FAMILY, ADDICTION, SURVIVAL, INTIMACY: SHADOW HEART

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

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

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Shadow Heart-Contemporary Romance of Intimacy and Trust

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

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

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Shadow Heart: Love and Intimacy

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Keeping my screams pressed down, I hold my hand over my mouth and watch when he takes the back of Jenise’s head and shoves her face hard into the bowl of creamed corn.

She lifts her head slowly and turns to the side after he takes his hand away. I’m frozen as I watch her look at me, her shock mixed with the corn that drips off her nose, hidden in her burning eyes as she wipes them, and within her ...

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A little girl’s voice is shaped-Shadow Heart: Early Lessons of Nicky Young

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          Jenise and I make faces when our dad opens a can of creamed corn to serve us for dinner. He doesn’t care that this is the one food my sister and I hate more than anything.

I can see leftovers in the refrigerator and other cans of food stacked in the cupboard we like, but it doesn’t matter. It feels like we could’ve been given garbage to eat if that was the ...

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Why can’t I ask for what I want? Being Vulnerable, Finding my Voice

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I’ll admit it — I was in a dark place.

Married twenty-seven years, my husband and I had retreated to the darkest recesses of our caves, ignoring each other, sitting separately, often going to bed hours after the other, and barely kissing good-bye or saying “I love you” during the day.

I’d had the crap knocked out of me that year, by employees who’d gathered together and decided to bring false claims against me, all the while trying to steal clients and ...

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