My Beautiful Girl

January 9, 2026 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Wednesday was the funeral for my daughter Jessica. I wrote this letter o her and my grandson, Javon, heroically read it for me. It was impossible for me….

I don’t know how to write a eulogy for my daughter, so I thought I’d write her a letter.

Jessica, my beautiful girl,

No one ever prepared me for what to say if you died. Maybe because there aren’t any words…except all the bad ones…the F bomb being my favorite, as you were well aware. I can’t stop thinking that this is not how life is supposed to go. This was not supposed to happen. You were not allowed to die before me.

I’ve been thinking about a Brandie Carlile song called “You Without Me.” Before Christmas I was thinking about you and Amy and Ben and watching you all grow up and separate from me and become your own people…amazing and beautiful people I must say. Brandie Carlile wrote that song about watching that happen with her daughter who is now 10. She says,

“Was your smile always crooked? Was the freedom ever free?

Do you kick the rocks between your feet, after all this time with me?

You can listen to your own records now, decide what you believe

You can pray on stars and skip the gods like stones across the sea

But I would know you anywhere, I lost myself in you

Heavy are the hands that you are free to slip right through

Do what you have to do

There you are, my morning star, I wondered when you’d show

Give me just a quick thumbs up, a wink before you go

I never heard that voice before today, I remind myself to breathe

There you are, it’s just you without me.”

That’s how it should be Jessica…you without me…30 years from now. Not me without you. I’m not sure I know how to be me without you. I did lose myself in you, but I also found myself…as a mom…your mom.

I know that life was a struggle for you. I wanted so much to do or say something to help you realize how wonderful you are. You were so smart and so kind and so funny. Some of my favorite times were with you, Amy, and Ben all of us laughing until we cried.

My sweet girl, I know that this life was too hard and too scary for you. I’m glad you’re without fear now. We had some challenging times when you were growing up. You were still apologizing to me for your teenage antics throughout your 30’s. But I wouldn’t trade one moment of being your mom.

When you were born you didn’t cry like most babies. When the doctor handed you to me, you just opened those beautiful blue eyes and looked at me. No crying or fussing…just looking, as if to say, “it’s me mom….I’m finally here.”

Right before you died, you opened your eyes and looked at me. You hadn’t opened you eyes for over a day. You looked at me and held my gaze as if to say, “it’s me mom…I have to go now.” Your breathing immediately slowed and minutes later you were gone. I had the chance to tell you how much I love you. I told you there was nothing to be afraid of now and that it was okay for you to go…even though there was nothing okay about it. I stroked your cheek, kissed your forehead, and told you that I have loved every moment of being your mom. And then you were gone.

I was with you for your first breath and your last. Thank you for that.

I believe that you are in a peaceful place now. A place without fear. A place where Roro, Foddy, and Grandma Jojo were waiting for you…and where they will care for you now. And I know they will…I gave my parents a long lecture, with a lot of instructions, the day you died.

Now we try to rebuild a life without you in it. Me without you. All of us without you. I’m not sure how. I will miss you forever. I will be grateful for you forever. And I will love you forever…my beautiful girl. Rest well.

A New Plan

October 2, 2025 ~ 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.

The Confusion of Grief or The Grief of Confusion

September 11, 2025September 12, 2025 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, my parents ashes have been sitting on the bookcase in my living room since their deaths. It’s been a while. It became normal seeing them up there and I didn’t think about it too much. Last October we planned a boat ride, here in Florida, to spread their ashes in the gulf. Apparently, our plan was not acceptable, and my mom caused a hurricane. Her timing was perfect. Scary even. She shut down the state of Florida. We got the message.

Frightened by the events of last year, we developed a new plan and successfully implemented it last week…with no natural disasters…people of the world are relieved. My wife and I drove to New York to visit my sister, brother-in-law, nephews, their wives and children. We enjoyed the drive mostly because it was nine hours less than a drive to Colorado and we got to drive through lots of states I had never been in. Turns out there are many states to go through between Florida and New York…the obvious ones, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia…and then there were a bunch more, Maryland, Pennsylvania, DC, Delaware, and New Jersey. There are so many states crammed into a ridiculously small area.

My sister planned a beautiful memorial for my parents, including food, their favorite drinks, a tent to stay out of the sun and great people. She really did it all and I’m so grateful to her. My nephew created an amazing slide show along with a playlist of my parent’s favorite songs. Everything was perfect.

Listening to everyone’s stories all week, I felt like an outsider looking in…separate from the people who belonged, who really knew my parents. So, I watched and listened. I tried to figure out what I was feeling. Sad? Guilty? Relieved? Numb? I thought numb was the right one. I felt so confused. Aha…that’s the one. Confused. Confused not by how I felt but by how I didn’t feel. I didn’t seem to feel what everyone else felt…a deep sense of loss. I didn’t cry. I was just quietly befuddled.

My nephews and brother-in-law spoke beautifully and emotionally, about what my parents meant to them. They said they received unconditional love and support from my parents…really? My nephew said that in my parent’s eyes he could do no wrong…seriously? That was not my experience of my parents at all. I experienced love based on performance and my performance was never good enough. And in their eyes, I did everything wrong. They rarely seemed happy with me. I felt confused. Perplexed and defective somehow.

It turns out my parents, especially my mom, could love, just not me. Other people spoke about their unending love. That confused me…and hurt. Why couldn’t my parents love me? What was so wrong about me? Still, after all this time, I asked myself, why does it matter? Why am I stuck in this place…this place of believing I’m not enough. When I was in my 20’s, I told my mom that I felt like she was disappointed in me and in who I was as a person. Her response was, “You don’t need my approval.” I said everyone wants their mom to be proud of them. She didn’t say anything else. I was devastated by that conversation. I had prepared for months to talk to her and share my feelings…which took a shitload of courage to do. For most people, it may not be an act of bravery to have an honest discussion with your mother but for me it was. It was huge…HUGE!

She confirmed all my fears by her words and then her silence. She destroyed me. More accurately, I let her destroy me. I risked emotionally opening to her, and she used my vulnerability as a weapon against me. I sat in my bathroom and sobbed for hours after our conversation. Too bad I didn’t learn from that…or maybe it’s good I didn’t learn. I didn’t learn to harden and build walls to defend myself. I believe that what doesn’t kill us can make us kinder if we allow it to. I am committed to softening my edges, not reinforcing them. My mom once told me it would be hard to be mean to me because I’m so kind. That was nice…for a minute. That’s all it took for her to tell me she hated my fucking guts, that I wasn’t a mother because I got divorced and gave my kids away, that I was the bad seed…it went on and on. I mistakenly reminded her of her comment on my kindness…she said nothing. The weight of that silence was hard to bear.

After the memorial I talked with my cousin about her feelings when her dad died. She had a complicated relationship with him like I did with my mom. I guess I was checking to see if I was crazy for feeling confused. I wasn’t. I brought my sister into the conversation and told her what we were talking about. I said we were discussing not being the favorite child and she agreed and said I wasn’t…she was. I told her about feeling like nothing I did was ever good enough. She said that it was true, nothing I did was ever good enough. So, there’s that. I appreciated her honesty. It was helpful to know what I felt and perceived were real…not just something I made up in my head. The affirmation was helpful, and painful. It might have been difficult for my sister too…to confirm something that she knows is painful for me. But it helped. It’s always good to find out you aren’t crazy.

So, I’m confused. Duh huh? I don’t know how to feel about my parents and their deaths. I know what I think I should feel. I should be sad and grieving. I should feel what everyone else feels. But really, I think it’s more important for me to be able to feel my own feelings and to feel the words that I say. Seems obvious, and it may be, but it ain’t easy. It’s scary to admit confusion about your parent’s death. To admit you don’t feel as sad or miss them like everyone else does.

So, is it confusion about grief or is grief causing my confusion? I’m not sure it matters to anyone, except me. I’m confused by how strongly other people feel the loss of my parents…the loss of their love and the loss of the wonderful relationship they had with them. I don’t feel like that at all…and that’s confusing. I feel like I should and that I’m a bad daughter because I don’t. I feel guilty for not feeling the right things…not grieving the right way. Whatever the fuck that means. But here’s the thing, I grieved for my parents for 12 years. For12 years we had no contact, before they lived with me in Florida. I grieved the loss of them from my life, and I grieved for what I wanted from my parents that I never got. I grieved that nothing I did was good enough, not the schools I attended, the degrees I earned, or the jobs I held. None of that was good enough because I wasn’t good enough. I craved unconditional love, understanding, kindness, acceptance…and their pride in me. Just because I’m me. I got none of that.

So, maybe it’s not so confusing. Maybe I’m done grieving. Maybe not. Living with my parents stirred up a ton of shit. There might be more to grieve or just more to let go of. You can’t let go of something unless you know what you lost. Maybe that’s where I am, coming to terms with what I lost. Most of what I lost happened years ago. Although now I’ve lost any possibility of things turning out differently….a better outcome. Maybe a happily ever after. The memorial brought up some new feelings of loss…of being defective somehow. Still, they were my parents, and I longed for them to love me, and maybe even more, to like me. Really like me. But I don’t think they did.

None of that changes my foundational belief that in the end all that matters is how we love people. I really tried with my mom and dad. I did my best. My best may not have been good enough, but I tried. Rest in peace mom and dad…I did love you. I hope you knew.

Missed Opportunities

June 20, 2025 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I was talking to my sister the other day, and I don’t remember why, but she asked me if I remembered a book we had as kids that was about a girl who wanted to be a ballet dancer. She wasn’t able to be a dancer because she had some sort of health problem. My sister didn’t remember the health problem…I didn’t remember the book. That is until she described a page where the girl was kneeling on the coach and looking out the window as her friends rode their bikes. But she couldn’t join them. I remember that one image. I remember that she was sad.

My sister wondered why my mom would have picked that book for us. The 60’s was not exactly the age of disability awareness and inclusion. I don’t think she was a champion of disability rights. Or that she was particularly sensitive to the needs of the disabled. She used to refer to my dad as a “cripple” …sooo…. However, my mom had a heart problem from complications of rheumatic fever as a child. She had a damaged valve and because of that she was limited on her physical activity as a child.

So, I wonder, could she have given us the book as a window into her life as a child? I don’t have any idea…and I never will. If she was sharing herself with us, she needed to provide more information. I’m guessing for my sister and I it was an interesting book, and we had varying degrees of sadness for the little girl. My sister would have been the one to remember the ending, but she doesn’t. It may remain a mystery…unless I track down the book. Look out google.

My mom loved sports. She liked football and college basketball, but she LOVED baseball. She loved the St. Louis Cardinals. We lived in Chicago when I was young, and I remember going to Cardinals v Cubs double headers as a kid. My mom was an encyclopedia of baseball facts. She remembered games, players, coaches, managers, owners, playoffs, trades, botched calls, and specific plays. She was a wealth of knowledge. I remember Ozzie Smith because he was my favorite Cardinal. And hot dogs were the best at a baseball game…kind of grosses me out now but I was young. For my mom’s 90th birthday we took her to a Cardinals game against the Rays, here in Florida, and she had a hot dog…mustard, relish, and onion. She was happy.

My mom would have loved to play sports, but she couldn’t because of her heart. When she was young there were not many options for girls. Schools didn’t have competitive teams. She might have been happy to play baseball on the playground with the boys, but she couldn’t. She must have been so frustrated. I also love sports. My opportunities to play were nothing like today but I played basketball, softball, and swam competitively. I can’t imagine what I would have done without those sports. I did play football with the boys in the backyard, and I had a basketball hoop that I was at all the time. I wanted to be Oscar Robertson. There were no women players for me to look up to at the time. I would have given anything to play in the WNBA.

Maybe my mom identified with that little girl in the book. Always being the one on the inside looking out. Wanting so much but never having the chance. Maybe that’s why she bought it for us…because she was that girl.

When I graduated from law school my mom told me she always wanted to be a lawyer. What?! I never knew that. I don’t remember her ever talking about a career she wanted. I figured she wanted to be a mom…and to devote herself to her amazing daughters. Right?! She told me she always wanted kids. My dad said if it wasn’t for him, they would not have had any children. I don’t know what was true, and I never will.

I worry that my mom felt like her life was filled with missed opportunities. Or that it was filled with second choices…or third choices. I guess I don’t need to worry now but it’s sad. It’s sad to think of all the frustration she must have felt. It’s sad to be one of the daughters who may not have been her first choice. And it’s sad she didn’t fight for herself. I know opportunities were not the same but there were schooling options for her, especially as we got older. She had choices. They may have been limited but she had them. I wonder why she didn’t advocate for herself. Maybe she did and I just don’t know. She was pretty vocal about what she felt she deserved and didn’t get. Or in what ways other people didn’t give her what she wanted, so I feel like I would have heard.

I wonder what it would be like to feel like your life was a missed opportunity because there was so much you wanted but it was all just out of reach…and you believed there was nothing you could do about it. I don’t really know. I have limitations in my life due to disability and chronic pain, but I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on life. I’ve been married (more than once), had children, gone to school, earned advanced degrees, experienced multiple careers, and met many wonderful people. There are things I cannot do but those are not the things that define my life. My life is full of experiences and opportunities and lots of people I really love. There may be things I would have done differently, but I consider my life well lived…well living…I’m not dead yet.

I’m sad for my mom today. Sad to think she didn’t have the chance to reach her full potential. Or to become fully who she was meant to be. And sad because she missed the chance to feel proud of herself. Proud that she had done something that really meant a lot to her, because being a wife and mom were not those things. I think in the end those missed opportunities weighed on her…on her self-esteem.

All that makes me eager to follow my dreams, even when they seem like a fairy tale. To take chances and try new things. To bring awareness to all the areas of my life. To live intentionally. To make my choices where I have them and not be content to let life happen to me. Seize the day and all that shit. And to love freely, fully, generously, and always. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Off The Edge

December 2, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

It took me a long time to recognize this low-level anxiety that lives inside me. I feel like I am always on edge. Always expecting the next bad thing…the next person to hurt me or leave me without explanation. The next person to blow up at me, blame me, or take their anger out on me. The next crisis I need to be ready for. Being mentally and physically on edge contributes to me being on edge emotionally. All the time. It is exhausting.

I have been trying to create a way to mourn the loss of my mother. I am not sure how to do that when I feel angry at her. I’m hurt that she was so mean to me. I don’t know if I miss her because I haven’t been able to get past the other feelings. I feel guilty because I am relieved not to deal with her explosive outburst anymore. I don’t miss her hanging up on me multiple times a day. The years I spent away from her I wondered why she didn’t try to work things out with me or love me enough to fight for me. The years I lived with her in Florida, I understood that she hated me. That’s what she told me. That’s how she acted. She didn’t fight for me because she didn’t want me.

Now she’s gone and I am not sure what to do with all of that. I need to find a place where I can accept the situation as it was and accept her as she was…flaws, bitterness, cruelty and all. She wasn’t one thing. She wasn’t just mean. She wasn’t just angry. She wasn’t just cruel. She could be kind. She could be generous. She could be loving.

I am not one thing either. I am not just a person on edge. I am not just someone with anxiety. I can be kind. I can be generous. I can be loving. I’m a mix of all those things and more. Just like her. Sara Bareilles has a song called, “She Used to Be Mine” and she talks about this…sings about it. This song could be about me…or my mom. I’m not perfect but I try. I’m hard on myself and struggle with asking for help. I’m messy and I’m kind. I’m all those things smooshed together to make me.

The song goes on to talk about things coming into our lives that we don’t ask for and they shape us into who we are today…even if it’s not what we asked for…or not who we expected to be. I want to be willing to take risks. To be hurt but not destroyed. I want to be tough enough that when I get bruised, I can use that to grow stronger and more sure of myself. And when I feel stuck, for example now, I can rekindle a fire inside of myself to keep moving forward toward the person I am and the person I am meant to be.

I have been trying to create a ritual for myself to let her go. To let the experiences I had with her go. And to let the things she said to me go. I have felt heavy under the weight of her thoughts and feelings about me. I recently wrote about changing my name from Karen to Kai. Needing to move away from Karen because that’s the name she yelled at me and the name of the person she hated. This week I decided to change my name legally. The new name felt like a game of make believe. And I’m not playing a game. I’m creating the path to reclaim myself as myself…not who she said I was. I’m not trying to disown her or my family. I am taking steps to own myself and my identity. That’s mine to create, not hers to impose.

I had not planned to change my name legally. I surprised myself. I filled out the paperwork and I filed the petition. It’ll take a few months for the change to be ordered. I may have to attend a hearing to tell a Judge why I want to change my name. I’m not sure it’s really anyone else’s business why…of course that will not be my answer if the Judge asks. An attitude will get me thrown in jail…this is Florida after all. There was a ton of paperwork to fill out and get notarized before I could file the petition. I guess they’re making sure I’m not changing my name because I am on the run from law enforcement. I’m not. I promise.

I was not sure how I would feel after I filed the paperwork. I felt relief. I felt like a giant chain that weighed me down, with other people’s opinions fell away. I was standing up for myself. I felt like I was claiming my own identity without the input of my mom. This is me regardless of what she thinks or what she might have said. She would have been angry about the change. She would have taken it as a rejection of her. It is not about her at all. It is about me…claiming my own power and not allowing anyone else to tell me who I am or how I should be myself. The change is because of me not her. This is who I am. This is who I continue to become.

The acceptance I want to find for myself, I want to find for her too. I do not think my mom’s life turned out how she imagined, and she was bitter. I had no control over that. I did not ruin her life, regardless of what she thought. I loved my mom. We had a challenging relationship. In the end I was working to change it…make it better. That didn’t happen but it doesn’t mean I didn’t love her or that I didn’t try.

Loving is hard. I try my best, but I am not always great at it. I hope my love can be a solid ground for someone else. I always say that in the end all that matters is how we love people. So regardless of what happens I move forward and remind myself that I did not give up on love today.

Do not give up on love today. Never give up on love. Love always wins.

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.

Hurricane Milton…Or A Tiny Little Rose?

October 30, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

While my parents were alive and living with my wife and I, we occasionally talked about their deaths and their last wishes. Neither of them wanted any kind of service or memorial. No wake. No funeral. No casket. They wanted to be cremated. I asked them what they wanted done with their ashes. My dad said, “Just throw them away.” And my mom, as only she could, said, “Just throw them on the ground and walk all over me like everyone has my whole life.” So, I told them both “I’m not doing that” and suggested that we put them in the Gulf. They agreed or gave me their version of “whatever.” I was happy to take that as a yes.

When my sister came for a visit, the topic came up again. That must be super annoying for people in their 80’s and 90’s, everyone always bringing up your death and pushing you to plan for it. I was thinking my plan is to avoid it as long as possible…as if it is up to me. My sister said that we could send the ashes to Switzerland and have them made into blue diamonds. And why you may wonder? So, we could have a crown and put the blue diamonds in it. And then as each person dies another stone gets added to the crown. I said, “Who’s gonna wear all the dead relatives on their head?” I don’t remember her response. Mine was, “It’s sure as shit isn’t gonna be me.” Then she said we could have them compressed and made into frisbees and send them flying out into the Gulf. I’ve got to admit that one sounded fun…probably only because I wouldn’t be one of the frisbees. We had some good laughs with my parents over both of those ideas. I know you can find all kinds of stuff on the internet but who searches for what to do with someone’s ashes…besides my sister, I’m not sure. My sister is super funny and a great storyteller…she had both covered here.

In the end, of course, it was up to us. We decided that Kathy, Rick (sister and brother-in-law), Gayle and I would go out on a boat together and spread their ashes into the Gulf of Mexico. We found a place in Dunedin that has daily boat trips called “Burial at Sea” that are specifically designed for spreading ashes. I guess “burial at sea” is hard to remember because my brother-in-law referred to it as “the death boat.” Naturally that’s the name that stuck.

Of course, as soon as we had a simple plan our adult children chimed in and wanted a seat on the boat…they were their grandparents after all. And since they all have children, all the great grandkids would be here too. So, we arranged for the death boat October 14th at 1:00. Fortunately, it’s a big boat because we went from 4 people to about 20. We finalized plans for places to stay and food for a meal together after the death boat. And then there was Milton.

One of the reasons we picked Clearwater for retirement is because Tampa hasn’t been hit by a major hurricane in 100 years…and we’re about 15 minutes from Tampa. Now Milton was threatening to end that streak. WTF?! Hurricane Helene had just devastated the big bend area of Florida. We waited and hoped that Milton would decide to go somewhere else. Although, you can’t really hope that the hurricane hits someone else. I was hoping it would just evaporate…. that would have been the most convenient outcome. Clearly, I missed my calling as a scientist.

If you saw any news at all you are aware that Milton did not just go away. It became a category 5 hurricane. It did shift south and so Tampa, and Clearwater were spared a direct hit, but it was crazy. We were on the outer edge of the eye of the hurricane. We didn’t get raindrops, not even big ones. We had walls of water falling…wall after wall of rain for hours. All the while, the wind raged. We had wind speeds up to 129 mph. Milton was a category 3 storm when it hit the Florida gulf coast.

I had panicked calls and texts from family and friends worried for my safety. My wife wanted me to go to Atlanta. It was not that simple. First, I was not under an evacuation order. More importantly, I had less than a quarter tank of gas. “90 miles,” said my car. Now I’m not good with geography but even I know you cannot get to Atlanta with 90 miles worth of gas. And in case you’re thinking, “Why would she not have filled the tank sooner?” “Poor planning.” That’s a little judgy of you. I did not fill my tank because there was no gas…as in none, nada, zip, zero. I went to numerous gas stations, and they all had the little yellow bags on the pumps, like they do when they’re broken, with the addition of plastic wrap. All the pumps were prepared for Milton…and all the gas was gone. That was Tuesday. I couldn’t get gas until Monday. By that time my car was finding a gas station for me.

That was the beginning of Milton. The serious warnings began Monday. They were amped up on Tuesday and included evacuation orders for zones A, B, C, and all mobile homes. We live in zone D. The airports closed Tuesday morning. Everything else closed Tuesday afternoon. So, the death boat plans were quickly sinking. We didn’t even know if the boat place would still exist on Sunday. Our outing seemed incredibly unlikely…even more so after the airport closed, and all the flights were cancelled. I’m pretty good at recognizing the obvious. No ashes were leaving my house that weekend.

When I was talking to my wife, during the hurricane, and sending her videos, I told her that I thought my mom was fucking with the weather. She said, “Your mom has no control over the weather.” I told her I wasn’t so sure. The next day I was talking to my sister, and she mentioned that Rick thought my mom was causing the hurricane because she doesn’t want to be in the water. My mother was afraid of water her whole life. I wonder why she agreed to a burial at sea. I’ll never know. I was texting my nephew, to give him an update on the death boat and Milton. He told me that he wondered if maybe Roro (that’s what all the grandkids called her) brought the hurricane. And finally, I was talking to my daughter, and she told me she thought the same thing. I don’t know if my mom can influence the weather, but me and the family believe she can and she did.

So, there will be no burial at sea. Florida can’t take another round of the “wrath of Rose.” We have an alternative plan. Their ashes will be spread in New York somewhere my parents loved. They spent a lot of time at my sisters. They’d visit for 3 or 4 weeks at a time. That’s where their final resting place should be. They were happy there, surrounded by the love of their grandkids and great grandkids…and of course Kathy and Rick.

I hope in the spring my side of the family can travel to New York and give my parents their final resting place…at last. A lot of love and planning went into our decisions for my parent’s ashes. I hope they could feel that. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. And they were loved…still are.

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.

Not So Stupid After All

August 15, 2024 ~ 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.

When I’m 64

June 26, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, I had a weird thing happen this week. First, it’s my birthday week. I currently have a line from a Beatles song in my head, “Will she still need me, will she still feed me when I’m 64.” And I’m about to find out…although she doesn’t usually feed me because she hates to cook. Anyway, my wife had to go back to Colorado for work. So, I am here in Florida, and she is far away in Colorado.

In case you want to feel sorry for me, don’t. I’m not here alone. My stepson, Justin, is here with me. He just moved here about 10 days ago…and of course we have the Bulldog sisters too. That’s our dog, Abby, and her sister, Presley. Presley is Justin’s dog. They are sisters but from different litters. They are so much alike it’s crazy. They are both so fucking stubborn. And they even sleep the same. It reminds me of the theme song of The Patty Duke Show…”they walk alike, they talk alike, what a crazy pair….” Yep, I’m 64 alright…and that show was in black and white. Anyway….

A few days ago, I noticed a package sitting on the table by our front door. It seemed like it just appeared there. I asked Justin about it, and he told me he brought it in the night before. I hadn’t noticed it until the morning. I thought it was strange that the package was addressed to my dad. My dad died almost a year ago…so he didn’t order it.

Being quite brave, I decided to open the package…the next day. Inside the package was a book called Walking the Himalayas. That was weird. I had wanted to read that book for a couple years. It was in my Amazon cart. There was no note in the box and no return address. It was really strange.

I puzzled over the package for a bit and then I came to the only reasonable conclusion…my dearly departed dad sent it to me. That had to be it! This makes sense for so many reasons…my dad died so no one is sending him gifts anymore. Also, there wasn’t a note with the book. And no one would send my dad a book because he couldn’t read anymore because of his macular degeneration. And finally, it’s a book I wanted and it’s my birthday. It was definitely from my dad. I told Justin all of that and he appropriately responded with, “Whoa.” Ya whoa!

I was pretty excited to share this news with my wife when we talked that night. I told her the story and all my well thought out reasons why the book was from my dad. She did not say whoa…she said something to the effect of, “oh, crap.” Not her exact words but the emotion was there. She then told me that my sister had texted her and asked what I’d like for my birthday. Gayle told her to look at my list on Amazon…I know you’re following me here. Then my sister told her she was sending a book, Walking the Himalayas, and it would be addressed to our dad but that it was for me…and I should not open it until my birthday.

Well, my sister thought the story was funny and she jokingly asked me to thank Gayle for her. When I shared that with Gayle, we both had a good laugh. I’m grateful for the gift from my sister…even though I opened it before my birthday. I’m sure my dad would have wanted me to.

So happy birthday to me and go Rays! I’m off to a baseball game today where I can be my geeky self and keep my scorecard. I appreciate all the love for my birthday…and it turns out she will still need me when I’m 64…I can feed myself. Remember that in the end all that matters is how we love people. So, let’s love enthusiastically.