Ode to the single use plastic straw. A love story.

Years ago, after bleaching my teeth, my dentist told me to drink with a straw to protect my enamel from stains caused by sodas, juices, or flavored drinks.

From that point on, I faithfully used a straw—always. My drink of choice was Diet Coke, so it was always Diet Coke and a straw for me.

When I was arrested in 2013 and spent a year in the county jail, there were no straws. No Diet Coke. And no teeth bleaching either.

When I got to prison, I discovered we could purchase Diet Coke.

Each housing unit had a soda machine. (Before anyone gets outraged, the funds from these machines were used to pay for things around the prison to ease the burden on taxpayers. I guess you could still be outraged, but it was the only vending available to us—except during visits. Anyway…)

I was thrilled. Nothing about prison was easy, especially in those early days, but when I was finally able to buy a cold Diet Coke, I cried. I didn’t care that it was splashing over my teeth, causing stains. Diet Coke is my vice, and I was just so grateful. Getting a Diet Coke every two weeks became something to look forward to—and in a place where there’s very little to look forward to, that meant everything.

There were many things you could buy in the prison commissary. Some unexpected things. But no straws.

About three years into my prison sentence, someone told me I could buy a black-market straw. A real straw, still in its paper wrapper.

I would’ve paid almost anything for it, but it was only a dollar—or about three packs of noodles in prison currency. I handed over the noodles and was given the straw, still wrapped.

The straw probably came from the infirmary, but I wasn’t asking questions. I could write an entire blog post on black-market goods in prison (and maybe I will), but for now, the straw.

I went straight to the vending machine, bought a cold Diet Coke, and drank it with that white bendy straw. And again, I cried. (For the record, I was not afraid to cry in prison.)

That straw became a prized possession. I treated it like gold. It made the list in my gratitude journal over a hundred times. I was incredibly protective of it. After using it, I’d carefully hide it so no one could steal it (nothing is too insignificant to be stolen in prison) or have it confiscated by an officer.

I cleaned my beloved straw—white, bendy, and admittedly dingy—with a Q-tip and a crochet hook, pushing the Q-tip through to scrub the inside. During COVID, when we had access to bleach, I’d spray the Q-tip with bleach to clean it more thoroughly.

I used that same straw for the next seven years, until the day I left prison. And on that last day, when I could have thrown it out, I just couldn’t. I brought it home. (I’ll post a picture of it when I unpack.) I know it sounds strange, but I couldn’t part with it then, and I still can’t.

After my release, I went to a gas station with my sister. I grabbed a fountain Diet Coke, and there it was—a whole container of wrapped straws, just sitting there. I could take one. No one would care. I could take two. But I didn’t.

Still, it was a moment. I drank my soda and threw both the cup and the straw away when I was finished. And it felt weird.

It still does.

an embarrassment of riches

Thank you for reading,

Kelli

How to give a victim impact statement.

If you’re reading this, you’re likely preparing to write a victim impact statement, and I’d like to offer my perspective. Now, before we dive in, I want to be upfront—I’m not speaking as someone who stood beside you in the victim’s chair. I sat on the other side of the courtroom. I’m the one who committed a crime. I’ve heard victim impact statements directed at me, and I’ve heard of others during my incarceration, even from friends featured on true crime shows. So, while my viewpoint may be different, I believe I can offer something valuable on how to approach this incredibly tough task.

First, let me apologize for what you’re going through. I can’t claim to fully understand your pain, but I know it’s deep and lasting. The trauma you’re experiencing is significant, and likely something you’ll carry forever. In the courtroom, though, you have an important moment—a chance to share, for the public record, how this crime has affected your life, and what you believe should happen next.

Now, I know you might want to express your feelings in the strongest way possible. You might hate the person facing sentencing. You might want them to rot in prison or worse. You want everyone to feel your anger, to know the full weight of your grief and your need for justice—or vengeance. And you have every right to those feelings.

But here’s my humble suggestion: don’t let your impact statement become an attack.

Avoid dehumanizing language when writing your statement. I have encountered many people who had committed terrible acts, but none were truly "evil." They were just ordinary individuals who made devastating choices. There’s nothing supernatural about them. They aren’t special—just humans facing the consequences of their actions. Rather than resorting to predictable attacks or labeling them as "evil," focus on where your real strength lies. Address the impact of their actions without reducing the person to a stereotype or their worst mistakes.

Instead of focusing on the person who caused the harm, focus on the person who was harmed—your loved one, or yourself. When you want to lash out, choose instead to reflect on the love you have for the victim. For example, if you’re tempted to highlight the perpetrator’s struggles with substance abuse, turn your focus toward what your loved one wasn’t.

Instead of saying, “You were a drunk who destroyed my loved one’s life,” you might say, “My loved one led a life full of joy and responsibility. They cherished spending time with family and friends, enjoying simple pleasures like a drink with dinner or a day outdoors. It’s a tragic irony that their life was ended by someone who struggled with what they had mastered.”

Shifting the focus away from the perpetrator’s failures and toward the victim’s life creates a statement that honors the memory of the person you lost, rather than amplifying the person who took them away.

The Power of Forgiveness (and What if You Can’t Forgive?):

Over the years, I’ve heard and seen many victim impact statements, and the ones that truly stick with me are those where victims chose to forgive, or even asked for mercy. We’re drawn to those stories, where someone rises above the pain and transcends the hate and anger that could easily consume them. It’s a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

But let me be clear—if you aren’t ready to forgive, and never ever are, that’ is understandable. Forgiveness isn’t a requirement, and no one has the right to demand it from you. If forgiveness doesn’t feel possible, I’d still encourage you to focus on love. Love for yourself, love for the person you’ve lost, or love for the life that has been forever changed by this crime. When you focus on love instead of hate, your words transcend the crime itself, bringing honor to the proceedings and creating something that can help you heal, even in the smallest way. And maybe even heal the world.

Recipe for the Perfect Victim Impact Statement:

Ingredients:

• 1 pound of love, gently warmed

• A heaping cup of impact, stirred slowly to avoid bitterness

• 2 tablespoons of grace, finely ground (optional, but powerful)

• A dash of forgiveness (use only if ready, can be substituted with patience)

• 1 generous handful of personal memories, deeply cherished

• A pinch of anger, carefully balanced

• 3 teaspoons of raw honesty, measured with care

• 1 sprig of respect, fresh and crisp

• A splash of authenticity, to taste

Instructions:

1. Start with love: Gently warm 1 pound of love in your heart, focusing on the victim—their life, their spirit, and what made them special. This is the base of your statement and will give it depth and richness.

2. Slowly fold in the impact: Gradually stir in the heaping cup of impact, making sure to describe how the crime has changed your life. Stir slowly to avoid bitterness, allowing the emotions to settle naturally into your words.

3. Sprinkle in grace: If you’re able, grind 2 tablespoons of grace and mix it into your statement. If you aren’t ready for forgiveness, grace can still add a powerful layer, showing strength and dignity.

4. Add a pinch of anger: Don’t be afraid to add a small pinch of anger—just enough to convey the raw reality of your pain. Be careful not to overdo it, as too much can overwhelm the delicate balance of the statement.

5. Incorporate personal memories: Mix in a generous handful of memories, letting them reflect the beauty and value of your loved one’s life. This will bring a richness and humanity to your statement that transcends the crime.

6. Balance with honesty: Add 3 teaspoons of raw honesty to the mix. This will ensure your words are real, heartfelt, and resonate deeply. Measure carefully to avoid overwhelming the balance of the statement.

7. Season with respect: Toss in a sprig of respect to keep your statement dignified. Even in pain, your words should reflect a sense of honor for the victim and the gravity of the moment.

8. Finish with authenticity: Stir in a splash of authenticity, adjusting to your personal taste. Authenticity brings warmth and sincerity, ensuring your statement is deeply felt and remembered.

Serve warm: Present your impact statement with care, allowing the love and grace to rise to the surface. This recipe may be difficult to prepare, but when served with dignity and heart, it has the power to heal and honor in ways that transcend the moment.

Recipe for the Worst Victim Impact Statement:

Ingredients:

• 2 cups of boiling hatred, over-stirred

• A heaping scoop of personal attacks, finely minced

• 3 tablespoons of dehumanization, burned to a crisp

• 1 quart of blame, shaken and bitter

• A bucket of insults, thrown in recklessly

• 1 fistful of grudges, old and stale

• 1 oversized dollop of revenge, served cold

• A handful of frustration, tightly squeezed

• 1 teaspoon of bitterness, with no room for balance

• A sprig of disrespect, wilted and dry

Instructions:

1. Boil over with hatred: Start with 2 cups of boiling hatred, and make sure to over-stir. Let the anger spill out, unchecked, and scald everyone in the room with your rage. This is your main ingredient, and it should overpower everything else.

2. Throw in personal attacks: Mince a heaping scoop of personal attacks and scatter them throughout. Be sure to call out every flaw, insult their character, and remind everyone how terrible they are. Focus entirely on the perpetrator, leaving no room for love or remembrance of the victim.

3. Char the dehumanization: Overcook 3 tablespoons of dehumanization until they’re burnt and brittle. Make sure to refer to the perpetrator as a monster, demon, or anything other than human. This will give your statement a bitter, scorched flavor that leaves a bad aftertaste.

4. Shake in the blame: Pour in a quart of blame, making sure it’s as bitter as possible. This ingredient should be aggressively mixed in, targeting every fault of the perpetrator without reflecting on your own grief or healing.

5. Dump in the insults: Don’t measure, just dump a bucket of insults into the mix. The more reckless and unfocused, the better. This will ensure your statement lacks any constructive value and feels more like a rant than a reflection.

6. Add a fistful of grudges: Grab a handful of old grudges—make sure they’re stale—and grind them into the mixture. These should be things that are only tangentially related to the crime, like old arguments or unrelated personal grievances. They’ll add a sour, outdated flavor to the whole dish.

7. Top with revenge: Finish with an oversized dollop of cold revenge. This will create a harsh, icy tone and make your statement feel more like a vendetta than a heartfelt expression of your loss or pain.

8. Squeeze in frustration: Squeeze in a handful of frustration, wringing out every ounce of your anger. Make sure it overpowers any attempt at reason or balance. This is key to ensuring your statement feels chaotic and unstructured.

9. Bitter to the core: Add 1 teaspoon of bitterness, being careful not to leave any room for healing, grace, or personal growth. The more unbalanced, the better.

10. Garnish with disrespect: Toss in a wilted sprig of disrespect for good measure. Disrespect for the process, the court, and even the memory of the victim will help ensure your statement lacks any dignity or lasting impact.

Serve cold: Present this statement with a cold, hard edge, leaving everyone in the room uncomfortable and disconnected. It won’t honor your loved one or the process, but it will definitely leave a sour taste.

Thank you for reading,

Kelli

The Prison Perspective Speech. Motherhood Edition….

In prison, when I saw a mother who was suffering from being apart from her children, I would give her this little speech.

 It went like this..... the recipe for becoming an extraordinary adult often (and I mean so often) involves hardship as a child. Your child is no doubt suffering because you aren't there. But they are with people who love them. They are being fed and cared for. They're ok in the circumstance. This ...THIS... is the hardship you would pick if you had the opportunity to pick one. For them to be separated from their mother.  You wouldn't pick childhood molestation, or childhood cancer, or your children being raised in a war-torn country. You would pick this. This very thing.

 Be grateful! They will be fine! ….And you will too.

And now, today, I know this is true. I only have to look at my own grown children-who are indeed extraordinary.

I’m Sorry. Autism Edition #2

I’m sorry. Autism Edition #1

Why Testifying in Front of Congress is Like Going to the Parole Board

From my perspective, testifying in front of Congress and facing a parole board are eerily similar experiences. Picture this: you’re walking into a room where a group of serious-looking individuals are ready to dissect your every word and action. Their solitary task? Listening only to attack.

The Ego Check

First off, if you’re thinking of strutting into Congress or a parole board with your ego intact, think again. Your wit and stunning good looks (or not) might normally make you the most interesting person in the room. But these folks are not here to hear about your high points. They’re laser-focused on the nitty-gritty details of your screw-ups.

Imagine telling Congress about your innovative strategies only for them to respond with, “Sure, but what about that time you lost $10 billion?” Similarly, at a parole board, you might want to boast about leading a meditation class, but they’re more interested in why you had misconducts from day one.

Shame

Admitting Your Wrongs

This part is crucial. Both Congress and parole boards want to see if you can fess up to your mistakes. They don’t want to hear how it wasn’t really your fault that the company tanked or that the bank robbery was just a “misunderstanding.” They don’t want to hear it.  And if they did hear it, they don’t care.

You have to own up to your past. “I messed up” is your new mantra. It’s not about the justifications or the nuanced explanations. It’s about plain, unadulterated accountability. Think of it as a public airing of your dirty laundry, but without the benefit of a soft breeze or Febreze.

Pain like you’ve never known

A Total Evisceration

Get ready for a grilling session that makes a Thanksgiving turkey's ordeal look like a spa day. Think "Braveheart” but more painful. Both settings are designed to strip away your defenses and expose every flaw and failing. It’s like being in a dunk tank where every wrong answer—or just breathing—drops you further into the icy waters of self-reflection.

Regardless of the minutes…it’s a long day.  By the end, you’ll feel like you’ve been through a spin cycle, and not the gentle one.

"Abandon Hope All Ye..."

Dante’s "Inferno," “Abandon hope all ye who enter here” pretty much sums up the vibe. Think of it as an intense therapy session where the therapists are stern, humorless, and probably wouldn’t mind if you cried a little—or a lot. Any hope of emotional self-preservation must be abandoned. This is about as close as you can get to a public flaying without actually losing your skin.

This isn’t to say there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. There is, but it’s a very small, flickering bulb that you might only reach by crawling through a mile of scrutiny and self-flagellation. It’s about proving you’re more than the sum of your past mistakes, but it’s a gauntlet to get there.

So, if you’re testifying in front of Congress or facing a parole board, brace yourself for a ride. These experiences demand humility, brutal honesty, and a thick skin. Leave your ego at the door, own up to your missteps, and prepare for a thorough dissection of your past actions. It’s a rough road, but if you navigate it well, you might just come out the other side a little wiser—and hopefully, free.

Let Freedom Ring

The Fourth of July and Memorial Day were never easy days in prison. In fact, they were some of the most emotional for me. Both holidays are so deeply intertwined with the values of freedom and sacrifice. And there I was in prison, not free and a burden to the taxpayers.

It was not a happy feeling.

So many members of my family have served in the armed forces. Heroes. I hold deep pride for my family and our history.

At Arlington where my great uncle Colonel Lester Sanders  is buried.

My husband (now ex), my children, and I always participated in the Fourth of July parade. We honored our country, proudly flew the American flag, and never complained about paying taxes. Sitting in prison, with ample time to think, I often pondered the fight for an independent and free country while I was… well… not.

If I could go back in time and ask the servicemen and women who fought in the Revolutionary War (or any subsequent wars) if their vision of liberty included fighting for felons in prison, what would they have said? Would they have said,

"Yes, my sacrifice was for you too"

Just thinking about it would bring me to tears and fill me with shame.

George Washington our First United States President

In prison, the Fourth of July and Memorial Day included some games and a holiday meal that we looked forward to. We would also gather with friends, each contributing commissary items to make special treats. Despite these small celebrations, I always felt a sense of relief when the day was behind me.

Our 4th of July meal was actually pretty close to this. Chili dogs.

Now, I am celebrating my first Fourth of July in freedom. Not only am I free, but I am driving a truck for my employer in the Frankfort parade. As the parade started and I moved my truck into position, all I could see from my vantage point was an ocean of red, white, and blue. Horns were honking, people were cheering, and there was nothing but joy on all the faces.

The view from my truck

I couldn’t believe how my fortunes had changed. What a difference a year makes. I was in a moment where I could truly appreciate freedom in such a meaningful way. The tears threatened.

The company I work for is called Graceland Fruit, and for me, it really has been a "Land of Grace." This company hires felons, took a chance on me as a new CDL driver, and let me proudly drive their truck in our parade.

I am filled with gratitude and a deeper understanding of what it means to be free.

It was a great day to be free in the United States of America.

Thank you for reading,

Kelli Stapleton

Defined

“Your crime does not define you”

I heard this a lot in prison, and as much as I hate it, I think maybe we are defined by our crimes.

I do think we are largely defined by our ACTIONS. And if our crime was an action (it was) then yes.

Case in point:

Mother Teresa of Calcutta

And here is another example:

Charles Manson

And tell me what you think of when you see this one:

Monica Lewinsky

Our actions reflect our values, intentions, and character. Who we are is how we act. But the beauty of it all is that we can change. We can act better, do better, and be better.

Thank you for reading,

Kelli Stapleton

p.s. I really love Monica Lewinski and what she has done with her life. She inspires me.

Bloom

On one of my first days in prison, I heard the quote "bloom where you're planted," and it resonated deeply, sparking a desire to grow despite my circumstances.

Instead of falling into despair, I faced my reality. A harsh reality. Acceptance didn’t mean giving up; it meant focusing on what I could control and finding ways to grow.

Even in prison, I found purpose. Through education, helping others, and trying to maintain a positive attitude (which I failed at daily!), I contributed and improved myself. Every small act was a step towards blooming.

Blooming where you're planted means flourishing where you are. A growth mindset became crucial. Viewing my sentence as an opportunity to learn, I engaged in education and self-reflection, treating every day as a chance to grow.

Blooming where you're planted is a lifelong journey for me. The resilience and mindset I developed in prison continue to guide me, proving that no matter where you are, you have the power to bloom.

When life gives you a steaming pile of sh!t. Make fertilizer.

When life gives you a steaming pile of sh!t. Make fertilizer

Today I Start Again

Time in prison is different from time out in the world. Ten years feels like an eternity, a lifetime spent grappling with regrets, consequences, and the elusive hope of redemption. Confined physically and mentally by razor wire and the weight of my own actions.

As I step back into the world, I carry the heavy burden of my past. The consequences of my actions. Yet, I hope I am not defined solely by the mistakes that led me here. However, I am determined to carve a new path, one that leads away from the shadows of my past and towards the light of a better future.

This blog is not just a chronicle of my journey; an unfiltered narrative of the challenges and (hopefully) triumphs that accompany the quest for redemption. Through these words, I hope to offer solace to those who have stumbled along similar paths and inspiration to those who dare to believe in second chances.

I don’t expect this journey to be an easy one. The consequences of my actions loom large, casting a long shadow over every step forward. I embrace the opportunity for growth, for transformation, for a chance to make amends and build something meaningful out of the wreckage of my past, and the terrible pain I’ve caused.

I made this video too:

This is the book I mentioned in the video.

Trinity Lutheran Church Frankfort