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...

TOP TEN TAKEAWAYS FROM REDWOOD WRITER"S CONFERENCE

My day was so horrible before the Redwood Writer’s Conference on 4/26.  In every possible way, I was shaken. With the support of my husband and friends, I pushed myself to go to this conference. I had planned to go for several months.

Am I glad I did! My day was totally lifted up — way up! And I want to share the top ten things I took away.

1. Novellas can be 30,000 words, Contemporary Romance 50-70,000 words.  What difference could this make to you? In the world of being successful as a writer with multiple books, it means everything. You can plan on breaking a story into a series, or writing about several characters in novellas rather than a novel, and so on.

2.  I picked up my copy of the Redwood Writer’s Poetry Anthology “And The Beats Go On” where several of my poems were published. What does this mean? For a new author like me, it means I can now add to my bio that I’m somewhere. I have a ground, a place, from which to build.

3.  I purchased a book written by nine romance authors called “The Naked Truth About Self-publishing.” I’ve published my first novel, and I know all of the serious, hard, and expensive work it takes, but never-the-less, I always want to learn and pick up anything new about the process, and since it’s the genre I’m specializing in, the interest is extreme for me to read it!

4.  I bought another book from a very wonderful man named Nathaniel Robert Winters, called “The Adventure of  the Omaha Kid”. It’s outside the genre I write, but exploring how other writers craft their art is invaluable, and meeting him was all the more wonderful.

5.  I learned the proper way to outline a book (who knew) thanks to Anne Jordan. She also teaches a class at the Santa Rosa Junior College and says that Hollywood is looking for material that fit her outline — hear that new writers?  She also says every successful author follows her outline. Act I is your intro to the world you’re presenting and you better do it quick. And by the way? Dump the back story. Find a way to include it throughout your story, don’t jam it all into dialogue or your prologue or first page.

6. We also had the pleasure of meeting John Rothmann, talk show host on 910 am. His overriding message? Do it for you and say thank you.

7.  Ransome Stephens talked about craft and what point of view might be best in telling your story.  Third person allows the most freedom, but to actually get into the mind of a character there’s nothing like first person (but also the most challenging.) His examples: First person – I drink beer; Second person – You drink beer; Third person – He drinks beer;

8.  A wonderful panel of Romance Novelists, because I write in that genre I suppose, I LOVED IT! Seeing these successful women talk about their adventures in writing, publishing, and earning (yes — this isn’t a mistake) MILLIONS — opened my ears, eyes, and well, everything. One tip they shared was that Amazon’s algorithms have changed and you want to hold a special event or giveaway or do some promotion at the 30/60/ and 90 day mark of having your book listed there.

9.  Who can forget the poet :Dana Gioia, who read with such tone and music in his voice that we all floated in the air with him. He talked about the weirdness we all share as writers. Our creativity takes us over and we’re naturally different from others. His poems . . . all I can say is you’ll be wowed.  Get his books. You’ll love them. Read one to your partner or child. They’re mesmerizing.

10.  I could write so much more, but I want to thank everyone that worked so hard,from the great snacks and lunch, to the venue, to the classes and speakers . . . it was wonderful. I can’t recommend enough. They hold one every two years. So in 2016 -BE SURE TO GO!

 

TOP TEN TAKEAWAYS FROM REDWOOD WRITER"S CONFERENCE

Changing Friendships

Sexy, professional baseball player, Ryan Tilton has just introduced himself to Nicky Young, a woman coming of age who has had her business plan accepted by the San Francisco Goliaths for a high school cheer team to perform during their games.

Nicky knows there is something different about their exchange, but no ready to admit anything quite yet. She is afraid of new relationships. She’s been raised in a home where addiction, dysfunction, and abandonment are the usual.

 

Why is there competition among friends?

After they left us, Colleen came over.

“I saw you and Ryan Tilton talking.”

There’d always been a friendly competition between us, but with the acceptance of my business entertainment plan for our cheer team, our relationship had become somewhat strained.

“So?” What’s your point?” I asked.

“So, I saw him kiss your hand,” she said, sidling up to me, “and he spent so much time talking with you. Don’t you think he’s got a crush on you?”

“A crush? Are you saying he’s got a crush on me?” I asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she said.

“Oh come on. He’s twenty-four. Didn’t he kiss your hand, too?” I asked.

“No. He. Did. Not.” she said slowly, enunciating her words.

No? That was just for me? Hmm…

“It’s because I’m the lead contact and my name is on everything,” I said. “That’s all.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I see that look in my boyfriend’s eyes and I know it’s more than you think, Nicky,” she said. “That look says ‘I wanna play with you.’”

“You’re imagining things,” I said.

But what if?

“He asked me about volunteering at the Veteran’s Hospital in Yountville,” I said. “I told him I’d speak with you guys about it.”

“Well anyway, I’d keep an eye on him,” she said. “There’s fire there for you.”

“No way,” I said. “We’ll see,” she said.

Maybe we will at that.

1. Nicky is desperate to escape her home life. Why wouldn’t she jump at the chance to have a new relationship?

2. Her best friend is challenging her. When and why does that happen between girlfriends? Does it happen with boyfriends? Is it natural that competition develops between friends? Can Nicky handle competition of this sort in a healthy way?

3. How could Nicky reach out in a healthy and age appropriate way to let her know she isn’t trying to steal attention?

Please join us at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

I invite you to sign up there for my newsletter where we will form a book club, have discussions, live readings, free chapters and previews of new books and much more!

Changing Friendships

First Stirrings: Liquid Lightning

It’s a feeling in our belly.

It’s a pulse in our chest that surges down through our stomach, lower, into our pelvis, aching, longing to be relieved.

It’s the slant of an eye, or a bashful look through his eyelashes.

What and who stirred feelings of sensuality for you?

We pick up Shadow Heart just after Ryan Tilton, almost 25, introduces himself to Nicky Young, seventeen.  He begins a very careful, slow, sensual plan to bring her heart and mind to him and knows he needs to be careful or she’ll run away. Nicky is the daughter of an alcoholic, and the way she avoids confrontation is to run away.

**************

He laughed, and his tone got my attention once again.

Wow that laugh—it’s sublime, subtle, and distinct, and something’s . . . I feel like there’s a low rumble beginning in my belly.

“I talk fast when I’m nervous, too,” he said. Again, he put his hand on my shoulder.

Wow his hands are big.

What does Nicky do with feelings of warm pulses?

“Yeah, thanks but you’re, well you’re who you are,” I said.

“From what I understand you’re a genius yourself,” he leaned in close. “Your resume lists your GPA as 4.25, right?”

“I’ve never had my IQ measured to know, but I study all the time. I work very hard at it,” I said taking a breath. Keep it together. “All the time,” I repeated.

His smile was wide, but then his expression changed as he explained, “My dad was in the service too; Afghanistan. He was killed when I was

fourteen.” He looked away, seemingly trying to grasp and hold in his pain. “Oh, Mr. Tilton,” I put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” Damn, so

young, poor guy.

I was startled by the power underneath his skin. His muscles were hard and well-defined, and the feel of them sent a surge through my body. It was as if they were hard marbles covered by fur, and touching him brought a different feeling to me, one I’d never experienced before.

It began with a burst in my chest, like a big beat, and rolled with an ache into my stomach and then resonated down my legs.

“Ooh!” It was as if my hand burned. I lifted it off him quickly.

Oh damn! Did he feel it too? Wasn’t that a ripple that went through his arm?

“What’s the matter, Nicky?” his expression was suggestive and it made me look away.

“Nothing, Mr. Tilton,” I said playing with my hair.

“Ryan. Just call me Ryan. Thank you for your sweet thoughts,” he said. “It was a tough time for me, and it’s why I feel so deeply for those wounded vets in Yountville. If it’s all right with you, I’ll clear it with management to make sure they know I’m, uh, taking you out.”

He smiled at me with a look that made me question . . . things.

* What kinds of feelings is Nicky Battling?

* Why would she feel safe when her own father had let her go?

* How can Nicky bring someone close?

Won’t you join the conversation and visit us at www.SonomaCountyVacations.com?

Shadow Heart will be given away as a kindle book 4/26-4/27 on Amazon.com.  I’d love for you to download it and let me know your thoughts.

http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Heart-Contemporary-Boundaries-Everything-ebook/dp/B00IICDHO8/ref=la_B00IK4DJHO_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1398221735&sr=1-1

 

First Stirrings: Liquid Lightning

Magical Marketing Conference

It’s time to discover who your Soul Tribe really is, the people you were born to serve, the ones who are seeking you right now.  We all can serve a variety of people with a whole host of needs simply because we are so multi-talented. But each of us has a Soul tTribe of folks whom we are uniquely qualified to serve because we are on the same life path.  We get one another. To discover your Soul Tribe takes a bit of an inward journey, iso rather than determining a “Marketing Niche’ we will discover our Soul Mates on the path to fulfilling our purpose.

Magical Marketing Conference

Redwood Writer"s Library Open Mic

Readings in honor of Older Americans Month

Tami Casias emcees this regular every-other-month afternoon of literary delights from Sonoma County authors.

Redwood Writer"s Library Open Mic

Why as Young Women are we Never Happy with Our Bodies when they"re so Beautiful

Nicky Young, heroine in Shadow Heart hates her body. She only wants to fit in, and she doesn’t, often getting looks from older men because of the curves of her body and a face that looks twenty-one. She struggles with insecurity and fears that relationships will only be temporary, even with her closest friends.  Finally, she feels like she’s met women she can trust, two that are wives of the players on the professional baseball team, The San Francisco Goliaths.

We join them as they talk before the game and Nicky begins the conversation.

When we look back we see how beautiful we were all along

“Boys are too much of a risk,” I said. “I don’t want to take a chance. Ryan’s still looking over here. With all he has lining up at the ballpark, I wonder who in the world . . .”

I turned to see if a stunning woman sat behind me at whom he might be looking. When I saw only families, and groups of boys and men sitting there, I became nervous.

“God, I hate my body, you guys.” I said.

“Nicky, there’s nothing wrong with your body,” Tara laughed. “Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m bigger than all my friends,” I said, continuing to discuss my insecurities. “When I sleep over I can’t use anybody’s stuff. I’m screwed if I don’t have something of my own.”

Although I was told I was attractive and had a face that made me look like a young woman in her early twenties, I didn’t have confidence in my looks. My brain interpreted those statements to mean, “because of your body, you don’t look like the others. You don’t fit in.”

At seventeen, all I wanted was to fit in. As a child who was raised in a family battling addiction, I was tired of having to handle things differently.

“Your body is beautiful, Nicky, just like you are,” Tara said. “Just enjoy yourself and don’t worry about it. That’s what girls do and it’s ridiculous. You’ll look back in a few years and see you had nothing to worry about.”

“It’s true,” Alex agreed. “Nicky, I understand your feelings, but in a few years you’ll be happy you have the body you do. Even though your friends tease you now, you may not believe me, but they’d love to trade places.”

“They make fun of me all the time,” I said. “I try to cover myself but it all just sticks out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tara said. “It’s not only teenagers who poke fun when they don’t know how to deal with things. That’s called fear, and it’s covered in jealousy, honey.”

“And um, I’m sorry but there’s no covering up those things,” Alex said looking at my boobs and my butt. “I’m afraid you’re stuck.”

“Thanks you guys, I feel so much better.” I rolled my eyes sarcastically. Each woman gave me a hug, and then Tara patted my leg and said, “You’ll grow into yourself, sweetie. You have the beauty of a young woman, and the smarts of someone who’s older. You know all the wives were given copies of your business plan, don’t you?”

* Now that you look back, don’t you see your body was beautiful?

* How can we help young men and women understand they’re wonderful as they are?

* Can Nicky, who has grown up in a family battling alcoholism, ever have the confidence she needs to form close relationships?

Why as Young Women are we Never Happy with Our Bodies when they"re so Beautiful

Intimacy-how can I get it? What conversations do I need to have?

“You don’t date?” Alex asked, once again joining Tara and me sitting in the bleachers.

“No,” I said.

“Why ever not,” she asked.

I was ridiculously naïve and socially backward in so many ways. Being raised in an alcoholic family can do that. It was better to hide away and shut down rather than feel the extreme joy or intense pain of life.

Like most of us, I had learned from what my parents taught by how they relate to one another.

How soft are they?

Do they reach for each other’s hand?

Are their kisses open and frequent?

Do they hold the door open for each other?

Are their faces or eyes soft when they look or talk to each other? What about their terms of endearment? I never heard “my love,

honey, dear, sweetie,” or any other pet name.

What I saw, was that my mother had opened her heart to a man, and

in doing so, said, “I trust you” in every way.

She believed a promise of everything better in my father, who at the time was newly returned from serving in the army and beginning his career as a streetcar driver. Mom saw a light in his eyes and was attracted to his sense of humor and carefree spirit. It was an innocence she didn’t experience as a young girl.

What were the examples of a relationship growing up?

They met through a friend who introduced them when my mom had just moved to San Francisco. My father fell in love with the strong woman she seemed to be; so much so, that they committed to each other in every way—to marry, make a life, and have children.

Who knows what went wrong, but ultimately their love was crushed and their hearts were broken. Neither of them made time for each other, or remained tender. They closed their doors and windows and became hard.

A diseased man pushed her and hit her and told her by his love for the bottle, that she wasn’t good enough. Mom wasn’t even second best. His friends at the bar stood in that place.

So for me, the lesson from my parents taught me to shut down, never let anyone in, and especially when it came to a boy, keep my heart closed. Being someone’s girlfriend or wife meant abuse and being a second choice.

To make sure I didn’t have to battle those traumas, I held my sword at my side, ready to slice them from my life as soon as I felt threatened. I didn’t give anyone a chance to explain if I felt wronged.

It was all about trust—or more accurately—the lack of it, and discus- sions such as these are what brought Tara, Alex, and me close together as girlfriends.

Intimacy-how can I get it? What conversations do I need to have?

Emotional and Physical Shock: How do we numb ourselves?

My sister came home in shock.

She looked dead.

In some ways, emotionally, we were all dead.

My father numbed his body and mind with alcohol.

I numbed myself with staying busy.

My mom numbed herself escaping into her romance novels.

Now my sister would be numb in a different way.

How do we come out of the numbness of physical shock?

“Where have you been?” My mother asked angrily. “I was so worried.” Calmly and without emotion, her body in shock, Jenise answered, “I was raped.”

I saw my mother’s face become stone, trying her best not to let the hurt inside.

“I want to take a shower,” Jenise said as if she were a zombie.

“Just stay right there. Don’t move, wash, or take anything off. Don’t even comb your hair. We need to go to the hospital first,” my mother said. She was well aware of the protocol for rape from taking care of the girls at “Juvie” who’d been attacked.

I don’t know if she wanted to take her daughter in her arms and tell her she was sorry for what happened and that she loved her, but she didn’t.

As always, she did a good job of pushing her emotions down, not losing control, or escalating an already delicate situation.

“Watch your sister,” mom said, as she rushed to her bedroom, got dressed, and then came downstairs. I heard her in the kitchen on the phone to the hospital asking for a “SANE” professional—someone trained in rape trauma—to be present with a rape kit.

After hanging up, she walked down the hallway and grabbed her purse and keys off the small table by the front door, while my sister stood motionless.

When Jenise finally lifted her head and looked at me so helplessly, her sad eyes screaming, “Why did this happen to me?” I turned away.

Her expression said it all. Her spirit was gone and I didn’t know how to process the pain I felt from seeing her that way.

She’d been my hero.

I didn’t want to hear her talk about her violated body, the strength that was ripped out of her, or the ways in which her innocence was lost, and taken by some power-crazed, sick man.

I knew she’d never look at life the same way again.

Won’t you join the discussion of family dysfunction, love, romance, and seeking emotional intimacy?
www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

Facebook: /pamela.taeuffer.9

Pinterest: /pamelataeuffer

gmail: pamelataeuffer@gmail.com

 

Emotional and Physical Shock: How do we numb ourselves?

A Love Story-Is that what our lives should be about?

Our lives are ultimately a love story, aren’t they?

Our lives – a Love Story?

We strive to move through and dodge the pain, keep it away, sometimes embrace it, and other times we swear, scream, lash out, beat another down, with words, fists . . . all to make us safe, our family safe, our friends . . . because we love them.

Or we fear them. Or we want them to fear us, or love us, or forgive us.

Do we love ourselves in the same way?

Do we give ourselves the breaks and space we so generously allow others?

Or do we drink down the thing that can numb us?

We yearn to live outside of our fears. We desperately want others to surround us with love.

I picture invisible hands caressing and holding me, holding us, and hope that people I have around me will accept everything about me, the good and the bad, and love me for who I am.

Can we love each other that way?

If someone is five hundred pounds, do we see them as lovable?

If someone has been burned and married, and their skull is dented, their scalp torn apart in an accident or by a bomb in war, can we love them?

Can we forgive a parent, a spouse, a child, for falling short of our expectations, being an alcoholic or an addict and abandoning us?

Can we love them still, as just another human being?

Should we?

Won’t you join in the conversation? www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

Coming soon: My Two Years as a Porn Star.

Mona Stryker weighs close to 300 pounds and has no confidence in her body. She’s been ridiculed and called every name there is for being fat and overweight. When her mother dies from heart failure, a woman of 500 pounds, she’s determined to turn a corner. Can she love herself no matter what she looks like? Can others?

A Love Story-Is that what our lives should be about?

Author"s night at Gaia"s

6-8 p.m.

Join 4 authors as they read from their books.

Gaia’s Restaurant on Mendocino Avenue by the Santa Rosa Junior College.

Author"s night at Gaia"s

Vulnerability-Can we just love without judgement?

I knew my sister was hurt, and hurt badly.

Still, I judged. What did she do to bring this on?

Why couldn’t I put my arms around her?

Was I like my mom?

Was the way people got hurt too much for dad? Is that why he drank?

Weren’t we all numb in my family? Afraid to reach out, to put our arms around each other, to say “I love you”

We numbed with alcohol, detachment, being busy . . . the ways stayed away from each other were too many to list.

 

How to do we numb ourselves to the pain in our lives?

We pick up the scene of my sister’s rape, in Shadow Heart, the for novel in the Broken Bottles Series, A Love Story

And still, “Watch your sister,” mom said, as she rushed to her bedroom, got dressed, and then came downstairs. I heard her in the kitchen on the phone to the hospital asking for a “SANE” professional—someone trained in rape trauma—to be present with a rape kit.

After hanging up, she walked down the hallway and grabbed her purse and keys off the small table by the front door, while my sister stood motionless.

When Jenise finally lifted her head and looked at me so helplessly, her sad eyes screaming, “Why did this happen to me?” I turned away.

Her expression said it all. Her spirit was gone and I didn’t know how to process the pain I felt from seeing her that way.

She’d been my hero.

I didn’t want to hear her talk about her violated body, the strength that was ripped out of her, or the ways in which her innocence was lost, and taken by some power-crazed, sick man.

I knew she’d never look at life the same way again.

1. WERE THERE EVENTS THAT CHANGED THE WAY YOU LOOKED AT YOUR FAMILY?

2. WHAT WAS THE MOMENT YOU LOST A KIND OF INNOCENCE?

3. HOW DO YOU STAY AWAY FROM PAIN? IS IT POSSIBLE?

Won’t you join the conversation at www.JounreysToAnOpenHeart.com or www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

Vulnerability-Can we just love without judgement?

Family Secrets - What is the Right Time to Talk About Them?

* If you’ve been raised in family addiction, you know what family secrets are.

* When you cover family secrets, do you feel like no one will understand?

* When you feel alone, do you feel abandoned?

THERE’S NO RIGHT TIME TO BEGIN TO TELL YOU STORY.

EXPLAIN, EXPLORE, HELP OTHERS TO DISCOVER — THEY AREN’T ALONE. MILLIONS HAVE COME FROM GENERATIONS BEFORE, TRYING TO STOP THE DYSFUNCTION.

When your story involves dark family secrets, secrets that need to be told, secrets that may offend dead, alive, those in denial, those willing to share, and reveal . . . just when do you decide to write those things?

Sisters ttrying to protect themselves against dark family secrets

I have a friend whose siblings curse her for telling her dark family story. Even though her book is magnificent, brilliantly revealing the raw, bare details of growing up in dysfunction, helping others better understand the effects of being raised in addiction.

I have a sibling who wants it out, along with me, so that others may walk perhaps a little more lightly when they realize “it’s not them” it’s the survival from four years old, it’s the walking on eggshells every day, and it’s the fear of being driven to the bar, then home, by a parent who is drunk.

When do those secrets come out and the feelings of being terrified and shamed and abandoned night after night as we took care of our own needs, even though my sister and I were only 4 and 7 years old?

When is it time?

Why should those secrets lay buried?

Should the ones who brought the darkness down on us be spared?

Should the ones who abused us stay hidden?

When is it time?

Family Secrets - What is the Right Time to Talk About Them?

Waiting for Our Mother"s Arms, Even when My Sister is Raped

*    Co-dependence

*    Enabling

What do they mean to you?

For my sister and me, it meant detachment from our mother. She could never tell us she loved us. She had trouble even touching us. It was almost as if she were afraid the emotions would rip something open in her, and tear apart the numbness around her heart.

The following passage of Shadow Heart is more from the night that changed my sister’s life forever.

“Where have you been?” My mother asked angrily. “I was so worried.”

Calmly and without emotion, her body in shock, Jenise answered, “I was raped.”

I saw my mother’s face become stone, trying her best not to let the hurt inside.

“I want to take a shower,” Jenise said as if she were a zombie.

“Just stay right there. Don’t move, wash, or take anything off. Don’t even comb your hair. We need to go to the hospital first,” my mother said. She was well aware of the protocol for rape from taking care of the girls at “Juvie” who’d been attacked.

I don’t know if she wanted to take her daughter in her arms and tell her she was sorry for what happened and that she loved her, but she didn’t. As always, she did a good job of pushing her emotions down, not losing control, or escalating an already delicate situation.

1. How did you feel in a moment you only wanted to be loved but the person near you, the person who was supposed to love you, didn’t understand?

2. How did you take care of yourself?

3. How could you change the situation even now?

Won’t you join in the discussion?

www.JourneysToAnOpenHeart.com

www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

Waiting for Our Mother"s Arms, Even when My Sister is Raped

My Sister was Raped

IN THIS SCENE IN SHADOW HEART NICKY YOUNG REFLECTS BACK TO WHEN HER SISTER WAS RAPED, AND HOW IT CONVINCED HER THAT FLIRTING OR SHOWING YOURSELF WITH REVEALING CLOTHES LEADS TO VIOLENCE AND SHAME.

The day my sister’s life changed forever, I came home from school at the usual time.

She was generally a few hours behind me, hanging back and talking with friends, having a soda or the occasional beer and doing the other things that occupied the lives of teenage girls.

So when she was late, no one really gave it a second thought. That was until dinner came and went and she hadn’t called.

My father was drunk, of course, and without his sparring partner at the table, he ate dinner quietly. Maybe somewhere under his numb- ness, he knew, because without any words, he went up to bed and left my mother alone to handle it.

Our parents bought my sister a cell phone so they could reach her, and she them. But that day Jenise didn’t answer. By the way my mother began cleaning the house instead of reading her romance novels, I knew something was very wrong.

“Did you hear from Jenise today?” Mom finally asked me.

“No, I came right home from school and then went up to my room to study,” I said. “Have you phoned her friends? I have some of their numbers if you don’t. She’s friends with Patty’s sister.”

“I’ve called them all,” my mom said. “As far as they knew she was coming right home.”

A sinking feeling filled my body, and I’m sure my mother’s heart crashed into her stomach. I imagined she was walking her fence, trying to decide whether to call the police, go look for her, or stay put.

In a way, she was trapped. She knew my father couldn’t help and as much as she probably wanted to do something instead of sitting and waiting, she couldn’t. If she went to look for her and Jenise called, I’d be alone with a parent who was drunk and couldn’t help.

I did the dishes, and then sat in the living room watching something on TV, eating a bowl of ice cream with my mom.

At about 9 p.m., Jenise walked through the door. Her clothes weren’t quite right, and the color was drained from her face. Her eyes were distant and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “She looks dead.”  – Continued

PLEASE JOIN IN THE DISCUSSION AT WWW.PAMELATAEUFFER.COM AT MY BLOG SITE:

Have you or anyone in your family been raped?

What kind of feelings did you have? Why were you ashamed, if you were?

Why do we or does the legal system or society blame women or question what they did to bring it on?

 

My Sister was Raped

WHY AM I SO AFRAID OF SEX AND INTIMACY

IN THIS SCENE NICKY YOUNG, OUR YOUNG WOMAN COMING OF AGE, SITS WITH HER NEW WOMEN FRIENDS AND MENTORS, TARA SUMMERS AND ALEXANDRA FLOWERS, WIFE AND FIANCE TO MATT AND DARRELL SWEET, PROFESSIONAL PITCHERS ON THE SAN FRANCISCO GOLIATHS BASEBALL TEAM.

NIKCY HAS JUST SHARED WITH ALEX THAT HER FATHER IS AN ALCOHOLIC,  AND BEGINS TO REFLECT INWARD ON HER PROBLEMS OF MAKING NEW RELATIONSHIPS AND HER CHALLENGES ABOUT HAVING SEX.

To finally share the information with someone I trusted, who was another adult, was such a relief, and in doing so, I cemented the relationship with my two new women friends.

“This is an escape as much as a hope that Stanford will acknowledge me,” I said. “My dad and sister argue and fight all the time, and my mom is just, somewhere else. I wanna get out of there.”

“What about you?” Alex asked. “What’s your relationship like with your Dad?”

“I love him, but he’s made me . . .” I stumbled to find the word.

“Numb?” she asked knowingly.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I know, Sweetheart,” she said patting my back, “I know.”

How do you know?

When Tara joined us, Alex excused herself to check on my teammates.

“What’s your routine like tonight?” Tara asked. Both she and Alex were yell leaders in high school and working with cheer routines was second nature for them.

As I stood up, waving my hands in the air to demonstrate, the Goliaths were on the field taking batting practice, shagging balls, and doing their sprints and stretches.

“Looks like you guys have it down,” Tara said. “I’ll be watching to make sure I don’t see anything you need to work out. If I do, you can all come over to my house and we’ll review it.”

When I sat down, I noticed Ryan Tilton, who was a pitcher, the game closer, for the Goliaths, looking at me as he ran to catch fly balls and then throw them back to the infield.

Ryan’s six-foot, two-inch frame, athletic body, blue eyes, and golden brown hair were like a beacon, and I’d already noticed in just a few weeks, how people were naturally drawn to him.

The women were endless, dressed to attract a single man, but there was also a parade of others hoping for a piece of the good looking, professional athlete he was.

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “Hey, what’s Ryan Tilton staring at anyway?   He’s been looking over here off and on for the last half hour.”

“Don’t mess with that one,” Tara said. “He’s a wild boy.”

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” I said. “You know, almost everyone has come out to introduce themselves to us, but he’s among only a few that hasn’t.”

“He’s got a reputation along with his friend, Kevin Reynolds,” she said. “I think Ryan has a steady. At least there’s a blonde woman named Jesse who hangs around him, but ‘steady’ is relative when it comes to that boy. You shouldn’t even think about a ball player.”

“No chance of that. I don’t even date,” I said laughing.

I entered into my adult life innocent and extremely naïve about sex and boys. I was shut down and closed off, and afraid that having a boyfriend meant I’d get distracted and my grades would suffer.

Ultimately I interpreted a boyfriend as a roadblock to Stanford and much too risky. Ever since I was a young girl I had marked the beginning of college on my calendar with a red pen and circled each day that passed in yellow.

I was stubborn and frustratingly slow to open up and let anyone inside my personal fortress.

All my friends were sexually active, but I just wasn’t ready. Sex was a strange concept for me. I couldn’t understand my friends having it at fifteen and sixteen. Stay away from boys as long as possible was what I believed, especially since my sister had been raped at fourteen.

The day my sister’s life changed forever, I came home from school at the usual time.

WHAT ARE YOUR CHALLENGES WITH INTIMACY?

HOW MANY TIMES COULD YOU HAVE REACHED OUT TO A FRIEND OR CO-WORKER IN A VULNERABLE AND LOVING WAY?

WHY IS SEX CARRY SUCH A BIG STIGMA IF IT’S BETWEEN TWO CONSENTING ADULTS?

I welcome your comments and invite you to contact me on my website www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

Or e mail me: pamelataeuffer@gmail.com

I am also on Facebook: /Shadow-Heart and Pinterest: /pamelataeuffer/shadowheart

Twitter: @PTaeufferAuthor

Thank for reading!

WHY AM I SO AFRAID OF SEX AND INTIMACY

A Romance Novel, Coming of Age, Intimacy, Addiction, Family

So to recap Chapter 1 of Shadow Heart, the first novel in the Broken Bottles Series.

What are the challenges of our  heroine, Nicky Young?

The story opens up as we hear her voice, at some age, talking about a time when she was eight years old and witnessed her father’s rage toward Jenise, her sister, just because they wouldn’t eat the cold creamed corn their father served them.

We also hear Nicky open her story by talking about her little prayer, the way most little girls and boys pray, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . . and please make my father quit drinking.”

In fact I prayed this way every night growing up, because you see, Nicky in many ways is me.

No amount of prayer changed my father. Sometimes he paused for a week, a month, a day . . . one time he was sober for eight months. What a joy it was to have my dad back. But you know what? It also heightened my anxiety.

Why?

Because a new edge was sharpened on my survival “knife.” Now each day I waited, dreading the man who was bound to fall off the wagon, once again red faced, seeking sloppy love when all we wanted to do was push him away.

Have you felt like that?

Growing up under any trauma makes us not only survivors, but keen observers, adept at analysis, and listeners like no other, but we need to weave and dodge through the bullets of dysfunction.

So what do we know by knowing Nicky in chapter 1? She prays, which means she must have had some exposure to religion of some sort.

She talks about the things she knows:

1. Something bad is coming; it always does.

2. I can’t ask for help; I’m too ashamed.

3. I can’t talk about our secrets; no one else understands.

4. I can’t trust anyone; they always leave.

Children of addiction/trauma learn by being abandoned. We are promised, day after day that this will be the holiday, birthday, school even, that our parent or loved one will be sober. But of course they choose the bottle or drug of choice over us.

We’re sure no other family is going through it, and we know we have to keep secrets.

What else do we know?

Nicky’s mother has gone through the same thing. She screams out loud in the Arizona desert in the summer monsoons to have the floods take her away from her home.

What does Nicky know now after watching her sister’s punishment?

She’s not safe.

Her mother can’t protect her.

Her father is no longer who he once was.

She knows, it’s all up to her, and she’d better pave her own road because no one is there to help her.

WHEN DID YOU REALIZE IT WAS ALL UP TO YOU?

WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ROMANCE?

AAAHHH! JUST WAIT…IT’S COMING! DEEP, SENSUAL INTIMACY…WILL NICKY LEARN HOW TO GET IT?

A Romance Novel, Coming of Age, Intimacy, Addiction, Family

FAMILY, ADDICTION, SURVIVAL, INTIMACY: SHADOW HEART

AS CHAPTER ONE ENDS, NICKY YOUNG, OUR YOUNG HEROINE, HAS JUST OBSERVED ANOTHER VIOLENT OUTRAGE BY HER FATHER, AND THIS TIME, HER SISTER TOOK THE BRUNT OF IT. NICKY IS STARTING TO FORM OPINIONS ABOUT MEN, HER PARENTS, FRIENDSHIPS, AND UNDERSTANDS IN ORDER TO SURVIVE, SHE’D BETTER SHUT DOWN AND KEEP HER HEART CLOSED.

From my hiding place I watch everything. My father whips my sister again. She is helpless and cannot escape. She’s somersaulting, stumbling, and falling as the belt strikes her.

While Jenise screams with high pitched sounds of terror I haven’t ever heard from her, I stay frozen and keep praying, “Please don’t let him find me, please don’t find me . . .”

Jenise falls and turns her head. She sees my hiding place. For the first time since his rage began, I see the fear and pain on her face. She shrinks to become as small as possible, her once tall and erect posture, beaten down.

All she has to do is point me out and complain that I didn’t eat my portion either. She could take the violence away from her body so easily, but instead she’s taking the pain for both of us.

She stumbles and rolls over, exposing her soft belly, trying to surrender to his fierceness, but he whips her again and yells, “Get up!” Down the hallway and up the stairs to her bedroom she runs, my father following her, making her sorry she challenged him.

Finally, Jenise’s bedroom door slams and the whipping stops. I hear her sobbing and crying, but at least she has been left alone.

It’s better when we’re left alone.

In many ways, we were alone.

Even though I escaped the physical consequences that night, I didn’t escape the mental ones. When my mother arrives home I come out of hiding, but only in body.

Did we talk about what happened? I can’t remember. If we did, I don’t remember being comforted. Her arms never surrounded me or my sister, nor did her words give us any reassurances of being safe, or that we were loved, or she’d hold us no matter what.

As we got older, the constant pounding of my father’s drunkenness made Jenise and I grow up fast. We became skilled at the techniques on how to survive our home, especially when we entered high school and were more independent.

But when I was eight-years-old, the only ways I knew to survive were to run and hide or detach in the hopes that the madness would stop before it came down to crush me.

And I ran, and I ran, and I ran, and I didn’t stop running for years.

FAMILY, ADDICTION, SURVIVAL, INTIMACY: SHADOW HEART

Shadow Heart-Contemporary Romance of Intimacy and Trust

IN PREVIOUS POSTS, NICKY AND JENISE, SISTERS TRYING TO SURVIVE IN AN ALCOHOLIC FAMILY, ARE LEFT ALONE WITH THEIR FATHER WHILE THEIR MOTHER IS AT WORK. THEIR FATHER IS COMING UNGLUED AS HE STRUGGLES TO MAINTAIN EVEN THOUGH HIS BODY CRAVES HIS LIQUID CANDY, HIS WHISKEY.

THE GIRLS FACE THE WRATH OF HIS BELT, AND NICKY WATCHES, ALL THE WHILE TAKING APART AND ANALYZING THE PUNISHMENT, EVEN AS A LITTLE GIRL OF EIGHT, KNOWING SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH HER FAMILY.

I know he’ll find me hiding and I’ll feel the belt and the sting of its leather biting my butt, erasing slowly and methodically with every whip, a father who once loved me.

From my hiding place I watch everything. My father whips my sister again. She is helpless and cannot escape. She’s somersaulting, stumbling, and falling as the belt strikes her.

While Jenise screams with high pitched sounds of terror I haven’t ever heard from her, I stay frozen and keep praying, “Please don’t let him find me, please don’t find me . . .”

Jenise falls and turns her head. She sees my hiding place. For the first time since his rage began, I see the fear and pain on her face. She shrinks to become as small as possible, her once tall and erect posture, beaten down.

All she has to do is point me out and complain that I didn’t eat my portion either.  She could take the violence away from her body so easily, but instead she’s taking the pain for both of us.

She stumbles and rolls over, exposing her soft belly, trying to surrender to his fierceness, but he whips her again and yells, “Get up!” Down the hallway and up the stairs to her bedroom she runs, my father following her, making her sorry she challenged him.

Finally, Jenise’s bedroom door slams and the whipping stops. I hear her sobbing and crying, but at least she has been left alone.

It’s better when we’re left alone.

In many ways, we were alone.

Even though I escaped the physical consequences that night, I didn’t escape the mental ones. When my mother arrives home I come out of hiding, but only in body.

Did we talk about what happened?  I can’t remember. If we did, I don’t remember being comforted. Her arms never surrounded me or my sister, nor did her words give us any reassurances of being safe, or that we were loved, or she’d hold us no matter what.

As we got older, the constant pounding of my father’s drunkenness made Jenise and I grow up fast. We became skilled at the techniques on how to survive our home, especially when we entered high school and were more independent.

ABUSE – EVEN THE WORD IS UGLY. IT’S SAID 1 OF EVERY 2 PEOPLE HAVE EXPERIENCED IT. THINK ABOUT IT: Bullying, Sexual abuse, domestic violence, mental abuse, date rape, child abuse, sexual harassment — how many forms it has to show itself.

Shadow Heart-Contemporary Romance of Intimacy and Trust

Test Post from Pamela Taeuffer

Test Post from Pamela Taeuffer http://pamelataeuffer.com

Shadow Heart: A Love Story, Being Vulnerable with an Open Heart

The story opens when Nicky Young, a woman coming of age, reflects on why relationships are so difficult for her. Shadow Heart is her story, created from the journals she’s kept all her life. We open as she reflects back to eight years old, as she and her sister are waiting for their father, an alcoholic, to prepare dinner for them.

EARLY LESSONS: NICKY YOUNG

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.”

This is what I know as a child growing up in a family battling alcoholism:

Something bad is coming; it always does.

I can’t ask for help; I’m too ashamed.

I can’t talk about our secrets; no one else understands.

I can’t trust anyone; they always leave.

Fear rolls out before me like a red carpet. It’s stained red with the blood of my family’s secrets. My name is Nicky Young. My story begins when I am eight and my sister is eleven.

We were only trying to have dinner before he unraveled. Now I’m cowering as I pray under the dining room table that he won’t see my hiding place. My small body shakes as I watch my sister face the wrath of our father’s anger.

It’s as if the desert storms from our mother’s childhood have come to us, their thunder and lightning are crashing.

“Please God,” I beg. “Protect me from the monster in my house.”

As little girls we spend most of our nights, like tonight, trying hard to avoid our dad’s drunkenness and counting down the minutes until our mom comes home from her night shift at the Juvenile Hall in San Francisco.

Jenise and I are being wrapped in our father’s horror as if he’s become a spider and we’re in his web, ready to be harmed, all because of a can of creamed corn and my sister’s defiance.

“Once he’s done with Jenise,” I say only to myself. “When he’s whipped her enough so that her sobs become quiet hurt, I know he’ll turn to find me.

“Once he’s done . . . he’ll look for me. Once he’s done . . .” I say to myself over and over. The words weave into my prayers as I clench my teeth in fear and shake under the dining room table.

Before my escape here, before he tore his belt from the loops of his pants, before my sister told him what he did wasn’t good enough, we were waiting for dinner. I don’t understand how his daughters, only wanting to eat something we like, made him explode.

As I sit in the blue vinyl booth in our kitchen and my sister in my mother’s chair, even I can hear his silent screams; wretched, twisted, and in such despair.

“How come he’s mad at us?”  I whisper to Jenise. “What did we do?”

“Shh,” she says to me, putting her finger to her lips.

It’s as if sparks are igniting around him, irritating his skin. A red, angry, face takes the place of the genius I once admired him to be. Tonight, he paces, walking the floor, back and forth. His silent explosions are loud.

Does he only care about his whiskey now?

Why won’t he choose us over his bottle?

How come he won’t stop?

Sometimes I feel like we’re all pushed to the edge of going crazy.

I’m taken over with the thought, “We’re in his way, and he hates us for it! Oh, God, our father hates us.”

QUESTION: HAVE YOU EVER FACED A RAGING PARENT? ALCOHOLISM OR ADDICTION REACHES MOST ALL OF US. WHAT DO THIS PASSAGE INVOKE FOR YOU? WHAT CHALLENGES DO YOU THINK NICKY MIGHT FACE WITH RELATIONSHIPS?

Contemporary Romance Novel-A Story of Love and Trust, Told in a Slow, Sensual Burn

"Have you ever wanted your lover to walk up behind you and whisper in your ear?"

"Have you ever envisioned his hand slowly moving down your hip then coming to rest, opening gently on your belly?"

-- Have you ever felt that safe?

The Broken Bottles Series explores intimacy and trust this deep, as Nicky Young fights her fears of abandonment from childhood, struggling to trust and embrace another in ways she never thought attainable.

Her father's alcoholism taught her well: "The next trauma is around the corner.  Something bad will inevitably shake your foundation, so keep yourself shut down and off." Nicky heard the message and refuses to let new relationships, especially men, into her life.

She tries desperately to run from her dysfunctional family and into a future at Stanford she's planned from when a little girl. That is until Ryan Tilton; a professional baseball player enters her life and challenges her to examine everything that keeps her heart bound in hurt.

Book 1, A Heart of Shadows begins the journey of Nicky Young. We cheer for her from the very first pages and enjoy turning them to discover if she can ever take the leap from her cliff that she grips onto so hard, digs into so deeply, trying her best to hold on to what she knows.

Can she jump into the light of chance and stamp out the pain of her past?

Can she embrace the joy and possible big love that's waiting?

A Shadow's Heart (A Heart in Shadows?? A Heart of Shadows?) explores the fears we nurture and how they can stop us in our tracks...if we let them.

The Broken Bottles Series is a spectacular love story of family, friends, lovers, and children. It's told in a unique way, examining the vivid details of intimacy and sex, and offers bare boned and raw stories of abandonment and mistrust.

Ultimately it's hope, faith, and trust in herself that Nicky must bring into her heart, which frees her to reach for the light of what can be. By allowing others "in" she might be able to forgive and recover from her fears, stepping out from her shadows.