. What more could you ask for…green beer and toasts to you all night…toasts lengthening with each Guinness consumed. Omg! She would be so pleased. I’m happy for her about that. We did many toasts Sunday. My favorite was, “May heaven know you’re dead a full half hour before the devil finds out.” She wouldn’t like that one for herself, but my dad was probably laughing his ass off. Hopefully I didn’t create a conflict there…I wouldn’t want them to fight on her first day in heaven.

My mother died peacefully in her sleep Sunday morning. The rehab center called to tell me. It was a call I had been expecting at any time, but I was still surprised when it came. My mother wanted to die. She was ready. In her good weeks, she told me she had a great life but that she had lived longer than she wanted to. She missed my dad. She had stopped eating and drinking. She curled up in bed and went to sleep. She stayed asleep several days before she died. My dad passed away exactly the same way. I’m sure after 70 years it was hard to be apart.

My first phone call was to my sister. I told her and then we just stared at each other silently for a minute or two on FaceTime, and then she said, “Well we’re orphans now.” I would have been surprised by that except she had been practicing this idea on me with “We’re gonna be orphans soon” or “We’re gonna be orphans when mom dies” and “We’ll be orphans. That’s what it’s called when both of your parents are dead.” That’s what it’s called alright…kind of.

An orphan is defined as, “A child under the age of 18.” This definition made my sister super sad, so I told her I’ll adopt her, and then she won’t be an orphan. I can be her “sister mother” kind of like “sister wife” only legal…at least I think it would be legal…super creepy but legal. And I won’t make her wear a long dress and braids…well maybe braids. I’m thinking Pippi Longstocking’ish. I need some red hair dye.

When I hear the word “orphan” I think of “Little Orphan Annie” the title of which became “Annie” probably because you don’t address a child as a “little orphan” or any kind of orphan. It’s not a title. The movie “Annie” reminds me of, “It’s a hard knock life for us” and “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow….” And of course, Carol Burnett as Ms. Hannigan. She was some bitch.

For my sister’s sake, I also read that adults who have lost their parents can (and do) identify themselves as orphans. Merriam-Webster says, “A child whose parents have died, are unknown or have permanently abandoned them” are orphans. By that definition my mom was an orphan from a young age. Her father left my grandmother when my mom was 6, I believe. She told me that he was crazy about her and loved to take her places with him. She said that he loved her so much, but he still left, and she never saw him again. And she doesn’t know why. My mom was devastated by the loss of her dad. She had a double loss, her dad and being left with her mother, who she told us, never loved her. My grandmother’s brother, my Mom’s Uncle Mike, lived in the apartment with them. I’ve heard horror stories of how my grandma and great uncle would scare my mom and how they were mean to her. She was traumatized as a child. And I guess no one really cared. I know she felt abandoned and unloved.

It’s no surprise my mom had a lot of phobias…claustrophobia, acrophobia, and hydrophobia are the ones I remember. Not understanding why she was treated so harshly she came to believe that she was “bad” somehow and everything that happened was her fault. When children don’t understand what’s happening around them, they make up a story that solves the riddle for them. Our brains cannot manage the stress of not knowing or understanding what happened, so our brain creates a solution…even if the solution is hurtful to us…or untrue.

I was also an orphan, way before this St. Patrick’s Day. I was abandoned by my mother almost from birth. Not technically, not physically, but emotionally. My mom and I had a complicated relationship. I’m not sure exactly why. I think many of our issues stemmed from her own childhood. They were hers but projected onto me, so what was hers became mine. Her mother favored her brother, 4 years younger than her, I believe. My mom used to say, as if she was joking, that her brother was “the sun, moon, and stars” to her mom and that “he could do no wrong.” She felt unloved and unwanted. I felt the same way. My mom and I had years that we were estranged from each other and that led to my estrangement from my dad, my sister, and all my extended family. I’m sorry for the lost years, at the time I was doing what I thought was best for me, and my own mental health. Would I do it differently now? I honestly don’t know.

I’ve used this blog to write about my mom and I will continue to write about her, probably a lot. I’m going to write about her because she was my mom. She was a very influential person in my life. The ways she loved and hated, was pleased or disappointed, what she accepted and what was just tolerated shaped who she was and who I am. Now with awareness, I want to choose my shape…I will shape who I will become…or am becoming. We are always becoming.

My mom had mental health issues. My primary caretaker had mental health issues. Issues that were never fully addressed and definitely not talked about. It was perhaps the biggest elephant in the room growing up…and there was a small herd. I’m going to free the poor elephant, actually, all the elephants. They’ve been chained up for too fucking long. I’m going to write about, and talk about, the issues in my family, with my mom, my dad, my parents (because they were different together than individually), maybe my sister, extended family…I’m gonna talk about patterns and habitual behaviors, familial and personal. I’m going to talk about the legacy of abuse, mental illness (in different forms), abandonment, grudges, withholding, and I’m going to talk about forgiveness, mental health, insight and change…I hope lots of change, for myself. I’ll leave other people to determine their own path through whatever life brings to them. Life brings a lot…a hell of a lot.

If you’re reading this and you loved my mom, you might be offended when I talk about her…so this blog may not be for you. Remember though, I loved her too. I loved her and she was my model for motherhood and womanhood. I was sculpted out of my responses and reactions to her. In order to understand me I need to understand her. I need to develop my compassion for her. She was just a woman doing the best she could. It didn’t always feel that way. I’m sure it doesn’t always seem like I’m doing my best either. I’m gonna do my best with this. I’m gonna do my best for my wife, kids, and family. I’m gonna do my best for her and for me…so I keep moving forward.

Let’s be real…losing a parent is hard. Losing both in less than a year feels like a lot. That’s my official assessment of myself…it’s a lot. Sorting through baggage, that we’ve carried for years is hard work. The starting point is to put it down. Set the baggage down. It may feel like you can’t because it’s such a part of you and after all it’s part of a matched set. Do it anyway. Set it down and look around it. Finding a new perspective can get you started on a new path, and intentional path…a path for you and your health, both emotional and physical. I am choosing an intentional path. I am choosing my path. No one is making me do anything. I’m taking the path that leads me through all the shit I’ve been avoiding for such a long time. No more serpentining…constantly running in a zigzag line because I’m afraid of what will happen if I stop. What happens if I stop? If I stop and set down the baggage…I guess it’s time to find out.

So I’m headed on to a path of transformation. My transformation. I am way the fuck too old to be blaming my mom for anything. It’s time I take charge of my own life. My own life and my own behavior. In order to love someone, you have to know them. And to know them you have to listen, deeply. Its time for me to know, listen to, and understand myself. To give myself the same consideration I’d give a friend. And of course, it all starts with love. Love is the greatest gift we can give someone, including ourselves. I’m going to lead with love, in the world and with myself. I’m gonna try some tenderness. In the end, all that matters is how we love people, and that includes ourselves. I want love to win in my life, and in yours. Let’s be love warriors…starting now. I’ll go first….