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