Pamela Taeuffer's Blog
July 4, 2016
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.
April 18, 2016
RISK-WE TAKE THEM EVERYDAY
Shadow Heart
Rethinking Risk - Don't we do it every day?
I've been thinking a lot about risk lately. Just the word used to cause a shudder in my body from head to toe. Risk. I knew I needed to take it when growing up in my family if I was going to change anything. You see my father was an alcoholic. All the dysfunction you might imagine came with it. Rage, violence--verbal and physical intimidation--the codependent mother trying to keep the peace, and my sister and I, left to carve out our own niche. But you know what else? I was given twisted gifts, too. Strength, compassion, forgiveness and understanding of weakness and what it can do.
The Risks we Take
Most adult children of alcoholics or addicted parents know what I mean. We fend for ourselves. If we look all right then we are. We're content to stay quiet even though we'd love to shout and yell for joy. We're content to stand back, stay invisible, so we don't bring unwanted attention to ourselves.
And what did that change?
What did it change for you when you made those decisions to stay the same?
I'll tell you what it did for me. It wasn't a worthless exercise. It gave me time to pause and gather my strength, analyze situations and people quicker than my peers. I was a friend who opened her doors to anyone who needed help. I knew what it was like to crave an escape. My girlfriend who was hit too hard by her husband of only one year? She and her nine month old daughter lived with me for three months. Friends from work could count on a revolving door.
What kind of risk was this for me? A BIG ONE! I was deathly afraid of making friends and letting others get too close. I forced myself to lose any expectations I put on myself and just listened.
It was one step to shed the chains of my family's generational dysfunction.
When it comes down to it, don't we take risks every day? Just walking out the door takes a certain amount of faith and trust, right? Working for someone else . . . we risk that we'll be paid for the job we do. We risk sharing a private moment we won't be rejected. We risk posting a thought. We risk writing a story, a poem, a novel. We risk that when we play an instrument we won't be made fun of, or a drawing, sculpture or painting will be appreciated for the expression and intimate reveal we've put forth.
We risk everyday.
I think we're too hard on ourselves. Loving and trusting ourself just or who we are . . . it took me a lot of years, but I did it.
A love story that tells of letting go of fear, trusting enough to be vulnerable and transition to joy
A love story that tells of letting go of fear, trusting enough to be vulnerable and transition to joy
And that's what my Broken Bottles Series is about. The effects of a childhood growing up in family dysfunction are revealed slowly. I wasn't even sure what they all were and Nicky Young, our heroine, won't know right away, either. You may see yourself in here, you may see family or friends, you may understand them a little more deeply. Have patience. Risk takes time.
Free 4/20-4/23 on Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Heart-Le...
EMail: PamelaTaeuffer@gmail.com
Twitter: @PamelaTaeuffer
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Shadow-Heart...
Pinterest: PamelaTaeuffer/broken-bottles
Rethinking Risk - Don't we do it every day?
I've been thinking a lot about risk lately. Just the word used to cause a shudder in my body from head to toe. Risk. I knew I needed to take it when growing up in my family if I was going to change anything. You see my father was an alcoholic. All the dysfunction you might imagine came with it. Rage, violence--verbal and physical intimidation--the codependent mother trying to keep the peace, and my sister and I, left to carve out our own niche. But you know what else? I was given twisted gifts, too. Strength, compassion, forgiveness and understanding of weakness and what it can do.
The Risks we Take
Most adult children of alcoholics or addicted parents know what I mean. We fend for ourselves. If we look all right then we are. We're content to stay quiet even though we'd love to shout and yell for joy. We're content to stand back, stay invisible, so we don't bring unwanted attention to ourselves.
And what did that change?
What did it change for you when you made those decisions to stay the same?
I'll tell you what it did for me. It wasn't a worthless exercise. It gave me time to pause and gather my strength, analyze situations and people quicker than my peers. I was a friend who opened her doors to anyone who needed help. I knew what it was like to crave an escape. My girlfriend who was hit too hard by her husband of only one year? She and her nine month old daughter lived with me for three months. Friends from work could count on a revolving door.
What kind of risk was this for me? A BIG ONE! I was deathly afraid of making friends and letting others get too close. I forced myself to lose any expectations I put on myself and just listened.
It was one step to shed the chains of my family's generational dysfunction.
When it comes down to it, don't we take risks every day? Just walking out the door takes a certain amount of faith and trust, right? Working for someone else . . . we risk that we'll be paid for the job we do. We risk sharing a private moment we won't be rejected. We risk posting a thought. We risk writing a story, a poem, a novel. We risk that when we play an instrument we won't be made fun of, or a drawing, sculpture or painting will be appreciated for the expression and intimate reveal we've put forth.
We risk everyday.
I think we're too hard on ourselves. Loving and trusting ourself just or who we are . . . it took me a lot of years, but I did it.
A love story that tells of letting go of fear, trusting enough to be vulnerable and transition to joy
A love story that tells of letting go of fear, trusting enough to be vulnerable and transition to joy
And that's what my Broken Bottles Series is about. The effects of a childhood growing up in family dysfunction are revealed slowly. I wasn't even sure what they all were and Nicky Young, our heroine, won't know right away, either. You may see yourself in here, you may see family or friends, you may understand them a little more deeply. Have patience. Risk takes time.
Free 4/20-4/23 on Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Heart-Le...
EMail: PamelaTaeuffer@gmail.com
Twitter: @PamelaTaeuffer
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Shadow-Heart...
Pinterest: PamelaTaeuffer/broken-bottles
February 26, 2015
Writers, Money, Rewards . . . What are they?
AUTHORS AND MONEY
Let me begin by saying I am in agreement with all of the professionals out there.
You need a good editor – several in fact: A story coach, a copy editor, and a line editor.
You need a stunning cover.
You need someone to format the book and upload it properly.
You need a business plan.
You need a marketing plan.
You need a marketing consultant.
You should attend several writing conferences.
You need a publicist.
Are the dollar signs adding up yet? You bet they are. I guess authors are millionaires? They must be well off, certainly, because how does a starving artist afford all this?
More to the point, REALLY?
I get it, I do. Put the best product forward to be taken seriously. But it just comes down to this: I can't afford $5,000-$7500 per book. I'm not retired, and I'm not rich and I'm not in the upper middle class. I work hard at my business during the day, and I'm working hard on my books and my writing at night—very hard.
My first series will be four parts, and 14 novels. Let's do the math. Minimum, that means I'll need $70,000 for the series.
I have dreams just like everyone else, that by the time I'm on my fourteenth novel I'll be making money. But if the average return is $1,000 per book, I have to ask myself . . . so what if I don't have a cover that costs $750-1,000! So what if there are a couple of mistakes in the book. I see them all the time, and in books that have good sales statistics.
Perhaps the answer is to try and assemble a few beta readers who enjoy the story and get a free read.
Perhaps the answer is to dig in and take a few classes and learn how to format the book myself, and learn the ins and outs of Create Space and Amazon.
And then I read a blog by a well-known publicist who says no author has ever gotten traction without hiring one. And their fee is . . . take a guess. Thousands. Let's not forget we need reviews.
If you have a gaggle of friends and family, no problem.
For those of us who don't? We're subjected to Net Galley and free giveaways.
Who makes money off of authors?
I've come to the conclusion unless a writer is well off financially; it's just about everyone else except for the author. There's got to be a better way. I'm determined to find it.
As I search and sort through all the mucky-muck I'll share everything.
I invite you to share you sweat and struggle.
We often deny the risk and struggle we're really facing whether it is financially, personally, professionally, or medically. But it's all a part of the mix.
Onward.
Let me begin by saying I am in agreement with all of the professionals out there.
You need a good editor – several in fact: A story coach, a copy editor, and a line editor.
You need a stunning cover.
You need someone to format the book and upload it properly.
You need a business plan.
You need a marketing plan.
You need a marketing consultant.
You should attend several writing conferences.
You need a publicist.
Are the dollar signs adding up yet? You bet they are. I guess authors are millionaires? They must be well off, certainly, because how does a starving artist afford all this?
More to the point, REALLY?
I get it, I do. Put the best product forward to be taken seriously. But it just comes down to this: I can't afford $5,000-$7500 per book. I'm not retired, and I'm not rich and I'm not in the upper middle class. I work hard at my business during the day, and I'm working hard on my books and my writing at night—very hard.
My first series will be four parts, and 14 novels. Let's do the math. Minimum, that means I'll need $70,000 for the series.
I have dreams just like everyone else, that by the time I'm on my fourteenth novel I'll be making money. But if the average return is $1,000 per book, I have to ask myself . . . so what if I don't have a cover that costs $750-1,000! So what if there are a couple of mistakes in the book. I see them all the time, and in books that have good sales statistics.
Perhaps the answer is to try and assemble a few beta readers who enjoy the story and get a free read.
Perhaps the answer is to dig in and take a few classes and learn how to format the book myself, and learn the ins and outs of Create Space and Amazon.
And then I read a blog by a well-known publicist who says no author has ever gotten traction without hiring one. And their fee is . . . take a guess. Thousands. Let's not forget we need reviews.
If you have a gaggle of friends and family, no problem.
For those of us who don't? We're subjected to Net Galley and free giveaways.
Who makes money off of authors?
I've come to the conclusion unless a writer is well off financially; it's just about everyone else except for the author. There's got to be a better way. I'm determined to find it.
As I search and sort through all the mucky-muck I'll share everything.
I invite you to share you sweat and struggle.
We often deny the risk and struggle we're really facing whether it is financially, personally, professionally, or medically. But it's all a part of the mix.
Onward.
February 17, 2015
Women in Transition
Yes, I'm into my fifties now. Hooray! Each morning I look for another line on my lips. Soon I'll give up. Maybe there will be so many of them they'll combine to form a nice new lip again. Yes, I'm kidding.
Somehow women in their fifties seem to get lost, don't they? We're not climbing the ladder any longer, and certainly can't claim any resemblance, physically or otherwise to our thirties and forties.
We're almost or are done with parenting, but we're not seniors. We don't get discounts, we have to hang onto expensive health insurance because we're not ready for medicare. I don't care about fancy trips or hotels and actually long for the days we camped out - but guess what? My hips would never take sleeping on the ground any longer.
Our hair has probably a good amount of gray in it by now, but damn if I'll stop coloring it. It's the one thing I have that's still lovely and beautiful – my long brunette hair with auburn highlights - even if they're created by tinfoil at the beauty parlor.
But I'm going off into a tangent . . . My real issue and pet peeve is, where are our magazines?
I don't want another literary magazine, or travel magazine. I'm tired of Wall Street, and Beautiful Home, Amish Country, Pioneer Woman, and Sunset.
Where are the things that bring smiles to our age group? Huffington Post? Ha! Either have money so you can travel, be prepared to read articles that promise we can be truly free and uninhibited now with sex--by the way, who in their fifties doesn't already understand we're no longer a mystery with each other if you've been with your partner any length of time? Oh, and the retirement publications and commercials - stop!
Are you kidding? I'm working harder than ever, even as younger people around me suggest I'm ready to retire and go out of business.
I've been trying to reach out to key friendships of my own age group because they're the only ones who understand the new pain I woke up with, or . . . shit, has my butt dropped a little more?
We struggle with bras, and spanx, and girdles – should we bother any longer? Isn't it nice just to let everything wiggle free around the house?
And the pills available? Please. Not another aritificial solution which may cause death, or a promise of smooth skin, or looking forty again.
Let's face it.
We're 50, we're beautiful with our fat, our bones, our smiles, and all our lines. And somebody please give me a damn magazine or place I can go to celebrate and rejoice with other women who aren't faced with articles and blogs and medicines and creams that promise youth.
So where are the articles that just celebrate who we are, where we are, and what we can offer?
Because honey--ain't no getting back the skin I had twenty years ago.
Please comment at:
www.PamelaTaeuffer.com
https://www.facebook.com/pamela.taeuf...
https://www.pinterest.com/pamelataeuf...
Twitter: @PTaeufferAuthor
Somehow women in their fifties seem to get lost, don't they? We're not climbing the ladder any longer, and certainly can't claim any resemblance, physically or otherwise to our thirties and forties.
We're almost or are done with parenting, but we're not seniors. We don't get discounts, we have to hang onto expensive health insurance because we're not ready for medicare. I don't care about fancy trips or hotels and actually long for the days we camped out - but guess what? My hips would never take sleeping on the ground any longer.
Our hair has probably a good amount of gray in it by now, but damn if I'll stop coloring it. It's the one thing I have that's still lovely and beautiful – my long brunette hair with auburn highlights - even if they're created by tinfoil at the beauty parlor.
But I'm going off into a tangent . . . My real issue and pet peeve is, where are our magazines?
I don't want another literary magazine, or travel magazine. I'm tired of Wall Street, and Beautiful Home, Amish Country, Pioneer Woman, and Sunset.
Where are the things that bring smiles to our age group? Huffington Post? Ha! Either have money so you can travel, be prepared to read articles that promise we can be truly free and uninhibited now with sex--by the way, who in their fifties doesn't already understand we're no longer a mystery with each other if you've been with your partner any length of time? Oh, and the retirement publications and commercials - stop!
Are you kidding? I'm working harder than ever, even as younger people around me suggest I'm ready to retire and go out of business.
I've been trying to reach out to key friendships of my own age group because they're the only ones who understand the new pain I woke up with, or . . . shit, has my butt dropped a little more?
We struggle with bras, and spanx, and girdles – should we bother any longer? Isn't it nice just to let everything wiggle free around the house?
And the pills available? Please. Not another aritificial solution which may cause death, or a promise of smooth skin, or looking forty again.
Let's face it.
We're 50, we're beautiful with our fat, our bones, our smiles, and all our lines. And somebody please give me a damn magazine or place I can go to celebrate and rejoice with other women who aren't faced with articles and blogs and medicines and creams that promise youth.
So where are the articles that just celebrate who we are, where we are, and what we can offer?
Because honey--ain't no getting back the skin I had twenty years ago.
Please comment at:
www.PamelaTaeuffer.com
https://www.facebook.com/pamela.taeuf...
https://www.pinterest.com/pamelataeuf...
Twitter: @PTaeufferAuthor
February 9, 2015
Boxing Humans - More than Tits, Ass, and a Penis
MY BODY- I LOVE IT/I HATE IT
I’ll never forget the afternoon, almost eleven years ago, when I was in counseling. I was getting therapy after my son’s traumatic brain injury.
It had been a difficult few weeks—no, actually the whole damn year had been hell—and I was trying to find peace anywhere I could find it.
The therapist listened as I poured out my pain.
Of course as a mother, I was feeling guilty about not being able to console or soothe my son's anger. My own frustration was rising, too. I was starting to attack those around me because they just didn’t understand what I was going through.
How could they?
It's one of those things . . . if you haven't walked in those shoes; you can't imagine how it feels to have a son dealing with a head injury that has changed who he is and how he acts.
Rita, my therapist, was doing her best to ground me, and as I was attacking the doctors who'd treated him, she suddenly wrapped both of her hands around my ankles. (I was sitting in a recliner with my feet up.)
Her words were soft, gentle, and went right to my core.
“You need to honor and love your body. Worship her. Worship her as you would your God and your family. She’s stayed healthy and allowed you to carry your son and your husband through this trauma. She's been made in the image of our creator, made to feel the pain of tragedy and amazing brilliance of joy."
I’ve never forgotten the power of her words. Even now as I write them here, chills travel through my scalp, down my back and to my ankles, where I still feel her loving hands.
This flashed back to me as I saw a post recently on Up Worthy. The post brought to light a new dating site, where men “bid” on dates with women. 100,000 men were surveyed about their perfect woman.
The results? Yeah, they're insulting. Not one personality trait in the results, only physical traits. But in reality, it doesn’t matter.
That’s not what upset me.
What upset me was that we’re not honoring or loving ourselves for whom we are and what we have to give. We've been busy boxing people and packaging them into twenty and hot, thirty and a cougar, of active seniors who are pumping testosterone and Viagra trying to live like they are still a teenager.
Are people only two-dimensional? It's only the physical characteristics that make us who we are? Is that the definition of being social now?
Media and commercials like Carl's Jr. showing hamburgers with almost naked women eating them, underwear ads with models that have angel's wings on them, take away their being human, and turn them into objects, don't they?
Men aren't excluded.
If another commercial advertises how men need to pump pills for Low T, and be ready to get an erection at a moment's notice comes on during my favorite baseball team's game I might vomit!
Maybe I’m too old school. I think connection happens best in person. Face to face is when the sparks really fly, don’t they?
Being online, dating online, and trying to find the right mate all online . . . I get it. It’s a new way, and a way to keep your distance while you find someone.
But the qualities of being human, of offering our gifts . . . love, empathy, warmth, understanding . . . isn’t that what lets us fly through life together, rather than whether or not someone is blonde, and has blue eyes and a slim body?
What are the qualities I looked for in my husband of thirty-five years?
I knew he was the one because I talked with him. I met him. I saw him. I heard him. Our connection was there from the moment I spoke with him. I heard him. I saw his heart, his soul, the sexy man, the muscular arms, and the goodness in him.
I guess we all have checklists, but are they so absolute that we need to have each and every one of them for our "perfect" mate? Sure there's the physical desires, but when I met my soul mate, I couldn't even remember what those things were . . . not really.
So making an online connection? Sure, go for it.
But beyond the blonde hair, blue eyes and the body?
Making a real connection, one that will last, is so much more than about being slim or muscular. It's the little moments along with the big ones. It's how he or she notices you're hurting, or need a kiss, or he hands you a single flower, or gives an unexpected hug—it’s the subtleties of love.
It's the way a man or a woman supports another, in the hardest of times.
As for subtleties . . . well, my original list was blue eyes, blonde hair, about five years older than me, and had graduated from college.
I ended up with a dark haired man, fifteen years older than me, hadn't gone to college, but oh . . . something about the ways he loved me.
The only thing I remember on that physical checklist I could mark off?
Muscular arms!
If I had boxed him up on a list of characteristics I had to have? I'd have missed thirty-five years of pure ecstasy, joy, love, pain, and struggle . . . as Garth Brooks says, "I'd have missed the dance."
I’ll never forget the afternoon, almost eleven years ago, when I was in counseling. I was getting therapy after my son’s traumatic brain injury.
It had been a difficult few weeks—no, actually the whole damn year had been hell—and I was trying to find peace anywhere I could find it.
The therapist listened as I poured out my pain.
Of course as a mother, I was feeling guilty about not being able to console or soothe my son's anger. My own frustration was rising, too. I was starting to attack those around me because they just didn’t understand what I was going through.
How could they?
It's one of those things . . . if you haven't walked in those shoes; you can't imagine how it feels to have a son dealing with a head injury that has changed who he is and how he acts.
Rita, my therapist, was doing her best to ground me, and as I was attacking the doctors who'd treated him, she suddenly wrapped both of her hands around my ankles. (I was sitting in a recliner with my feet up.)
Her words were soft, gentle, and went right to my core.
“You need to honor and love your body. Worship her. Worship her as you would your God and your family. She’s stayed healthy and allowed you to carry your son and your husband through this trauma. She's been made in the image of our creator, made to feel the pain of tragedy and amazing brilliance of joy."
I’ve never forgotten the power of her words. Even now as I write them here, chills travel through my scalp, down my back and to my ankles, where I still feel her loving hands.
This flashed back to me as I saw a post recently on Up Worthy. The post brought to light a new dating site, where men “bid” on dates with women. 100,000 men were surveyed about their perfect woman.
The results? Yeah, they're insulting. Not one personality trait in the results, only physical traits. But in reality, it doesn’t matter.
That’s not what upset me.
What upset me was that we’re not honoring or loving ourselves for whom we are and what we have to give. We've been busy boxing people and packaging them into twenty and hot, thirty and a cougar, of active seniors who are pumping testosterone and Viagra trying to live like they are still a teenager.
Are people only two-dimensional? It's only the physical characteristics that make us who we are? Is that the definition of being social now?
Media and commercials like Carl's Jr. showing hamburgers with almost naked women eating them, underwear ads with models that have angel's wings on them, take away their being human, and turn them into objects, don't they?
Men aren't excluded.
If another commercial advertises how men need to pump pills for Low T, and be ready to get an erection at a moment's notice comes on during my favorite baseball team's game I might vomit!
Maybe I’m too old school. I think connection happens best in person. Face to face is when the sparks really fly, don’t they?
Being online, dating online, and trying to find the right mate all online . . . I get it. It’s a new way, and a way to keep your distance while you find someone.
But the qualities of being human, of offering our gifts . . . love, empathy, warmth, understanding . . . isn’t that what lets us fly through life together, rather than whether or not someone is blonde, and has blue eyes and a slim body?
What are the qualities I looked for in my husband of thirty-five years?
I knew he was the one because I talked with him. I met him. I saw him. I heard him. Our connection was there from the moment I spoke with him. I heard him. I saw his heart, his soul, the sexy man, the muscular arms, and the goodness in him.
I guess we all have checklists, but are they so absolute that we need to have each and every one of them for our "perfect" mate? Sure there's the physical desires, but when I met my soul mate, I couldn't even remember what those things were . . . not really.
So making an online connection? Sure, go for it.
But beyond the blonde hair, blue eyes and the body?
Making a real connection, one that will last, is so much more than about being slim or muscular. It's the little moments along with the big ones. It's how he or she notices you're hurting, or need a kiss, or he hands you a single flower, or gives an unexpected hug—it’s the subtleties of love.
It's the way a man or a woman supports another, in the hardest of times.
As for subtleties . . . well, my original list was blue eyes, blonde hair, about five years older than me, and had graduated from college.
I ended up with a dark haired man, fifteen years older than me, hadn't gone to college, but oh . . . something about the ways he loved me.
The only thing I remember on that physical checklist I could mark off?
Muscular arms!
If I had boxed him up on a list of characteristics I had to have? I'd have missed thirty-five years of pure ecstasy, joy, love, pain, and struggle . . . as Garth Brooks says, "I'd have missed the dance."
September 18, 2014
Women in Transition
What do we do when we face transition?
Transition. It's a word that can strike fear in all ages, and both sexes. When we're young, it can mean facing the decision of an adult. When in our early 20's, it can mean embracing a more mature life and making serious career or relationship choices.
Women of transition -- what does this mean? It begins at 35 or so, when that first lip line or wrinkle or sag in the eyelid becomes noticeable. But beyond the physical stuff, it also means the glow of youth is over, and it's time to bring that glow into our hearts and celebrate who we are, where we're going, and crash through our walls and fears once and for all.
For Nicky Young, a woman coming of age after being raised in a family battling alcoholism, in Shadow Heart, a Contemporary Romance Noel, she already feels like she is 35 going on 50 from all of the abandonment and broken promises she's experienced.
She has trouble grabbing and celebrating her youth, and instead has spent her young years trying to survive and get out of her house, always walking carefully and in soft slippers in her house, focusing completely on pursuing her education. But now a boy has caught her eye who seems to hint at a possible life that could be, if only she'd take a risk.
But risk taking is the ultimate fear.
Taking a risk means stepping out of the shadows of comfort.
Jumping off her cliff, the one she's been holding onto for years, the one we can all get trapped on, means giving up control, and that's the one thing she doesn't want to lose.
No longer can Nicky watch her father's rage, waiting to take them all with its broad stroke of hurt.
No longer can Nicky stand to see her mother withdraw into codependency.
She clings to her childhood friends, the ones she's known, the ones who are safe.
And even as she clings to the past, her future is ripping her hands off the safety of comfort and familiarity, pulling her into a transition. If only she'd embrace it, risk it, take a chance…even if she falls…she might find everything could change.
What can you change by taking a chance?
What does transition mean for you?
Won't you join the conversation? Shadow Heart, a love story, has been re-edited and retold, and is going to be given away free on Amazong 10/4 and 10/5. Fire Heart, Book 2 in the series is out, continuing the story of the slow reveal of intimacy when growing up facing a family battling addiction.
It changes you.
It freezes you.
It makes you afraid.
It forces you to transition.
If you can be vulnerable,
If you can trust,
You can find intimacy.
It's only then, by trusting yourself, your heart opens.
AND THAT, IS A TRANSITION FROM WHICH YOU'LL NEVER BE THE SAME.
Please sign up for our newsletter for freebies and new releases at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com or my Facebook page: Shadow Heart, A Love Story about Being Vulnerable.
Transition. It's a word that can strike fear in all ages, and both sexes. When we're young, it can mean facing the decision of an adult. When in our early 20's, it can mean embracing a more mature life and making serious career or relationship choices.
Women of transition -- what does this mean? It begins at 35 or so, when that first lip line or wrinkle or sag in the eyelid becomes noticeable. But beyond the physical stuff, it also means the glow of youth is over, and it's time to bring that glow into our hearts and celebrate who we are, where we're going, and crash through our walls and fears once and for all.
For Nicky Young, a woman coming of age after being raised in a family battling alcoholism, in Shadow Heart, a Contemporary Romance Noel, she already feels like she is 35 going on 50 from all of the abandonment and broken promises she's experienced.
She has trouble grabbing and celebrating her youth, and instead has spent her young years trying to survive and get out of her house, always walking carefully and in soft slippers in her house, focusing completely on pursuing her education. But now a boy has caught her eye who seems to hint at a possible life that could be, if only she'd take a risk.
But risk taking is the ultimate fear.
Taking a risk means stepping out of the shadows of comfort.
Jumping off her cliff, the one she's been holding onto for years, the one we can all get trapped on, means giving up control, and that's the one thing she doesn't want to lose.
No longer can Nicky watch her father's rage, waiting to take them all with its broad stroke of hurt.
No longer can Nicky stand to see her mother withdraw into codependency.
She clings to her childhood friends, the ones she's known, the ones who are safe.
And even as she clings to the past, her future is ripping her hands off the safety of comfort and familiarity, pulling her into a transition. If only she'd embrace it, risk it, take a chance…even if she falls…she might find everything could change.
What can you change by taking a chance?
What does transition mean for you?
Won't you join the conversation? Shadow Heart, a love story, has been re-edited and retold, and is going to be given away free on Amazong 10/4 and 10/5. Fire Heart, Book 2 in the series is out, continuing the story of the slow reveal of intimacy when growing up facing a family battling addiction.
It changes you.
It freezes you.
It makes you afraid.
It forces you to transition.
If you can be vulnerable,
If you can trust,
You can find intimacy.
It's only then, by trusting yourself, your heart opens.
AND THAT, IS A TRANSITION FROM WHICH YOU'LL NEVER BE THE SAME.
Please sign up for our newsletter for freebies and new releases at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com or my Facebook page: Shadow Heart, A Love Story about Being Vulnerable.
September 11, 2014
Shadow Heart e book giveaway on Amazon
After a thoughtful debate, I took my readers' suggestions and redesigned, edited, Shadow Heart.
I'm re-releasing, currently available on Kindle or paperback on Amazon, with a KDP giveaway 10/4-10/5.
Thanks to all my readers who voiced strong opinions.
I'm listening.
I'm re-releasing, currently available on Kindle or paperback on Amazon, with a KDP giveaway 10/4-10/5.
Thanks to all my readers who voiced strong opinions.
I'm listening.
August 17, 2014
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?
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.
July 27, 2014
Re-releasing Shadow Heart, and Book 2, Fire Heart
Re-releasing a book, my baby, and the reasons why
Re-releasing a book, my baby, and the reasons why
WHY GO TO ALL THE TROUBLE TO REWORK A BOOK, AFTER PAYING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO EDITORS, PROMOTION SITES, FORMATTERS, DESIGNERS, AND OTHER PROFESSIONALS IN THE BUSINESS?
BECAUSE READERS ASKED FOR IT.
WILL I EVER RE-RELEASE ANOTHER BOOK IF FEEDBACK TELLS ME I SHOULD CONSIDER IT? YES, BUT THIS BOOK, SHADOW HEART, IS DONE, FINISHED, AND THAT’S IT.
First I want to say thank you to all the readers, both with positive and negative comments, who gave me constructive feedback. To have a reader actually take time out of their life to read my book is a privilege and I sincerely mean it when I say I’m grateful.
Second, when I initially wrote the series (it’s twelve novels long) I wanted to end the first in a different place than where it ended. I listened to a New York City editor, a good one, but never-the-less I should have listened to my gut about my own story’s break. She suggested I leave a dramatic cliff hanger at the end of book 1 so interest would be strong in book 2, Fire Heart.
Sounds good, right?
Holy crap, the anger that came back because I’d done that without warning about it — I heard the feedback, corrected it, ended differently (where I wanted to originally) BUT!!! I will have severe cliff hangers in all books going forward. After all, that’s how it is growing up in a family battling alcoholism. We never knew what we were going to get, and neither should readers of this series.
Third, type-o’s. Well, I think I’ve caught them all, but if not, I can live with it and so should you. It’s part of self-publishing these days, and as long as there aren’t a barrel full, it’s pretty normal. Even so, I’ve worked with 5 editors trying to catch everything. And that’s the fourth point.
Every editor has their own style, opinions, strengths and weaknesses. They each see and catch different things. So being a movie in this (not so much anymore, but I was new, after all), I know that now and will stick with one line editor and one story editor. I get that now.
Well, I think that about wraps up my reasons. Now going forward, my story is set, I’m good with my endings, and happy with the way the story progresses, even though some have told me the writing is a little “different” which some have said means poetic, others juvenile, and still others have said as if written by a teenage girl.
Yes, indeed it is written by a woman coming of age, at least from her point of view. And I want the writing to reflect all her innocence, her discovery, her anger, and discovery of being intimate and sensual. And by the way, after the first three novels, this story will definitely take a very intimate turn. Will it be with Jerry or Ryan or even another young man? Who knows.
As I sign off and begin posting once again with my thoughts and input from growing up and living every day with mental abuse, fear, abandonment, and dysfunction, the things I’ve included in the story are how it was for me. If it’s sluggish, or slow, I’m sorry you couldn’t get into it. I hope the pace is fast enough to show you and keep you involved in what having an alcoholic parent does as you form relationships of all sorts–friends, lovers, family–they’re all affected.
We form our own obsessions and addictions as children of trauma. What are they? I hope you’ll read on.
Thanks readers!
I will also begin my newsletters now, and share with you many of the cut chapters and character backgrounds that are not longer a part of the books. And for the first twenty that sign up? I will be sure and send you free ebook versions for the entire series if you’ll be part of my street team and give me your honest feedback, and … if you like it … help me spread the word.
Rock on mustangs!
Next question - - - should I have another contest?
Re-releasing a book, my baby, and the reasons why
WHY GO TO ALL THE TROUBLE TO REWORK A BOOK, AFTER PAYING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO EDITORS, PROMOTION SITES, FORMATTERS, DESIGNERS, AND OTHER PROFESSIONALS IN THE BUSINESS?
BECAUSE READERS ASKED FOR IT.
WILL I EVER RE-RELEASE ANOTHER BOOK IF FEEDBACK TELLS ME I SHOULD CONSIDER IT? YES, BUT THIS BOOK, SHADOW HEART, IS DONE, FINISHED, AND THAT’S IT.
First I want to say thank you to all the readers, both with positive and negative comments, who gave me constructive feedback. To have a reader actually take time out of their life to read my book is a privilege and I sincerely mean it when I say I’m grateful.
Second, when I initially wrote the series (it’s twelve novels long) I wanted to end the first in a different place than where it ended. I listened to a New York City editor, a good one, but never-the-less I should have listened to my gut about my own story’s break. She suggested I leave a dramatic cliff hanger at the end of book 1 so interest would be strong in book 2, Fire Heart.
Sounds good, right?
Holy crap, the anger that came back because I’d done that without warning about it — I heard the feedback, corrected it, ended differently (where I wanted to originally) BUT!!! I will have severe cliff hangers in all books going forward. After all, that’s how it is growing up in a family battling alcoholism. We never knew what we were going to get, and neither should readers of this series.
Third, type-o’s. Well, I think I’ve caught them all, but if not, I can live with it and so should you. It’s part of self-publishing these days, and as long as there aren’t a barrel full, it’s pretty normal. Even so, I’ve worked with 5 editors trying to catch everything. And that’s the fourth point.
Every editor has their own style, opinions, strengths and weaknesses. They each see and catch different things. So being a movie in this (not so much anymore, but I was new, after all), I know that now and will stick with one line editor and one story editor. I get that now.
Well, I think that about wraps up my reasons. Now going forward, my story is set, I’m good with my endings, and happy with the way the story progresses, even though some have told me the writing is a little “different” which some have said means poetic, others juvenile, and still others have said as if written by a teenage girl.
Yes, indeed it is written by a woman coming of age, at least from her point of view. And I want the writing to reflect all her innocence, her discovery, her anger, and discovery of being intimate and sensual. And by the way, after the first three novels, this story will definitely take a very intimate turn. Will it be with Jerry or Ryan or even another young man? Who knows.
As I sign off and begin posting once again with my thoughts and input from growing up and living every day with mental abuse, fear, abandonment, and dysfunction, the things I’ve included in the story are how it was for me. If it’s sluggish, or slow, I’m sorry you couldn’t get into it. I hope the pace is fast enough to show you and keep you involved in what having an alcoholic parent does as you form relationships of all sorts–friends, lovers, family–they’re all affected.
We form our own obsessions and addictions as children of trauma. What are they? I hope you’ll read on.
Thanks readers!
I will also begin my newsletters now, and share with you many of the cut chapters and character backgrounds that are not longer a part of the books. And for the first twenty that sign up? I will be sure and send you free ebook versions for the entire series if you’ll be part of my street team and give me your honest feedback, and … if you like it … help me spread the word.
Rock on mustangs!
Next question - - - should I have another contest?
