Tag: therapy

A Letter To Brittney Griner

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

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

Dear Brittany,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                                           

Where She Go?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

When our soon to be 13-year-old grandson, Anthony, was a toddler, and he couldn’t find something, he’d say, “Where she go?” It was funny and adorable and not usually about a person…just something missing. He’d put his arms out with his palms up and turn his head side to side, and look around quizzically as he said, “Where she go?” I’m not sure why it was all “she.” It might have been as simple as him having a lot of women in his life. His two grandmas took care of him every day, and he had two other grandmothers, as well as, two sisters, and of course his mom. There were a lot of “she” in his life.

Yesterday I was sending out letters telling banks and creditors that my mom died. I was looking at the death certificates for both of my parents and I felt panic…where she go? How can she be gone? It’s the panic a child feels when they wander away from their mom in a store and when they turn around, they don’t see her. Where she go? Where the fuck are my parents asks the lost child and the panicked adult? Now I’m not wondering if they’re in heaven or hell…I don’t actually believe in either. I mean how could they possibly have death certificates? Only dead people have those. Why can’t I find her? She’s definitely missing. 

I packed up my mom’s clothes and have them loaded up for a donation today. All that’s left is pictures and memories. I just typed that sentence and remembered Jim Croce had a song in the 70’s called “Photographs and Memories.” My sister always said I liked sad music. She might be right…I did like his music…and it is kind of sad. Pictures and memories are what I have left of my parents. They are what remains for me to remember them. It doesn’t feel like enough…at least not today.

I feel untethered. Set adrift to…I have no fucking idea where. That feels a little risky…not knowing where I’m going. I’m 63 years old. I have plans and goals. I have a family. We moved to Florida to retire. I know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m going with my parents…or my mom. There were years that I did not see my parents or talk to them, from 50 to 61, although I’m not sure why. I’m sure they had their reasons; I just don’t know what they were. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It seems that feeling untethered is a familiar feeling after all.

There were other times my parents and I didn’t communicate for a period of years, but the 50 to 61 period started on my 50th birthday. My mom remembered birthdays and she always called. Sometimes she’d send a card, but she always called…but on that day she didn’t call. No call and no card…I was in trouble. Why? No clue. I called my mom a week or two later, but she didn’t answer and didn’t return my call. That went on for several weeks…calling, no answer, leaving a message, no return call. And then I stopped calling. All I was doing was hurting myself by hoping she’d answer the phone…but she never did. And I quit trying. 

Maybe I should have persisted with my calls. I don’t know. I didn’t want to beg to be their daughter…and that’s how it felt. Like when your child comes up to you, usually while you’re on the phone, and pokes you repeatedly in the leg saying, “Mom! Mom! Mom!” Because all urgent matters take place while you’re on the phone. All my unanswered calls felt like me jumping around and poking her leg, and still getting nothing from her. I felt unwanted, or worse…like I didn’t exist. That’s when I felt like an orphan. From 50 to 61 I was an orphan. I was an abandoned child…although not exactly a child…not understanding where my parents went. They disappeared from my life.

For a long time, I thought there must really be something wrong with me because my own mom didn’t want me…didn’t love me. I felt like I must be defective somehow. Living on the island of misfit toys, or misfit daughters. What was so wrong with me that she didn’t want me? 

The difficulty with my mom was that I never knew where I stood with her. I would think things were fine and then she’d be mad at me and stop answering my calls. So, I’d call and call and call until finally she would answer the phone. She’d be cold as I ice, and I’d have to apologize and apologize some more until she’d finally let it go…but it was never gone. My mom remembered every detail of every time someone hurt her. She was easily angered or offended. And she kept score. The difficulty was I frequently didn’t know what I had done wrong. So, my mom would be mad until she wasn’t and then expect everything to go back to normal. If she was okay about something, I was expected to be okay too. Her feelings ruled.

The crazy thing in all of this is that if she had just told me that there was problem, we could have talked about it and hopefully resolved whatever the issue was. Instead, I tried to figure it out and when I couldn’t I stopped trying. It took me many years and lots of dollars in therapy to reach a place where I could see that I was not the cause of all of the problems in her life. She was the only one who could have changed anything…and she didn’t. I don’t know if she didn’t want to or if she didn’t know how…maybe she didn’t care enough to try. I don’t know and I’ll never know.

Now, let’s be real…what is my fucking point? I wish I knew. I still feel shocked that both of my parents are gone. All the years that I didn’t see them, I felt rejected. Like I didn’t matter enough for them to try. Try to see me or talk to me and tell me what was on their mind. Sometimes what I think I missed most about my parents during my 50’s was the “idea” of them. Perhaps more accurately, the “ideal” of them. Maybe that’s what I miss now too. The ideal of a mom…where she would love me just for being me. I felt the most loved when I graduated from law school. They both liked that for sure. I wanted to be loved just for being their daughter, not for an achievement. 

It’s easy to look back and question or wonder…second guess myself and my parents. I’m not sure how helpful that is. I don’t need to analyze my mom as much as I need to understand myself in relationship to her. Who was I with her and who am I without her? What habits or patterns did I develop in reaction to her? I frequently felt the need to protect myself when I was with her. How did that impact my relationship with her? How did it affect my relationships with other people? Does it still affect them? It all feels confusing right now. There’s a mountain of feelings and experiences to sort through. 

What I do know is that I can always love better. I’m guessing that my parents were hurt and I’m not sure how well I responded with love. And love isn’t all kisses and butterflies…it’s having hard conversations and being completely honest. It’s seriously clearing the air. Not allowing a lifetime of grievances to stack up so that even small things become a bigger deal than they need to be. 

What I know is that I tried. I did my best. I’m guessing they did too. What I’m left pondering is how I could have loved better? How could I have loved more honestly? More authentically and with more vulnerability? How could I have loved with less judgment? How can I stay grounded so that I can be my best most loving self all the time? 

I am grateful for the last couple weeks with my mom. While she was happy and relaxed, we loved each other. I know she loved me the best she could, and I loved her too. She knew I loved her. And in the end, all that matters is how we love people. So, we need to get busy loving people. Because love wins…every time.

I’m An Orphan…Right?

~ 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 17th. 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….

Thoughts on PTSD

~ Kai Raines ~ 1 Comment

I think most people are familiar with the term PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We’re familiar with the words but maybe not the meaning or a full understanding of what’s involved with that diagnosis. I have diagnosed myself, (because it saves time) with PTSD as a result of the traumatic fall I had November 10th.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, PTSD requires exposure to an event that involved the actual, or threat of death, violence, or serious injury. The disorder develops in some people who experience a shocking, scary, or dangerous event. Either you experienced the traumatic event, you witnessed it, someone close to you experienced the event, or you are repeatedly exposed to graphic details of traumatic events, for example, first responders. The National Center for PTSD estimates that out of 100 people, 6 will experience PTSD at some point.

As I was reading this week, I was reminded that my PTSD started before last November. When I was in my 30’s I started working for the Denver Department of Human Services as a child protection caseworker. I had a caseload of families with children who had been removed from their homes because of child abuse and/or neglect. One winter morning I had gone to a school staffing at 7:00 am about 45 minutes from where I worked. When I left the school, it was snowing…more like sleeting. I was driving very slowly because the highway was icy. All of a sudden, I saw a pickup truck lose control on the other side of the highway. The truck spun into the grass median and then flipped over and over toward me. I thought I was going to die. I thought the truck would end up on top of my car…and me. I tried to stop but my car slid on the ice. I hit the pickup truck when it stopped flipping and the car behind me hit me. As the truck was landing the driver was ejected from the front seat and went sliding down the highway. He looked like he was just sleeping as he slid by. I tried to steer away from him but couldn’t because of the ice. I thought I ran him over. 

When everything stopped moving, I was really shaken up. I understand now why an “excited utterance” is an exception to the hearsay rule in court. There’s no time or ability to lie about anything. I understand this because pretty much as soon as a state patrol officer said “hi” I blurted out everything that had happened, including thinking that I ran the driver over as he slid down the highway. The officer told me I did not run him over. The “him” was a 17-year-old, who stole his grandfather’s truck. He didn’t even have a drivers license. It was so sad because he died at the scene. The officer was gentle with me and told me several times that that young man’s death was not my fault. I think because the truck was flipping down the highway at me, I knew it wasn’t my fault. 

That accident gave me PTSD and I still have it. I cannot drive in the snow or ice…well, I physically can but emotionally it’s a bad idea. I am terrified of snowy or icy roads. And you may think, “well I don’t like them either, no one does.” True…but I’m afraid I’m going to be killed at any moment. I’m terrified that a car is going to flip over and smush me…and I’ll be dead. I literally cannot be in a car, riding or driving, in those conditions. That was almost 30 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I still feel the fear of dying and I still see that young man sliding down the highway. None of those images have faded in all these years.

It is natural to feel afraid during and after a traumatic event. A diagnosis of PTSD requires symptoms that last longer than a month and that significantly interfere with aspects of daily living, like work, or relationships. Symptoms must be unrelated to medication, substance abuse, or other illness. PTSD also requires: at least 1 re-experiencing symptom, such as flashbacks, distressing thoughts, recurring memories or dreams; at least 1 avoidance symptom, like avoiding thoughts or feelings, staying away from certain people, places, or events; at least 2 arousal and reactivity symptoms, such as hyper-vigilance, being easily startled or frightened, difficulty with sleep and concentration, feeling irritable or angry, self-destructive behavior; and at least 2 cognition or mood symptoms for example, difficulty remembering key parts of the traumatic event, ongoing feelings of fear, anger, shame, or guilt, loss of interest in activities you used to enjoy, feeling isolated, difficulty feeling positive emotions, and ongoing negative emotions.

There are so many reasons for PTSD personally, as communities, as a country, as a world…9/11, school shootings, as well as shootings in churches, synagogues, movie theaters, and LGBTQ+ nightclubs. There are murders, car accidents, bad falls, assaults, and fucking Covid. And I’m just stopping there but the list of trauma inducing events goes on and on…wildfires, tornadoes, hurricanes, floods…you see my point. I wonder if there’s anyone out there who doesn’t have PTSD. After 9/11 I walked around watching the sky and waiting for the next plane to crash and the next building to fall. After Pulse Nightclub I felt, and still feel, hunted, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. After the Columbine shooting, I questioned the wisdom of sending my kids to school. The pandemic made me want to put everyone I care about into plastic bubbles so they couldn’t get Covid…and couldn’t die.

I think we are a nation of collective PTSD, but we don’t know it. We don’t know because, instead of feeling all the pain and loss of those events, we shut down or we just get angry. It might be righteous anger but it’s still just one feeling, one reaction. It’s easier to feel anger than to feel afraid or confused, or loss, or sadness. There’s been tremendous loss and we should all feel sad, we should be heartbroken, but instead we just get angrier. We are a nation full of angry people…angry traumatized people. When we attempt to solve problems while we are angry our solutions can easily turn to violence…guns, tanks, bombs. We hurt and so we want them to hurt too…whoever “them” may be. They did this to us, so we’ll do this to them…upping the ante with every reaction. 

And we are just reacting. When we’re traumatized, when we’re scared, when we feel threatened, our reaction is fight or flight. I am either gonna beat the shit out of you or I am gonna run the fuck away and hide. Those are the physical reactions our bodies automatically produce. We have a physical reaction but what is our response? Are we able to stop a moment, take a breath, and make a decision of how we will respond? Make a conscious choice. When a traumatic event occurs, our reactions are immediate, and they need to be so that we protect ourselves. When recurring fears and feelings are stirred up because of PTSD we need to find a way to respond. We need to be able to choose an appropriate response when we aren’t in danger, but we’re triggered. When I was walking my dog and I tripped, I was not in danger. Nothing happened to me. I was safe. But for example, if my reaction was to decide to never leave my house again, that might be a bit extreme. When triggered my reactions are not to actual danger but rather a perceived danger. I see danger everywhere because the world hurt me. The beach broke me, a car flipped in front of me, a dead body slid past me on the road…I was minding my own business, and the world got me. How did it get me? It reminded me that I am not in control. I’m not in control of the world or of people or even myself sometimes. Shit happens because I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it because I can’t control it…”it” being literally everything. Well fuck. People fall, cars crash, people die…life happens. Sometimes life feels a bit relentless. 

So, let’s be real…I have physically been put back together from the fall but mentally and emotionally, I feel guarded…maybe tentative is a better word. I feel tentative in my interactions with the world around me. So, what is a lover of the beach to do, especially since I’m scared now. I’m not exactly sure but I know one thing, sitting and being still with myself can only help. Sitting as in meditation or prayer or whatever reason causes you to sit alone and in silence. So, I’m gonna sit. Then, I’ll sit…and finally, I’ll sit some more. Because in a world that feels out of control, I can control that. I can control sitting myself down and meditating…or just closing my eyes and being still. Quiet, still, and by myself. 

So that’s my plan. To sit. Yep, that’s the whole plan. Call it meditation, call it relaxing, or call it laziness.  It doesn’t matter what you call it, it matters that you do it. So, I’ll sit 20 minutes a day…maybe only 10 to start. I’m not sure what to do with all these feelings. So, I’m gonna sit. I’m going to allow my much-feared feelings to arise as they want to and I’m going to sit with them. I’m going to stay with them. I am not going to interact with them, at least not now. I’m going to notice them in my mind, recognize them, notice them in my body, and then let them go. I’m going to notice, touch, and let go. And they will go…if I let go. I’m going to allow these feelings to come to me instead of trying to orchestrate how I’ll fix them without feeling them. Nothing needs to be fixed. All I need is to be aware.

Before I end here, I want to say that I am not writing this as a mental health expert or an expert in PTSD. I am writing as a fellow traveler on this journey with trauma. I’m reading and learning and sharing. This is not intended to take the place of any therapy. Only you know if you need therapy. If you think you might then you should. Therapy can be very helpful. 

If you are going to hurt yourself, call 911. If you have suicidal thoughts, get help right away. Reach out to a friend, a spiritual advisor, or someone you trust. Make an appointment with your doctor or therapist. You can contact the Suicide Crisis Lifeline 24 hours a day. Text 988 with any message you want and have a conversation with a counselor through text or chat. You can also call 1-800-suicide 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Please reach out and get the help you need.

As a person who has experienced trauma, in relationships with people who have experienced trauma, in a nation that has experienced trauma, and as part of a massively traumatized world, be kind. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to other people. Lead with love in all your interactions. Because we need love to win. We need love to win everywhere. In the end, all that matters is how we love people. So, lead with love. Love is always the place to begin.