Intimacy, Love, Writing, Analyzing, Releasing, Constant Turmoil

A Love Story, A story of addiction, of intimacy, of being vulnerable, of finally trusting another.

Releasing, Editing, Responding, Analyzing

When you work on a project as I have for four years (a drop in the bucket compared to other authors), you carefully release your first baby.

I am taking a different approach to writing about growing in a family that tried to survive the best we could, an alcoholic father, husband, who sometimes raged, and for many years, all I could remember of him was passed out in his chair or in bed (after the screaming and yelling and sometimes worse subsided).

There are so many books out there about this topic. Just as there are so many love stories offered.

In combing the two, I’m trying to show how love, growing up, relationships, choices of clothes, conversations, who I took as friends — every day choices — were affected because of having an abusive alcoholic parent.

Ultimately, it affects the way we trust, the way we participate in having a boyfriend/girlfriend, our marriage, the way we open or stay closed to our children — all of the intimacy of our lives is difficult.

So that’s the story, now here’s the issue.

I gave into some bad editing advice with book 1, Shadow Heart. I’m so unhappy with it, that I am rereleasing, and a different ending, the one I wanted to begin with, will be part of book 1.

Like it or not, spelling errors, or not, it will stand. This is the final. Spelling errors are a part of most books these days, especially self-published. I can tell you I’ve spent many thousands of dollars and had five editors look at the project and each one catches different things and have different opinions.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. But with careful diligence and a steady, loving, and hopeful heart, I hope I’ve resolved most of the book’s issues.

It was be offered as an e book free in the next couple of weeks, and Fire Heart will be out with it.

There will be steep cliffhangers in each book because that’s what life is when growing up with an alcoholic – nothing but steep cliffs.

We never knew what we were getting ourselves into when we came home or he came home.

Apologies? To those of you who were upset with the first ending, I’m sorry. It’s different now, but may not be any more satisfying, but to me, it is.

I have reacted to what the public has consistently told me, and cannot obviously satisfy everyone, but I am finally at peace with the way the series is progressing.

And being at peace with it, hopefully means my heart is flying and will bring you a story you’re sometimes angry, sad, and in love with.

For those who couldn’t get into it? Sorry, life is like that. Sometimes it clicks, sometimes it doesn’t.

I can tell you that I’ve appreciated everyone’s input and everyone who read the book.

And now, the release, coming soon.

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Intimacy, Love, Writing, Analyzing, Releasing, Constant Turmoil

A Child of Alcoholism Writes a Poem

 

Nicky Young silently pleads to be loved.

Nicky Young is a child of alcoholism who doesn’t know how to have deep relationships. She has friends, she’s paved her way to college, and will escape her nightmare soon, but opening herself to be vulnerable and truly feel and reach for intimacy . . . she has no clue. She often uses her journals to write poetry.  This is one of her poems.will escape her nightmare soon, but opening herself to be vulnerable and truly feel and reach for intimacy . . . she has no clue. She often uses her journals to write poetry.  This is one of her poems.

 

From Shadow Heart, First book in the Broken Bottles Series:

 

 

From Shadow Heart, First book in the Broken Bottles Series:

 

ABANDONED THINGS

stability—i crave it

control—i need it

intimacy—i desperately want it

i look okay but i am not

 

i may be successful in public, but in private, i am struggling

you see me as an adult, but inside i am a little girl or little boy, still afraid

i have lost my childhood

please look at me even as i push you away

find me

the fences are high to protect my heart

help me tear them down

i am deathly afraid to take a risk, even though everything could open up and i might come out of the shadows

love me like i want to love you

1. What chords, if any, does this poem strike for you?

2. Why do you think she’s written a poem like this?

3. What could she do to to deepen her relationships, especially with her friends?

Won’t you join the conversation at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com and sign up for our newsletter for private announcements, pre-sales, free chapters and cut scenes?

A Child of Alcoholism Writes a Poem

A Child of Alcoholism Prays at Night

“Please don’t find my hiding place.”

Nicky Young, remembers an evening when the was eight years old.

What prayers do you remember, if any?

How did you escape? Your friends, family, siblings . . . what role did they play in your survival?

THIS IS NICKY YOUNG’S PRAYER, AND THE OPENING TO A VIOLENT NIGHT IN SHADOW HEART:

I always prayed the same way at night: “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Please bless my mother, father, sister, everyone in the world, and me. And please make my father quit drinking.”

A Child of Alcoholism Prays at Night

WAYS TO AVOID TALKING ABOUT "THE PROBLEM" IN OUR FAMILY

NICKY’S MOTHER SITS IN THE KITCHEN, TRYING NOT TO UNDERSTAND, EVEN AS SHE UNDERSTANDS, HER DAUGHTER’S NEED TO STAY BUSY AND AWAY FROM THE DARK SECRETS OF THEIR HOME.

My mother hid her emotions every day.

Now, instead of the gratification she’d received from her work, she picked up my father from the front lawn after he’d passed out, or helped him as he stumbled out of his truck, or undressed him and put him to bed, and sometimes wiped his ass when he’d made a mess of himself.

She drove to the store to get his bottles of whiskey so he wouldn’t drive drunk to get them.

Mom could’ve hidden his keys but that would have meant taking his verbal and sometimes physical abuse.

Perhaps she considered disabling his truck in some way, but that would have meant he couldn’t get to work and his livelihood might be threatened.

Maybe this one of her silent gifts, making sure our college education was secure.

Like a doctor prescribing painkillers, she doled out his shots and managed his life.

Sometimes late at night, Dad’s friends called my mom to get him from the bar because he couldn’t drive. Jenise and I would ride with her, often around midnight, shrinking in the back seat under our blanket, trying to stay invisible.

“Going out?” Mom asked.

“Yeah, doing some charity work,” I said. “One of the guys on the Goliaths is coming to pick me up. Jenise leave already?”

“She had something she needed to check on at school. One of the Goliaths players is taking you?  Isn’t that a little unusual?” She asked with raised eyebrows.

I think it is, but I don’t know what to do with it yet.

“No, it’s just that I was the person who submitted the cheer team plan. We started talking and because his dad was in the military, we hit it off.” I took a breath. “He’s easy to talk with.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Is he single?”

“Is he single?  That’s a weird question. Why?”

“Just curious,” she said.

“Yes, he’s single,” I said.

“How old is he?”

“Almost twenty-five,” I said.

“And you know this because . . .”

“Because I follow the team, mom. When I look at the press guide it has their birthdays. He’s trying to help us with our college applications, that’s all. A twenty-five-year-old man isn’t interested in seventeen-year-old-girls.”

“No?” she probed.

“No, that’s disgusting.” But not “yuck” like my first response when I talked with Tara.

“Don’t you think you have enough to do?” she asked.

Like my father, I self-medicated, but instead of using alcohol, I stuffed my schedule with as many activities as I could to avoid my home life. My medication was to stay busy and away from anything too emotional. By not letting anyone in, I could stay numb and protected.

More hurt?  I wasn’t about to take any chances. I’d cried enough growing up and my invisible suitcase was heavy and full of anxiety.

“I’ve got plenty of time in my schedule, Mom. Anyway, it’s summer.”

1. WHAT ARE SOME OF THE THINGS YOU OR YOUR SIBLINGS DID TO AVOID THE “PROBLEM” IN YOUR HOUSE?

2. WERE YOU EVER ABLE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH THE ADDICTED PERSON?

3.  WERE YOU EVER ABLE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH YOUR SIBLINGS? PARENTS? RELATIVES?

Please join the conversation at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com and sign up for my newsletter. I promise to keep it intimate, real, and moving.

WAYS TO AVOID TALKING ABOUT "THE PROBLEM" IN OUR FAMILY

MOM"S ALTERNATE LIFE

This scene is from the first time Nicky volunteers with Ryan, as I waited to be picked up and started to notice my mother in a different way.

I was nervous and excited while waiting for Ryan to come and pick me up, as if I was going on a first date with my high school crush. I couldn’t sit still and I put my hair up, then took it down, pulled it in a ponytail, then let it hang loose.

After dressing in jeans and my cheer jersey, I went bounding down the stairs and found my mother at the kitchen table. That morning, her body and round face, surrounded by her dark, curly permed and dyed hairdo, seemed to be smaller.

I didn’t realize how my life was changing. Even as I resisted, my boundaries were being redefined.

I was making new friends, getting closer to being on my own, and staying away from my house as much as possible.

The importance of my parents was diminishing.

My mother seemed to be only sad in those days. For years she had worked at Juvenile Hall, where she’d supervised girls who were runaways, in gangs, underage prostitutes, were molested or raped, or were considered out of control. Most were from dysfunctional broken homes or had been abandoned.

They came through like a chain gang, one after the other. In my mother’s mind, they were all the same, and their story translated this way: they weren’t understood, didn’t get a fair shake, and hated their parents.

If they complained to her that life was unfair, my mother offered this advice: “Get used to it. That’s life, and nothing’s fair about it. No one’s gonna pick you up and hold you, and it’s up to you to make your own way.”

What did my mother do for them? Oddly enough, many of those girls bonded with her. Like she did for Jenise and me, she’d bring themspecial treats: fashion and gossip magazines, makeup, snacks, a favor- ite candy bar and so on. It was the first time some of the girls felt they’d been heard by an adult.

Workplace of Daisy Young of Shadow Heart

Later when they were young women, many came back to visit her and share news about their changed lives. During these visits she’d stay late to talk with them, as if receiving a piece of love she had missed as a young girl and in her marriage.

Sometimes, I wished I was one of those girls.

I never could understand why she stayed late for them when Jenise and I needed her.

Did she love those girls in ways she couldn’t show to her own family?

Did they give her hope or fill her with the feeling that her life meant something?

Had she lost that validation now?

Was that why she buried herself in her romance novels?

My Mom used to share her stories from work with all of us. She would be proud and excited when she helped a young woman with a problem and her eyes would be alive and expressive as we all sat at the kitchen table listening.

But eventually, she had to quit her job because our father could not be trusted to take care of us on the nights she worked.

Now when she was home, she picked my father up from the front lawn after he’d passed out, helped him out of his truck because he was too drunk to get up, undressed him, and put him to bed, sometimes wiping him off after he’d peed himself.

She went to get his bottles of whiskey so he wouldn’t drive drunk to get them. She could’ve hidden his keys but that would have meant taking his verbal and sometimes physical abuse.

She could’ve disabled his truck in some way, but that would have meant he couldn’t get to work the next day, impacting our family’s finances.

Like a doctor prescribing painkillers, she doled out his shots to have more control over his life.

1. How did you parents interact when addiction was present?

2. Were you, your sibling, or other parent the enabler?

3. What were some of the ways you escaped and gave in to ease the difficulty of having to fight through your life?

Please join the conversation and sign up for my newsletter at www.pamelataeuffer.com

Thank you,

Pam

MOM"S ALTERNATE LIFE

Lies and Words of Shame Used for "My Dad is an Alcoholic"

I agreed to volunteer at the veterans’ hospital in Yountville with Goliath’s pitcher, Ryan Tilton.

When he walked over to my in the outfield my heart nearly pounded out of my chest.

“I’ve cleared our Yountville date with management,” Ryan said. “Would this Monday work for you? We don’t have a game that night sowe can take our time and get to know each other a little.”

“Sure, Monday’s fine,” I said.

Yes, that would be so fine, Mr. Tilton.

“There’s a form for you in Jose’s office. Be sure to sign it before Monday,” he said smiling. “Where should I pick you up?”

“My house I guess?” Then I thought better of it. “Or I could meet you at your place, or the ballpark, or wherever you want. You don’t need togo out of your way; I can take the streetcar here . . . whatever.”

“I’ll pick you up at your house around 9:30. What’s your cell number?”

He entered it into his phone as I told him, and then said, “I’ll call you Monday morning for your address.”

Good thing we’re leaving on a weekday, my dad will be at work, and I won’t have to worry about his condition.

I suddenly reflected on the term we’d used for years—his “condition.” Instead of saying out loud, even admitting to myself, “whether or not he’s drunk,” we used softer terms like this. It was another kind of hiding place.

1. WHAT WORDS DID YOU USE TO COVER UP THE WORD “ALCOHOLIC’?

2. HOW DID YOU HIDE IN THE LIES OF WHAT AN ALCOHOLIC PARENT WAS LIKE?

3. HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU STOPPED INVITING FRIENDS OVER TO PLAY AT YOUR HOUSE?

Lies and Words of Shame Used for "My Dad is an Alcoholic"

Observations from a simple life: A wonderful new book: "Shadow Heart"

Observations from a simple life: A wonderful new book: "Shadow Heart": “Shadow Heart” by Pamela Taeuffer is a story of a young girl who is trying to overcome her dysfunctional family by working hard and earn...