We are not merely made by God —
We are made of God.
Threaded with light,
woven from whispers of the Infinite.
Star-stuff, soul-stuff, sacred breath.

Not puppets pulled by strings,
but sparks entrusted with flame.
The divine did not sculpt idols —
It scattered itself
into the skin, the bone, the heartbeat.

We walk not toward divinity.
We carry it.

But what is divinity unawakened?
What is power untouched by purpose?
We are not gods by title —
We are gods by potential,
called to remember
what forgetfulness buried.

To be of God
is to be of Love.
To be of Love
is to be of Choice.

And so we rise —
not to rule,
but to realize.

To open the eye behind the eyes.
To see the self behind the self.
To know the quiet truth:
Awareness is responsibility.
And responsibility… is sacred.

So shine, not because you must,
but because you can.
Because you are.
Because you were always more
than you were told to be.

🪞 Reflection Questions:

• What parts of me have I been taught to shrink that might actually be sacred?

• If I believed I was made of God — not just by God — how would I live differently?

• Where have I forgotten my own light?

✨ Author Commercial Break

Hi, I’m Krystena LuCastro — a writer, framework builder, and cultural architect exploring the emotional, spiritual, and structural layers of our lives. I help people name what they know, honor their inner clarity, and imagine something better.

Let’s build a world that feels like home.

There’s a quiet truth too many of us carry but rarely say out loud:
Most of the people running the world are just unhealed children in adult bodies. Literally just children masquerading as adults. 

And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

They wear suits, hold office, raise families, lead teams — but under the surface are unmet needs, bruised egos, emotional reactivity, and the same fear of abandonment they never outgrew. While others take their behavior at face value, those of us with emotional fluency… we see the tantrums. The projections. The wounds.

We’re in the 13th grade now.
Life is the classroom. And maturity isn’t guaranteed by age — only by awareness.

A World of Grown Children

We’ve built a society that rewards adult appearances while ignoring emotional curriculum. We mistake confidence for competence. Volume for vision. And worst of all, we treat titles as proof of character.

But emotional maturity can’t be faked forever. It shows in how someone handles disagreement. Apologizes. Owns mistakes. Navigates shame. Regulates power. And too often, what we see are children — wielding adult responsibilities with the emotional toolkit of a playground bully.

This isn’t just frustrating. It’s dangerous.

Unhealed children with access to power don’t build systems of care. They build echo chambers, revenge structures, and reward systems for their own pain. They seek control, not understanding. Approval, not accountability.

And when we ignore this, we enable it.

The Isolation of the Aware

If you’re someone who notices — who sees the child in the adult — it can feel lonely.

You watch others debate symptoms while you see root causes. You recognize that the “difficult boss” is a boy who was never listened to. That the “controlling partner” is a girl who had to earn love through performance. That the policy maker acting heartless is terrified of their own powerlessness.

And because you see it, you often go quiet.

Not out of fear — but discernment. You stop arguing because you realize you’re not having adult conversations, you’re being baited into emotional shadowboxing with someone who doesn’t even know they’re bleeding.

So you isolate. Or you mask. Or you keep your distance — not because you don’t care, but because your care runs too deep to waste on unwilling students.

Life Is the 13th Grade

This is why I say: life is the 13th grade.

We are all students. Some repeat lessons. Some cheat. Some copy. And some pretend they already know everything while failing silently inside. But the ones who grow — the ones who do the hard, slow, uncomfortable work of healing — those are the ones who show up to class.

They read the signs in their relationships.
They ask the hard questions in conflict.
They take feedback like grown-ups.
They pause before projecting.
They apologize when it matters most.

They learn.

If there’s any hope for our families, communities, governments, and futures — it starts with this: understanding that emotional immaturity is not a personal quirk. It’s a societal epidemic. And it’s one we have to name before we can change.

A Call to the Quiet Ones

To those who’ve gone silent because the room was too loud with unresolved pain: I see you.

To those who chose peace over reaction, distance over destruction, solitude over performance — I honor you.

To those who are still doing the work, even when it hurts, even when no one claps — keep going.

You are not behind. You are not weak. You are not broken.
You are simply in class while the rest of the world plays dress-up.

Let’s stop mistaking loudness for leadership.
Let’s stop calling pain “strength” just because it’s hidden well.
Let’s build a world where healing is honored, not mocked.
And where real adults finally step forward — not just by age, but by action.

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If this piece spoke to something you’ve quietly felt but rarely voiced, you’re not alone. I’m building an entire movement around this.

💻 Visit the site → https://sites.google.com/view/13thgrade/home
📥 Go and join the waitlist, and stay curious about the upcoming book.

This isn’t the end of the conversation. It’s the beginning of a classroom.

I recognize the privilege of my education – how it carved out options I now get to call choices.

I recognize the privilege of my reality every time I drive through that side of town and realize:

If I wasn’t as educated,

If I wasn’t as resourceful,

If I wasn’t as connected, or as supported as I am –

I might be right there.

I might not have made it out.

I recognize my privilege every time I eat without worry.

Every time I drive a car that works.

Every time I get dressed and feel both comfort and confidence.

When I get to adorn myself – with jewelry, with makeup, with softness –

those are all privileges.

I recognize the privilege of being able to read… to understand, to comprehend, to make meaning from words on a page, a sign, or across a screen.

That, too, is privilege – quiet, often invisible, but powerful.

Because literacy is access.

It’s autonomy.

It’s the ability to take in the world around you rather than be told what it means.

And not everyone has that.

But I also recognize the privileges I do not have.

Because of who I am, what I am.

Like my skin color.

Like my gender.

Like so many things I probably don’t even know to name.

Because sometimes the world sees my face and already decides my worth.

Because safety doesn’t always feel guaranteed.

Because access isn’t always access. Sometimes, it’s an audition.

And that is simply not fair.

So I live in the tension.

Grateful, but grieving.

Aware of the ladder I’ve climbed, but not unaware of who built it – and for whom.

I don’t take what I have for granted.

But I won’t pretend the playing field is level, either.

Because I know what it means to not feel this secure.

To not have to meet a schedule of transportation – because I have a vehicle.

To not be limited in what parts of the world I can see – because I can get on a plane.

To not build my life around buffers of time I can’t afford – because I own distance now.

To not have to borrow clothes that don’t feel like me, just to blend in.

Or show up wearing a desperate choice from a finite selection of clothing options,

praying that what I say will matter more than what I can afford to wear.

To not have to think twice about food – whether I should eat now or later.

Whether I have to choose between feeding myself or my family.

Because we can all eat – without hesitation.

To not ask: Can I keep the lights on? Or should I save for something else?

Can I send my child to daycare? Or must she stay home – less engaged, less enriched –

not because of a lack of love,

but a lack of resources.

Convenience is a privilege – quiet, invisible, and often taken for granted.

Its absence is loud.

It shows up in missed buses, limited grocery options, rescheduled appointments, and impossible choices.

Convenience isn’t luxury. It’s stability, freedom, and peace disguised as ease.

This is what it means to have options.

And having options is privilege.

Even when it doesn’t always feel like ease.

Privilege isn’t one-size-fits-all. It stacks. It intersects. It even contradicts.

I may have less privilege in one room and more in another.

That’s not confusion – that’s complexity.

So when we say White Privilege,

or Ableist Privilege,

or Male Privilege,

we’re not launching an attack.

We’re naming a structure.

We’re pointing to what exists – often silently, invisibly, but powerfully.

It’s not a dig.

It’s not blame.

It’s recognition.

It’s saying:

This road is smoother for you – not because you asked for it to be, but because the world often built it that way.

And others?

They’re driving on gravel. With potholes. Sometimes barefoot.

Privilege isn’t proof of goodness or superiority.

It’s often inherited.

It’s history – passed down through wealth, access, proximity to decision-makers.

Some people are born near the starting line. Others are born outside the stadium.

Acknowledging privilege doesn’t erase hard work.

It just tells the whole truth:

That hard work plus access yields more than hard work alone.

That some people have to work twice as hard for half as much.

And when we don’t recognize our privilege,

we risk weaponizing our ignorance.

We mistake equity for attack.

We resent the progress of others,

as if equality is a threat rather than a goal.

Awareness isn’t shame.

It’s clarity.

And clarity is the first step to compassion, to empathy – and to change.

So I live in that clarity.

I honor what I carry and name what I lack.

I know that I’ve earned some things – but not everything.

And I know others have lost things they never should’ve had to lose.

Naming privilege is an act of rebellion.

It is a quiet resistance rooted in hope.

It shows me – again and again – that healing people, heal people.

And that when we choose to see each other clearly,

we create the conditions for justice to grow.

If we all carry different kinds of privilege,

then we all have different kinds of power.

And power – when used with empathy – can build bridges

that justice alone cannot.

We all have privilege.

Not the same kind. Not the same amount.

But we all have something.

So let’s stop pretending we don’t.

Let’s name it,

hold it,

and use it well.

What privileges do you carry?

Which ones do you see operating quietly around you?

And if you truly believe equity is fair and right – what will you do with what you have?

Maybe you’ve never had to wonder where your next meal would come from.

Or maybe you’ve always had to.

Either way, I invite you to pause and ask:

What freedoms have I mistaken for normal?

Start there.

Start by naming.

Because what we name, we can see.

And what we see, we can begin to change.

There’s a common phrase tossed around in healing spaces:
“I’m breaking generational chains.”

And it’s powerful — because some chains truly do need to be broken.
Chains of trauma.
Cycles of shame.
Inherited pain mistaken for tradition.

But not all chains are curses.

Some are legacy.
Some are resilience.
Some are memory, love, laughter, and protection.

The real work isn’t just breaking old chains — it’s discerning:

• Which ones to let go.

• Which ones to keep.

• Which ones to improve.

• And which ones still need to be created.

And here’s where it gets hard:
You can’t create something new until you’ve made space for it.

That means walking through discomfort — not around it.
It means naming your fears, noticing your patterns,
and facing them — not to shame yourself,
but to evolve.

Because the only way out… is through.

Growth is not erasure.
Change is not betrayal.

If you love yourself deeply, you’ll realize:
Becoming better isn’t abandoning who you are —
It’s honoring who you can be.

So yes — break what harms.
But hold what helps.
And start building new chains:

Chains of safety.
Chains of emotional fluency.
Chains of grace.
Of healing.
Of joy.
Of responsibility.
Of clarity.
Of rest.

Chains that connect, not control.
Chains that liberate, not limit.

Because this work?
This sacred undoing and redoing?

It doesn’t just change you.
It changes everything that comes after you.

Your ripple can become the tsunami.

I watched the moment unfold with a knot forming in my chest.
This wasn’t just ignorance. It was the casual dismissal of real lives, spoken aloud in a place of power.

Recently, a government decision-maker openly denied the existence of an entire group of people — in this case, intersex individuals — not out of malice alone, but out of sheer ignorance.
A Black woman — a member of the most educated demographic in the United States — tried to educate him. She explained, calmly and clearly, that services he sought to eliminate also served intersex people: individuals born with biological characteristics that do not fit typical definitions of male or female.

Instead of engaging, asking questions, or acknowledging her expertise, he responded with disbelief. He could not even comprehend the term “intersex,” let alone the reality that they exist.
In his eyes, she was fabricating a myth.
In reality, she was naming facts — facts that he, a public servant, should have known long before he ever assumed the power to make decisions on behalf of others.

And sadly, this dismissal is not unique.
History is filled with groups — whether intersex individuals, Indigenous peoples, LGBTQ+ communities, disabled individuals, or multiracial families — whose very existence has been denied or erased simply because it made others uncomfortable.

At moments like this, it almost feels like we are living in a broken simulation — where some lives are acknowledged, and others are treated like glitches in the system because those in power choose not to understand them.
But people’s experiences are not optional.
Their existence is not up for debate.
To deny someone’s reality because it doesn’t fit within your own limited framework isn’t just ignorant — it’s delusional, and it’s dangerous.

The Dangerous Gap Between Belief and Fact

Governance demands respect for reality, not a commitment to personal belief systems.
Belief is personal. Facts are collective.
And when those entrusted with leadership cannot distinguish between the two, people are harmed. Communities are erased. Lives are made harder — or even lost.

Reality is not optional.
Reality does not require belief to exist.

Intersex individuals exist. Indigenous peoples exist. LGBTQ+ communities exist. Disabled individuals exist. Multiracial families exist.
Ignoring them does not erase their existence — it only exposes the incompetence and cruelty of those choosing not to see.

Ignorance Is Not Innocent — It’s a Weapon

When leaders refuse to acknowledge basic facts, it’s not a neutral act.
It is malpractice.
When policymakers cling to ignorance and faith-based ideology over proven fact, they leave entire groups vulnerable to erasure, neglect, and harm.

It’s not just about one uninformed man in a local office.
It’s about a system that allows — and even rewards — ignorance.

Governance based on denial is governance by erasure.
And we have tolerated this malpractice for far too long.

A Reality Check for Leadership

It is long past time to require a foundational standard of reality in leadership.
Those who insist on prioritizing belief, faith, or ideology over factual knowledge, science, and evidence should not be entrusted with the public good.
Private belief has its place — but public service demands something higher: a commitment to what is, not just what feels comfortable.

Leadership requires humility, curiosity, and a willingness to keep learning, especially about groups and experiences outside one’s own.
It should never be optional.
It must be the bare minimum.

We Were Warned: The Separation of Church and State Was Not a Suggestion

The forefathers who insisted on the separation of church and state understood something critical:
That personal faith must never dictate public governance.

They were not trying to erase religion — they were trying to prevent the very reality we are living through today, where belief, not fact, is driving decisions for the collective.

Faith, for many, is deeply personal and meaningful. It deserves respect.
But it does not belong at the foundation of policies that affect millions of people with diverse experiences, identities, and beliefs.

Those who are driven solely by faith tend to think in absolutes: right or wrong, saved or damned, good or evil.
Governing, however, demands the ability to think in nuance — to live in the gray, to tolerate complexity, to understand that the collective good cannot be built on personal certainty alone.

We are dangerously close to recreating the very systems of exclusion, oppression, and division that early Americans fled from.
And it is happening because we forgot the wisdom of keeping governance firmly rooted in reality, not belief.

If We Want a Different Future, Here’s What Must Happen:

1. Establish Minimum Educational and Reality Standards for Public Office
Candidates must demonstrate basic knowledge of science, human rights, and historical reality — just as they must meet age and citizenship requirements.

2. Codify and Reassert the Separation of Church and State
Strengthen legal protections to ensure religious ideology cannot drive public policy that affects a diverse, pluralistic population.

3. Implement Mandatory Equity and Reality Training for All Public Officials
Just like harassment and ethics trainings, there must be consequences for those who refuse to learn about the full humanity they are meant to serve.

4. Vote with Knowledge as a Non-Negotiable
Support and elect leaders who understand that belief is personal, but governance is collective — and must be rooted in fact.

5. Create a Public Movement for Reality-Based Governance
Organize locally and nationally to demand commitments from candidates, institutions, and parties to honor and protect reality, not just belief.

We Deserve Better

History has taught us — painfully and repeatedly — what happens when we allow belief to outweigh reality.
We do not have to repeat these generational curses.
We can break the cycle of trauma and exclusion.

But it starts with reclaiming governance from the hands of the willfully ignorant.
It starts with demanding leaders who recognize every life, every truth, every existence — not just the ones they find familiar or convenient.

Reality is the minimum.
Humanity is the minimum.
And anything less cannot be allowed to lead us forward.

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#SeparationOfChurchAndState #EvidenceBasedPolicy #PublicServiceStandards #VoteForReality #AccountabilityInOffice #DemocracyDemandsFacts
#IntersexRights #LGBTQVisibility #IndigenousRights #DisabilityJustice #EveryLifeCounts #ErasureIsViolence #ExistenceIsNotDebate
#DemandBetterLeadership #RealityBasedGovernance #EquityInPolitics #IgnoranceIsMalpractice #EducateYourLeaders #WeDeserveBetter #KnowBeforeYouVote
#SocialJustice #HumanRights #ProgressivePolitics #IntersectionalJustice #VoiceToTheVoiceless #TruthToPower