Pamela Taeuffer's Blog - Posts Tagged "friendship"
FRIENDSHIPS IN TRANSITION
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?
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?
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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?
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!
Shadow Heart-Nicky Young on Body Types
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.
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.
How I prayed in a Family Battling Alcoholism
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.
www.PamelaTaeuffer.com
Join the conversation, won’t you?
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.
www.PamelaTaeuffer.com
Join the conversation, won’t you?
MOTHERS, FATHERS, SIBLINGS, FRIENDS, LOVERS, PARTNERS
MOTHERS, FATHERS, SIBLINGS, FRIENDS, LOVERS, PARTNERS –
Weight and body issues aren't what they seem. For children of dysfunctional families, they mean comfort and escape. They are the friends who never disappointed me.
During the nights of my father's rage, even in the terror, a sense of calm filled me up because I knew Mom, a co-dependent within her husband's alcoholic addiction, would reward me with presents the next day. It was often a movie with popcorn and candy, or a full container of chocolate chip ice cream, or a bag of cookies. I consumed entire packages of chips and bite sized candy bars in one sitting while I watched TV.
Junk food was comfort.
Junk food was my baby sitter and Mom's way to give me the love that lay dormant and frozen inside her, killed by the alcoholic husband she now nurtured in his addiction.
These habits do not go down easily. They are pure bliss and happiness—the escape from trauma. They release pleasure endorphins in the body and it feels good. I couldn't get the open affection of love from my parents. I did with food.
What can you do when you?
Parents: Mom had the control when I was little. I had no money. If she didn't buy me junk food I wouldn't have had a choice. As a parent, she should have taken a step back and recognized I would becoming obese.
Please – I'm begging you, do what you know is right for your child. Do not joke about their weight and do no become a co-dependent in your relationship. Be the guide your son or daughter needs and make the right choices. Cook healthy. Pack healthy lunches. Go on walks with them. Enroll them in counseling or support groups.
I was begging for support and love—I found it through food.
If you're a young woman Coming of Age – please join a support group. Overeater's anonymous, Children of Alcoholics, any groups that understands the dysfunctional relationship of food and love and comfort. Don't beat yourself up. The names you may be called and the disgusted looks that may come your way—they don't understand. They think you're stuffing your face in spite of everything you know to be different. You're hurt. You need to heal. You need to love yourself for the gifts you have and what you understand—and going through what you have? You understand!
Friends, peers, lovers, partners – Please don't chastise and criticize. I knew I was overweight. No one needed to tell me. What I needed was, "I can see you're struggling. How can I help?" OR "I'll walk with you." OR "I'll never abandon you. Let me help you let go of that fear."
"As a child growing up in a family battling alcoholism, this is what I know:
• 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.
Weight and body issues aren't what they seem. For children of dysfunctional families, they mean comfort and escape. They are the friends who never disappointed me.
During the nights of my father's rage, even in the terror, a sense of calm filled me up because I knew Mom, a co-dependent within her husband's alcoholic addiction, would reward me with presents the next day. It was often a movie with popcorn and candy, or a full container of chocolate chip ice cream, or a bag of cookies. I consumed entire packages of chips and bite sized candy bars in one sitting while I watched TV.
Junk food was comfort.
Junk food was my baby sitter and Mom's way to give me the love that lay dormant and frozen inside her, killed by the alcoholic husband she now nurtured in his addiction.
These habits do not go down easily. They are pure bliss and happiness—the escape from trauma. They release pleasure endorphins in the body and it feels good. I couldn't get the open affection of love from my parents. I did with food.
What can you do when you?
Parents: Mom had the control when I was little. I had no money. If she didn't buy me junk food I wouldn't have had a choice. As a parent, she should have taken a step back and recognized I would becoming obese.
Please – I'm begging you, do what you know is right for your child. Do not joke about their weight and do no become a co-dependent in your relationship. Be the guide your son or daughter needs and make the right choices. Cook healthy. Pack healthy lunches. Go on walks with them. Enroll them in counseling or support groups.
I was begging for support and love—I found it through food.
If you're a young woman Coming of Age – please join a support group. Overeater's anonymous, Children of Alcoholics, any groups that understands the dysfunctional relationship of food and love and comfort. Don't beat yourself up. The names you may be called and the disgusted looks that may come your way—they don't understand. They think you're stuffing your face in spite of everything you know to be different. You're hurt. You need to heal. You need to love yourself for the gifts you have and what you understand—and going through what you have? You understand!
Friends, peers, lovers, partners – Please don't chastise and criticize. I knew I was overweight. No one needed to tell me. What I needed was, "I can see you're struggling. How can I help?" OR "I'll walk with you." OR "I'll never abandon you. Let me help you let go of that fear."
"As a child growing up in a family battling alcoholism, this is what I know:
• 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.
