Hope Street

I am not my feelings My feelings are not me I detach from my feelings effervescently 

I was born and raised in the averagely sized Southern town in which I cart our three kids all over tarnation on the daily.  It seems like I should know all the streets, all the shortcuts and all the places.  But because I recently came to a breaking point and began looking for help, I sought out a very obscure little building.  I could have spent the rest of my life in Shreveport without ever knowing that this building ever existed had I not come face to face with the havoc that addiction had ravaged in the life of my family.  But because I did, it's becoming a weekly sanctuary and one for which I am wildly thankful. When I first visited the Highland Club, a humble little lodge dedicated solely to 12 step meetings,  I plugged the address into Google Maps and paid very close attention.  I didn't know this part of town.  It looked run down, dingy, small, and the opposite of what Ann Lamott says we long for as those in recovery: "cuter abysses or thr...