Pamela Taeuffer's Blog - Posts Tagged "vulnerable"

At seventeen, Nicky confides in cheer team mentor Alexandra Flowers and Tara Summers about her family's dysfunction and also her fears and doubts about her body. Her hips, breasts, and stomach are more developed than her peers, she is getting looks from older men, and she's uncomfortable in her own skin and with others. She sits in the bleachers talking with the two women.

"My dad's an alcoholic, Alex," I confided while she waited with me in the outfield bleachers at the Goliaths baseball stadium.

It was shortly after I had graduated from my sophomore year in high school that I came up with an idea to bring together two of my favorite things: Goliaths baseball and another after school activity in which I could participate, padding my resume for college.

I planned to study business marketing and wanted to do it at Stanford. From talking with my guidance counselor I knew I needed to be aggressive, somehow standing out from the thousands of students wanting to go there.

So I surveyed Goliath fans via social media, researched and gathered data which supported my idea, and put together my plan for a cheer team.

I proposed we sing and do gymnastics to carefully selected songs approved by management, which would also play over the public address system.

Cheering on a professional baseball field had never been done before. I knew if my plan was accepted, Stanford would follow. After reviewing and editing it more than a dozen times, I finally sent it off to Jose Vasquez, the Entertainment Marketing Manager with the Goliaths. In December of my junior year I got the call that it was accepted.

Our cheer team consisted of six members: Colleen, who was also my best friend, Sharon, Lorraine, Marilyn, Patty, and me.

All of us grew up together in the same neighborhood and had been friends since grade school. We kept our fingers crossed that this adventure would be our ticket to college.

Was I nervous about walking onto a professional baseball field and performing in front of forty-thousand people? Hell yes. With every performance I fidgeted and had butterflies in my stomach.

Like a "deer in the headlights," is how we felt, our eyes wide open, afraid, nervous, and excited. Two women, Tara Summers and Alexandra Flowers, noticed, and immediately took us under their wings, especially me.

Tara was married to Matt Summers, a pitcher on the Goliaths. She was a small, petite, gentle soul with long, strawberry blonde hair. Her face was dotted with freckles and she generally wore jeans or loose flowing pants in earthy colors and materials like cotton and muslin.

Her very good friend, Alex, was engaged to Darrell Sweet, also a pitcher on the Goliaths, and she couldn't have been more different. She was a tall woman with reddish brown hair who had such striking features that she'd been a model since high school. When she wore jeans, they were often paired with heels and a designer blouse or sweater.

Something just clicked between the three of us and we bonded immediately.

It began with long talks in the bleachers, which led to requests made only of me to water their plants, or housesit when they were away, volunteering with them at their favorite charities, and then eventually, we began socializing together.

Our first performance was a Friday night in early April. It was usually cold for night games in San Francisco, until early autumn when "Indian Summer" came to the Bay Area, bringing calm breezes and warmer temperatures.

The Goliaths games generally sold out; they'd been competitive for the previous ten years, and their fan base was scattered throughout a one-hundred-mile radius.

And so, as thousands of people sat in their seats waiting for the game to begin, we performed the routines we'd rehearsed almost every day for four months. Each was two minutes long, and we took the field before the first, third, fifth and eighth innings.

I remembered sitting in the stands with my father at six, seven, and eight years old, all around the stadium, slurping up a hot fudge sundae or eating a pretzel. Actually being on the field, among the baseball men I'd cheered for while sitting next to him, was surreal.

Now it was our sixth game, and we waited behind the outfield fences for our first performance. The noises of the crowd surrounded us, and drifting by were the smells of hot dogs and popcorn.

I hadn't gotten over my nervousness, and still, my stomach turned over. I was self-conscious and had anxiety from just about everything.

It was a Saturday afternoon, as Alex waited with me, and I told her about my alcoholic father, and the battles for survival my sister and I faced daily.

1. HOW DO YOU/DID YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR BODY AT SEVENTEEN?

2. DO YOU LOOK BACK NOW AND REALIZE HOW BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE/WERE?

3. WHAT ARE SOME OF THE FEARS ABOUT YOUR BODY THAT STAY WITH YOU EVEN NOW?

4. WHAT WAS THE MOMENT, IF YOU'VE SURVIVED ADDICTION IN YOUR FAMILY, YOU REALIZED SOMETHING WAS WRONG?

#alcoholism #comingofage #women #newadultromance #romance #contemporary romance #family #addiction

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?

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Or e mail me: pamelataeuffer@gmail.com

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

Twitter: @PTaeufferAuthor

Thank for reading!Shadow Heart

“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?
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.

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?

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Even at 17, I hated my body.

EARLY ASSOCIATIONS WITH BODY TYPES

Nicky sits in the bleachers with her new women friends, wife and fiancé to two of the Goliath pitchers, the professional baseball team for which she and her friends cheer for on weekends. Her business plan was accepted, the first of its kind in baseball, and she knows Stanford, the college of her dreams, is in reach.

“Boys are too much of a risk,” I said. “I don’t want to take a chance. Hey, Ryan Tilton is still looking over here. With all the women he has, I wonder who in the world . . .”

I turned to see if a stunning woman sat behind me. When I saw only families and groups of boys and men sitting near us, I became nervous.

“God, I hate my body, you guys.” I wrung my hands, and shifted in my seat.

“Nicky, there’s nothing wrong with your body,” Tara laughed.

“I’m bigger than all my friends,” I continued discussing my insecurities, hoping for empathy.

“When I sleep over a girlfriend’s house, I can’t use her stuff. All my friends can exchange their clothes with each other, but I’m screwed if I don’t have something of my own.”

Tara covered her face with her hand, trying not to laugh. She didn’t understand my anxiety. 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. I was tired of having to handle things differently.

“Your body is beautiful, Nicky, just like you are,” Tara said. “You girls are so ridiculous at this age the way you criticize yourselves. In a few years you’ll look back and see you had nothing to worry about.”

“It’s true,” Alex agreed. “I understand your feelings, but one day soon, you’ll be happy with your body. And your friends may tease you now, but I’d just about guarantee they wouldn’t mind trading places with you.”

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

“Don’t worry about it,” Tara said. “If they poke fun at you, that’s just fear. Let it go and enjoy your gifts, 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 with them.”

“Oh thanks, Alex.” I rolled my eyes sarcastically. “I feel so much better.”

“You’ll grow into yourself, sweetie.” Tara patted my leg. “You already have the beauty and the smarts of someone who’s much older. Did you know all the wives were given copies of your business plan?”

“What? No, why would management do that?”

“We had to give our approval because it meant a group of young women, even though you’re all minors, would be on the field in front of our husbands,” she said. “If we weren’t comfortable, it wasn’t going to happen.

“You had to go through quite a few hoops, young lady. Were you ever told how many people looked at and approved your proposal?” Tara asked.

She explained how it went from an intern, to an assistant, to a high-level manager, and up the chain to ownership; and lastly to the players and their wives. I was stunned and pleased with my success.

“Nice job, Nick,” Tara said.

“Thanks, but I don’t understand. What man on a professional baseball team would want us? We’re only seventeen, and who would want them? Yuck, they’re too old.”

“Yeah, you may think the players are too old,” Tara laughed, “but not so old that management wasn’t paranoid. And uh . . .” she nodded to the outfield where Ryan stood. “Seems like you’ve already peaked someone’s interest.”

“He’s just curious about the grotesque thing sitting next to you,” I laughed.

We all handle fear differently.

When we grow up in a family battling addiction, we cross our fingers (sometimes our toes) and hope for the best every day. We never knew what we going to get when my father came home, or when we came home. This is how Shadow Heart Opens.

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.”

Th is 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 understands.

I can’t trust anyone; they always leave.

This evening 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.

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