Podcasts about cumberland heights

In honor of John Hiatt's 72nd birthday, we are sharing the sermon "The Gospel According to John Hiatt" which Sylvan gave at the First Universalist Parish of Chester Vermont on July 29, 2009. Consider sending your birthday wishes by making a donation to the John Hiatt Adolescent Recovery Fund at Cumberland Heights. Donate to a Non-Profit Treatment Center | Cumberland Heights Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Tawny and Lisa catch up on what's been going on lately. Tawny has been settling into post-book tour and post-(parentheses) launch life and taking time to go to cultural events and see live music. Lisa spent time in Nashville to speak at a benefit for the Women's Center at Cumberland Heights, a nonprofit addiction treatment center. They also talk about the importance of taking time to rest, play, and catch glimmers of peace. Music Minute features David Bowie.  Order Tawny's book, DRY HUMPING: A Guide to Dating, Relating, and Hooking Up Without the Booze Sign up for "Beyond Liquid Courage" Order Tawny's new NA drink, (parentheses) Sign up for Nonfiction Book Proposal 101 with Tawny here. Sign up for Tawny's Nonfiction Book Proposal Boot Camp here. Purchase Lisa's memoir, Girl Walks Out of a Bar   

Tom Gentry is an internationally-certified alcohol and drug counselor who has spent more than 20 years working with people and families affected by addiction. The heart of his work has been helping men navigate the terrain between early stages of abstinence and long-term recovery. After beginning his career at the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation, he helped create the Sanctuary in Delray Beach. He served as its program director for five years, before joining the business development team at Cumberland Heights right here in Nashville, Tennessee. Since then, he's had roles at two other highly regarded men's transitional living facilities, where he facilitated groups focusing on codependency issues, the relationship with self, and the transition into manhood. After growing up in central Indiana, Tom left as a young adult to find his own recovery. He is grateful to be breaking the cycle of addiction in his family and proud to return home to bring his expertise to bear at CCSL. Jamie Engel is the founder, co-owner, and program director for Circle City Sober Living. For the past 15 years he has worked extensively with families and businesses around the world creating out-of-the-box treatment solutions and case management in the field of addiction and mental health consulting. Jamie is also living in long term recovery. Jamie helped raise awareness and break down the stigma around addiction and mental health awareness in the Twin Cities Jewish community as a founding member of the “Not OUR Kids” conference committee. Jamie is a graduate of Indiana University-Purdue University of Indianapolis. His focus was on adolescent & young adult counseling and consulting.

Building the backend data infrastructure to track both business metrics and clinical outcomes is costly and time-intensive. Even for a medium-sized organization, this can cost upwards of $500,000 per year, so the last thing anyone wants to do is build it wrong or get off on the wrong foot. Dr. Nick Hayes, Chief Science Officer at Cumberland Heights, walks us through their best-in-class data science department. He and his team built out what I consider to be the best setup in the field. Nick shares how they built it, what that setup looks like, the outcomes they've gotten, and how it's helped Cumberland improve as an organization overall and deliver even better outcomes for patients.

Welcome to A Way Through, a podcast brought to you by Archway Academy! The purpose of this podcast is to remind you that though you may not see it now, something different is possible; Recovery is possible! **The views and opinions expressed by our guests are those of the individual and do not necessarily reflect those of Archway Academy. Any content provided by our student co-host(s) or guests are of their opinion and are not intended to reflect the philosophy and policies of Archway Academy itself. Nor is it intended to malign any recovery method, religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, individual, or anyone or anything. In this episode of A Way Through, Jamie Edwards, Director of Community Relations at Archway Academy, is joined by Dean Porterfield, LPC-MHSP, NCC. Dean is Executive Director of ARCH Academy and Owner of Do Life! Counseling and Consulting, PLLC in Nashville, TN. Dean has been with Cumberland Heights for over 11 years, has served as Executive Director of an outdoor therapeutic program for adolescent males for over ten years, and has also served on the Board of Directors of NATSAP (National Board of Therapeutic Schools and Programs), and frequently presents at national, international, and local conferences. Dean is also an approved LPC clinical supervisor and brings over 24 years of experience working with the adolescent population and their families. He believes in a strength-based approach and understands that authentic relationships with the teens and families we serve are paramount for lasting change. Dean is also invested in combining true-tested approaches such as the Twelve steps with other evidence-based clinical intervention modalities to treat substance abuse and the underlying struggles that complement the teen's self-medicating behavior. Dean is a sought speaker who has spoken at numerous conferences nationally and internationally throughout his career. Be sure to subscribe to A Way Through to stay updated on each new episode and leave a review of the show! Topics Discussed: Differences between male & female adolescents with substance use Understanding adolescence substance use without judgment The power of resiliency and identifying strengths Overcoming feelings of guilt, shame, & failure parents face Connect with Dean Porterfield, LPC-MHSP, NCC: Web: https://www.arch.org/ & https://www.dolifetherapy.com/ FB: https://www.facebook.com/archacademytn IG: https://www.instagram.com/archacademyorg/ Connect with Archway Academy: FB: https://www.facebook.com/archwayacademyhtx/ IG: https://www.instagram.com/archwayacademy/ YT: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVBgxwG5CC6qBcJ3U6KcK5Q Contact Archway Academy: If you or a student you know needs help, visit the website, or call the number below to schedule a tour. We are here to help. Address: 6221 Main Street Houston, TX 77030 Call: 713.328.0780 Email: sasha.coles@archwayacademy.org Web: https://www.archwayacademy.org --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/archway-academy/message

What fascinated me the most about my first day of school at Cumberland Heights was laying eyes on the playground. All I could do was stand there and soak it all in and try to figure out how things worked. I could already tell my most significant hurdle would be the slide. Standing at the base of the contraption, I stared straight up into the sky, attempting to see the top of the ladder. The last step is hidden somewhere above the clouds as far as I can tell, and I'm sure it's difficult to breathe at that altitude. Deciding to leave the beast for another time, I explored more. The biggest obstacle in Mrs. Brown's kindergarten class is figuring out the whole nap time scenario. Never in my life have I slept in the middle of the day. We all have to go to the back of the room, grab one of those spongy mats, and sleep on the floor for about twenty years. It's not easy finding one without a few dried buggers or snot on it. The teacher drops a piece of hard candy beside any of us who can successfully catch some Z's. That slide keeps popping up in my head, so there is no way I'm getting any candy because all I can think about is how I want to conquer it. How is a man supposed to get any shuteye with such momentous visions?The swing set doesn't look too intimidating. I've spent hours on grapevines, ropes, and tire swings. "This should be a cinch," I thought to myself. As soon as I decided to give it a go, I witnessed a sixth-grader launch into the solar system. He disregarded gravity somehow by hanging on until just before the swing made a complete circle like a Ferris wheel. Two other kids were using it to play a mad game of bumper cars, and it looked excruciatingly painful. What the heck is nap time supposed to teach us aside from how to fake a snooze? Neil is the only legit kid because his eyes are puffy, and his back is sweaty when he wakes. I close my eyelids when I see Mrs. Brown get up with her bag of sweets, and just before she gets to me, I hold my breath, and my cheeks puff out. For some reason, I never score a treat. Thankfully Twila gave me some solid advice and let me know that we do, in fact, continue to breathe while hibernating. The bright orange wooden seesaws looked safe enough until I saw that one kid jump off, forcing her playmate to fall like a sack of potatoes to the ground. She hit the dirt so hard that her body vibrated before tumbling over in agony. I'm pretty sure she lived because I saw her throwing grapes in the cafeteria later. Naptime is absolutely insufferable. If we don't get up soon, I will lose my marbles. Ouch, Sabrina made a giant mistake. She asked to go to the bathroom. So much for her snagging a treat today. Why the heck do girls go to the john so much anyway? On top of that, I can't even imagine not being able to pee outside. The slide haunts me as I lay motionless on the oversized slobber-soaked sponge riddled with disease. Today must be my moment to overcome my most eminent fear. I will not leave these grounds without a piece of hard candy in my pocket and a feeling of victory after slaying the mighty monster that mocks my very soul. Oh, for crying out loud! Now I have to pee. When with this madness stop? Just give us sugar and send us to recess already, please! I knew the merry-go-round was for advanced players only when I saw it in action. One big kid would lock his hand around the metal bar and run in circles as fast as he could before slinging himself halfway across the playground. In the meantime, smaller kids, probably unaware of what they'd walked into, held on for dear life. One by one, each child would get dizzy before flinging off and landing on the worn ground plastered with jagged rocks. It reminded me of my sister blowing a dandelion to watch the tiny parachutes land wherever fate led them. Something has to give soon, and I hope it's Mrs. Brown and not my bladder. Wait, she's up! She is walking around with the bag in her hand. All I have to do is remember Twila's advice, keep my eyes shut, and play it cool. Neil got his reward, of course. Oh man, she skipped right over Barney, and he even had me fooled. It looks like Patricia scored. She's close, so it's time to close my eyes. I can feel it in my bones this time. There is no doubt I'll be heading to recess with my well-earned bounty. After hearing the candy drop, I waited a bit longer to ensure the coast was clear before opening my eyes. A tiny peek revealed butterscotch. Really? I despise butterscotch.As we march outside, I remind myself of the day's primary goal to dominate the deadly mountain once and for all. Each step closer to the anomaly forces my stomach into my throat, making it hard to swallow. The line moves quickly, and I fight any impulse to bail on my mission of glory. While observing the kid's buttcrack in front of me climb its way toward the heavens, others insist I hurry. The metal from the handrail scorches my fingers with each advancement, but I do not give in to the discomfort. Glimpsing down could very well be my demise, so I fix my eyes on the skin-covered crevice peeking from the top of plaid pants ahead and move on.Everything feels minuscule atop Mount Everest while looking out over the active playground. I would have sat there for hours if not for the white-hot heat piercing my corduroys and impatient risk-takers following my lead. Lunging myself forward over the lustrous metallic ramp, I slid downward. My face enjoyed a cool breeze drying the sweat from my forehead before coming to an abrupt stop at the bottom. A sense of relief led to a radiant smile to signal my time as a champion was now. It was like breaking through the tape after winning an Olympic race, at least before the sharp pain of sneakers in my back from the next kid on the slide. "Yep, pretty soon I'll master every device this playground can throw my way," I paused to think before my next climb into space.

It's been four years since I paid a visit to the principal's office. Mrs. Allen, my second-grade teacher, found cause every week to send me to see Mr. Mitler, but it usually ended with a smile and encouragement to do better. I'm pretty sure I'm not in trouble this time, but I don't enjoy coming here regardless. It feels like a cold dentist's office, and I'm the only patient in line for a ride in the chair of destruction. The final year at Cumberland Heights has been a tough one for sure, and I never expected to end up here again. Mrs. Taylor is sending me home early today because I lost my mind on the way back from recess about the time we marched past the library. She's a good teacher, so she is only doing what she thinks is best. It's my first day back since the accident, and all in the world I want is to feel normal. A week is a long time to be gone, and I never asked for extra attention when I returned. My classmates have done nothing but stare all day and whisper every time I enter a room. The adults continuously tell me they're sorry, but they had nothing to do with the mishap. A little attention is nice for the right reasons, but this is too much, and I only want it to stop. The thought of coming back was exciting, and I couldn't wait to get on the bus this morning, but I totally messed everything up earlier. It's too bad I can't take it all back and start over. Mrs. Taylor lined us up to head back to class like she had a hundred other times. Hair pulling, nose picking, and tripping are everyday observations on the stroll, and none of it phases me because I've seen it all since kindergarten. But when Doug stepped on that grasshopper, I snapped. It wasn't a small scene either; when I say I snapped, I mean, you'd think Bizarro swooped down and started picking us all off one by one. It wasn't even an accident because he saw the bug and paused long enough to ensure he had an audience before stepping on its head and squishing it right there on the sidewalk. After the popping noise, the kid belted out some sinister giggle and looked back at all of us as if to say it wasn't over. He then covered the insect entirely with his sneaker and rotated it like he'd thrown a cigarette butt onto the ground. Then he scraped his sole across the hot concrete, leaving a trail of discarded fragments, mangled and twisted before chuckling again to show pride in his achievement. My friends ignored the incident and carried on, but I froze. It was involuntary, and if there had been a way to at least pretend none of it happened, I would have gladly walked to class like the others. The last thing I needed was to give another justification to gossip and gaze, but I couldn't help myself. It's like my body stopped working, and an uncontrollable gush of tears and snot flowed down my face. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground in front of that mutilated grasshopper doing my best to will it back into existence. Of course, my screams went unanswered because the universe is unfair and doesn't work that way. It's not like I'd never stepped on a bug before or shot a squirrel with my BB gun. I've seen plenty of dead animals, but today I decided to have a complete meltdown in front of everyone. All of the boys and girls in line paused to watch me with wide eyes, mourn over a stupid cricket before my teacher pulled me away and brought me here. Facing my piers again isn't going to be easy, and the way I feel now, I'd rather never see them again because I'm embarrassed."Chris, your mother is here. You can go home, sweetie," said Mrs. Gaither, the school secretary. Mom escorted me to the car and never uttered a word. It was a long silent ride home, and I knew big trouble would be in my future. She had to be disappointed, and I'm sure having to pick me up like this must be a significant inconvenience. She's been through enough the past couple of weeks, and the last thing Mom needs is for me to lose it at school like some raving lunatic. We were only about five minutes from the house when we passed the spot on Bend Road where it happened. Mom slowed down a little as we drove by, almost like she was saying hello to my sister. On February 17th, a car pulled up in our driveway late in the evening. I should have been sleeping, but the headlights made me curious, so I had to investigate. After I heard a knock at the door, I slid from my bed and crept as quietly as I could into the living room. I heard mom greet someone; it was a man, maybe my uncle, I don't know. They both went into the kitchen to talk, so I moved in closer to hear what was happening. The floors are creaky, so a few steps into the dining room had to suffice. The man mentioned Susan, my sister, and told Mom that she was in an accident. My mother asked if she was alright, and after that, all I could hear was momma cry. I'd heard enough and went back to my room. It was a sleepless night for me, and I can imagine it was even worse for my mother. Not a single tear fell from my cheek as I sat in bed, wondering how the day would play out. Sunlight made its way through my window before the sound of footsteps broke the solitude of my space. I acted like I was asleep when Mom walked in, had a seat beside me, and placed her hand on my shoulder. She began sobbing. "What's wrong, momma?" I asked, pretending to be unaware."Susan was in an accident last night," she forced out before breaking down again. I didn't have to ask if she'd be alright because I already knew the answer. All I could do was sit up in bed and comfort her the best I could. She wept, and I sat there as cold as a frosty January morning, going through the motions of being upset. There was nothing in my heart at all, no sorrow, no anger, no confusion, nothing. It's like my emotions abandoned me on an island a thousand miles away from our farm in Salem. All I wanted to do was cry with my mother, but I didn't. Susan was on her way back from the gas station that night and realized she had forgotten her purse. An ominous dense fog coated the hills and concealed the curves on Salem Road. My sister anxiously turned the car around and raced back toward town before losing control and crashing into a tree. Just like that, she made her last stop under an oak, took her final breath, and left us all behind without a goodbye. Twenty-two years isn't adequate to capture enough fireflies or to enjoy the sweet scent of honeysuckles cascading along with a warm Tennesse breeze. Two decades of seasons barely establish a rough outline on an oversized canvas. Even a century of paintbrush strokes leaving traces of vibrant color couldn't fill the void before it's too late. There isn't much difference between two seconds and two hundred years when it comes down to it. We can only shuffle about splashing as many shades as possible before the paint runs out. I never wept when I heard the news or when they buried my sister in the ground. My eyes never watered up when friends and family paid their respects. It took my feelings more than ten days to resurface and remind me that this life is as fragile as a tiny grasshopper under the sole of a sneaker. My mother and I finally cried that afternoon together for Susan. When she said, "It's okay that it took you a few days," I knew I wasn't broken.

Everybody is awkward at thirteen and unsure how to feel, think, or even comprehend what matters and why it counts. Some kids have issues talking to a cute classmate, while others have limited social skills altogether. No one ever explains there is no right or wrong way to approach life, and how we experience every breath should be up to each of us and no one else. Some people cry at a funeral while others may not shed a single tear, and there may even be that person who can't help but laugh in the middle of a miserable circumstance. None of those emotions are wrong or even correct; they're just real, and that's enough. My greatest struggle as a teenager is connecting. All of my old friends from Cumberland Heights found their circle, and I'm searching for something, anything. Who knows why everyone scatters when they slip into middle school, but they do, and there's no way to stop it. Montgomery Central is like a different planet, and I'm lost somewhere floating above the atmosphere, attempting to conserve my oxygen. Luckily I've managed to remain close to my buddy Scott. We became friends when my mom watched him and his sister after school for a while. It worked out in the first place because I was thrown into an unavoidable situation with him. We didn't exactly hit it off, but things ultimately worked out because I saw Scott each day. Making new friends is terrifying. Summer break is underway, and Scott invited me to a sleepover. It's fun going to his house because the air conditioning is excellent, and he has an Atari. Taking turns is supposed to work out under most conditions, but not so much for me regarding his game console. He'll play Frogger, Pitfall, and Asteroids for an eternity, and when it's finally my time, it's over in seconds. It could be the absolute most frustrating thing in the universe aside from meeting new people. More than likely, we'll sleep out in the camper tonight so we can sneak off somewhere and explore. Sometimes he'll stay at my house, and we'll throw a tent up behind the barn and camp. These little maneuvers keep us from getting caught when we're supposed to be sleeping. Our parents can't hear the sound of a door opening at midnight if we're already outside. Scott's house is only two or three miles away, so the bike ride doesn't take long at all. When I turn off Mellon Road onto Bend Road, I can coast the rest. Going back isn't as much fun, but I'll worry about that tomorrow. After zipping down the driveway, Scott greets me outside with some news. "Come on in, Chris. I want you to meet someone," he says as my excitement immediately morphs into fear."Who am I meeting?""You know Mike from school. He's staying the night with us."Is he kidding! He can't just spring this on me like that. I didn't even have time to psych myself up for this. I'm doomed. "Sounds good, Scott." After a brief introduction, the first thing we do is break out the Atari. Now I'm forced to take turns with two superior players; on top of that, I don't even know this guy. What a nightmare. This weekend has the potential to end tragically, and there is nothing I can do about it. My last friend all of a sudden has a new best pal, and I'll end up in a straight jacket confiding to myself about how I'm such a loser. I could go missing one day and won't even warrant a photo on the back of a milk carton because no one even knew I existed. We sat in the den for the remainder of the afternoon until supper. Both of them grow closer while I observe from a distance even though we're no more than a couple of feet apart. Scott's parents took over the room after we ate and his little sister was off doing little sister stuff. It was dark anyway and time to make camp outside. "Can we go yet?" I asked our group of three."No, we can't go. My parents are still awake," Scott uttered for the third time because it wasn't the first attempt I'd made to convince them. Mike offered his views on an early escape as well, but I'd already mentally turned his volume down. "Let's go! It looks like all the lights are out," I insisted."Dude, they have to have time to fall asleep," Scott replied. After a few more minutes of bickering, the coast looked clear, and we began our adventure on foot. A moonlit night offered to guide our path into the unfamiliar, and adrenaline started pumping. Anytime high beams popped up around a corner or from behind a hill to give us a warning, we'd yell, "Car!" and quickly retreat to a ditch or use a nearby tree for cover. No one in Salem is a stranger, so the last thing we need is to get busted by a neighbor who saw us wandering down the road at midnight. Not many automobiles whizzed by, but it was enough to keep us on our toes. We all bonded while pretending to be undercover spies or on the run from the law. Mike started to grow on me after discovering that he wasn't as dissimilar as I'd assumed. By the time we made it down Mellon Road to the river bottom, deep conversations had taken over our expedition and proved to be enlightening. Of course, we weren't solving world hunger or cancer, but they were good talks for three kids attempting to figure out the world. Nighttime air, along with the sounds of wildlife resonating from the Cumberland to the ridge, can be inspiring if you let it. My favorite discussions were always about who walked these paths before us. A bizarre feeling can take over when you consider strangers no different from Scott, Mike, or I probably did the same exact thing a hundred years before we came along. They had hopes, fears, and loves just like us three. And expectations of making a difference or maybe leaving a mark on the planet. None of them thought about tomorrow and felt immortal as they swung from grapevines over creeks and threw rocks into the muddy river water. Every generation has a shot at living forever, but that swift current is merciless and tends to scrub the banks before allowing reenergized feet to leave a print on the earth. There was a time that time belonged to those strangers, and we'll be the strangers soon enough. "Hey, Chris. Would you eat a lizard for a hundred dollars," Mike asked. I responded, "I'd eat anything for a hundred dollars."Scott joined the conversation, "I bet you wouldn't take a bite out of your hand."We all became close after that night. Realizing life is too short makes decisions a bit easier. The summer filled with new outdoor adventures, slinking into R-rated movies and wasting quarters at Funland. We never got caught sneaking out a single time, or at least none of our parents admitted to knowing. All I ever needed was a handful of buddies I could be real around, and that's enough. Now we can figure out the complicated stuff together because I don't think we are supposed to do that alone.

The Boys sit down with John McAndrew, from Cumberland Heights, who uses Music Therapy to heal hearts & Souls and the people in the Middle of Addiction. If you know someone who is battling an addiction or perhaps yourself, please listen to this Podcast 

It might take 2 tries, 3 tries, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10+ to figure it out. Maybe it's taking that many breaks from school or making that many efforts at recovering from an addiction. Whatever it may be, it doesn't matter so much about the amount of ‘attempts, pauses, breaks, or setbacks' in comparison to the end goal. It matters more about the journey, the lessons along the way, and the growth gained. That's what creates more meaning and purpose in life - not achievements. Cole Szabo, Admissions and Outreach Specialist at Cumberland Heights adolescent program, ARCH Academy, spent many years in a continuous cycle of overdosing, treatment, relapsing, becoming homeless, repeat and repeat. Every time this cycle repeated itself Cole wanted better for himself but it wasn't until the final time when he was willing to truly fight for the good of himself and his life instead of just achieving what sounded like the right thing to do. That simple shift broke the dark cycle that controlled Cole for years and allowed him to discover his calling that had been right under his nose all this time - substance abuse counseling. Now, Cole works as a licensed substance abuse counselor helping young people discover their meaning and approach life in a creative, non-conforming way, while also living a life that he, himself is truly proud to live. In this episode of Success is Subjective, Cole joins Joanna to share his journey going from what seemed like a never ending cycle of overdosing and treatment centers, to finally hitting a wall and discovering his calling in life. There were many dark moments in his journey though, he is now able to fully LIVE a life exploring and enjoying with family, friends, and his dog. Listen in for Cole's insight on the importance of focusing on the journey rather than the destination and see how that plays a role in his own inspiring and raw story. What You Will LearnThe two sides of education that Cole got to see growing up with his mom not having gone to college and with his dad who didWhy Cole barely made it into college out of high schoolGetting into college can be the easiest part. The commitment is where it can get tough! How things declined freshman through junior yearThe relapse roller coaster Cole experience for 6 yearsWhen Cole was able to go to treatment and stay sober and how that opened his eyes to his calling in lifeThe second time Cole took a break from school. It's okay to take a break more than once!Focusing on the journey rather than destination or goalConnect with Cole SzaboArch AcademyCall or text 615-390-9824Email cole_szabo@arch.orgConnect with Joanna Lilley  Lilley ConsultingLilley Consulting on Instagram Lilley Consulting on Facebook Success is Subjective on Apple PodcastSponsored by: College Parent Survival NetworkEmail joanna@lilleyconsulting.com

I'm relatively confident God gives each of us the ability to love more than one person. Those feelings aren't like the numbers on a calculator that we can delete and start over. It's more like a beautiful painting we hide away in the attic because there's no room left on the wall. It's still around, it's still breathtaking, but it's out of sight and ignored except for the reverberations of joy that endure. Yesterday I was five years old, running from Margret on the playground in kindergarten at Cumberland Heights. Now I've graduated from high school, and I'm trying to figure out how to keep my life from becoming a waste. Restaurant work isn't something I want to make a career of, and I know that. It's hard to let go of, though, because it's been one of the few consistent ingredients in my existence. Well, restaurant and my feelings for a particular blonde-headed girl. Our first and only date came and went quickly my junior year at MCHS. I've long forgotten the name of the movie we sat halfway through that Friday night, but some memories will stick with me until the day I die. I'm not even sure if the moon was full that evening or if the glow was from her smile when she looked up at me. I felt like I towered over Kelly in her little denim skirt while we stood against the Cutlass. The view of the Cumberland River and the stars above failed miserably, attempting to capture my attention while that girl was in my arms. The ideal mixtape played just loud enough to cover the gentle hum of the car motor. Bon Jovi set the mood while we carelessly swayed, fitting together like two perfectly tiny puzzle pieces. We kissed, we talked, and then we kissed a bit more. None of our responsibilities, fears, or regrets mattered outside on that hill beneath the April sky in 1988. Kelly never broke up with me because we were never officially a couple. She never wore my class ring or my jacket around campus to signify I was her boyfriend. Maybe I didn't act quickly enough or maybe what I had to offer wasn't what she desired. Within a few days of our first date, her best friend Jennifer, who worked with me, told me that Kelly had started dating another guy, and it was intense. Her news broke my heart that afternoon. I'm unsure of how many days I went without eating, but I can say that I never got over her. That summer vacation was interesting. The moments I spent with my friends and the dates I went on did me some good. It was the first time I'd felt grown, I guess. Lynette the brunette and I sat in the back row during Young Guns and made out, and I stole a kiss from a pretty platinum blonde named Carol after meeting her at a summer picnic. I couldn't stop listening to Red Red Wine by UB40. My friends and I still managed to find time to strike out all season, cruising up and down Riverside, and they were the best times. My senior year was off to a terrific start, but Kelly never left my thoughts. My friendship with Jennifer grew over the course of our first semester. By the time late fall hit, we were an official couple and spent every minute of each day together. Of course, this meant Kelly would also be in my life, and I was okay with that. Her tagging along when I'd take my girlfriend home after school wasn't even awkward. We'd cram in the front seat of the Cutlass I finally purchased from my brother and blast Ton Loc through the speakers. Jennifer and Kelly were two of my favorite people, and life was good. After sliding a quarter into Rampage at the arcade one evening, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Kelly's boyfriend wanted to talk. He could have at least waited until after I finished knocking down all of the buildings before he broke my concentration. "Oh, hey Lee," I said with a grin. "Hey Chris, I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between the two of us. I know you went out with Kelly before I started dating her, and I want to make sure we're good." "That's ancient history, man. I'm with Jennifer now, and none of that even matters anymore." "That's great. I figured you were probably over it all by now. It's been months, and I know you've moved on. We should all go on a double date sometime when you're free." My stomach knotted up, and I did all I could do to smile and push out, "That's cool, buddy, we'll figure something out soon." He walked away from the conversation, and I sat there, misplaced for a few minutes before I headed out to my car. Surprisingly some lost feelings resurfaced and caught me off guard. Time with Kelly and her guy is not an experience I want to knock off my bucket list anytime soon. Don't get me wrong, he seems nice enough, and I don't despise him or anything. No, I don't hate him, but the big problem here is that I wish I were him. Oh boy. After the ridiculous Rampage predicament, I calmed down, and things were back to normal in my heart. Kelly's love life managed to hit a few ups and downs. She broke up with Lee, which meant she was hanging with Jennifer and me more than ever. I wasn't happy the two of them broke it off. It was, however, comforting to know the dreaded double date was off the table. 1989 snuck up on us quickly, and the three of us decided to drive up to Paoli, Indiana, for a ski trip on January sixteenth with friends from work. We stopped to eat in French Lick, and it wasn't hard to tell that's Larry Bird's hometown. They probably had twenty photos of him in the diner where we ate for breakfast. I recall sitting there with those two far from home and thinking I was a lucky guy to have friends I adore. We headed to the slopes after our meal and enjoyed the day together. Even when I wasn't Kelly's boyfriend, she was always there. It had been over a year since my first and the last date with Kelly. I can remember fantasizing about taking her to prom back in 88,' but it never happened. I passed on a few opportunities to even go that year because the pain was too much, and no girl I had a shot with compared to the one who got away. It turns out we ended up going together my senior year. Well, kind of anyway. Jennifer was my date, and Kelly brought some guy I'd never met. Kelly introduced us, but his name went in one ear and out the other. We all met at Jennifer's house for pictures before prom. Both of the ladies were gorgeous; I felt lucky to at least be in the same room with them. The story that led me to that moment took plenty of twists and turns. For a few brief seconds, I allowed my mind to drift, taking me to an alternate universe where I was Kelly's date instead of what's-his-name. A pink bow tie would have looked good on me, especially with Kelly hanging from my arm. On May sixth, I traveled back to my reality and escorted my girlfriend of six months to my final high school dance. Jennifer and I broke up not long after prom. I went through the typical month-long ordeal of feeling sorry for myself and swearing off relationships for good. She ended up getting engaged to a guy I work with, and that was that. They're getting married today, and I opted out of going to the wedding. Working with the two of them is awkward enough, so I'll be skipping the event. You'll never guess who popped back into my head. It's too bad she got back with Lee, but it's what she wants, so I'll survive. I've been through a lot since graduation. We moved from the house I grew up in, and not a day goes by where I don't miss it. The song Captain Jack continuously reminds me that I should move out soon anyway, so I've been saving up. At least we have air conditioning now, so that is a plus. My buddy Mike moved off to Knoxville for college, but most of my pals are still around, so there is never a shortage of stuff to do. Well, too much reminiscing can get to a man, so I guess I'll head on out for some racquetball. I'll give my friend Brett a call to see if he's free. As I reach for the phone, "RING." Crap! That scared me. I hope this isn't one of my mom's friends who'll keep her on the line for an hour. "Hello," I say, ready to let Mom know she has a phone call. "Chris, this is Kelly," is the sweetest sound I've heard in a long, long time. After a short pause waiting on my heart to start beating again, I respond, and the next chapter begins.

Mrs. Phillips recognizes we aren't completing any work today, so she rolls the projector in to keep us engaged. Movie time never occurs in her class, so we all know there is a genuine chance we'll be going home early. The lights go out, and the gentle hum from the machine follows the click of the on/off switch. The film works its way through the maze, gaining steam until our movie appears like magic on the brick wall. Word on the street is that there is an enormous snowstorm spiraling into Montgomery county. All of the students are delighted in anticipation of Mrs. Gaither saying the welcomed words over the intercom. The Love Bug may be fine entertainment, but almost everyone's attention is on the window. Each kid in the room wants to be the first to shout out snow when the flakes begin to make their way to earth. No one has made a sighting, but we immediately notice bright yellow school busses stretching through the parking lot. The familiar pop from the loudspeaker signals an urgent message, "Teachers, please dismiss your students at this time." You'd of thought we were experiencing a home team touchdown by the cheers bursting throughout Cumberland Heights. Everyone lines up and heads to the front door, thrilled to leave three hours early. I'm optimistic we'll get a good dose of the white wet stuff, but others on the bus insist it'll never happen, and we'll be back at it tomorrow. If the forecast is correct, a guaranteed three days off is in our future because today is already Thursday. God tends to get my most sincere prayers under these types of circumstances. Each time the door opens to let an eager child bust through, the polar gust attacks to ensure my prayers do not go unnoticed. Finally, I'm home and ready for a bit of rest and relaxation. Mom has other plans for my early arrival as she points out the empty wood boxes inside and tells me I'm the perfect candidate to fill them up. Outdoor, we have a mountain of lumber up against the house covered with a tarp. We transfer it inside whenever the crates get empty. It's not how I had planned to spend my mini-vacation, but if we want to stay warm, I'd better get to work. Once I finish the job, I take a moment to admire my significantly overstacked accomplishment. The containers aren't full unless the wood reaches the ceiling. This particular technique guarantees more free time in between chores. My mother invites me into the cozy kitchen for a hot bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese prepared with love. A string of gooey Velveeta stretches from my toasted bread to the thick red concoction when I tear some off to give it a dunk. Suddenly, my favorite weatherman, Bill Hall, delivers an unwelcome word. It looks like the naysayers on the bus could have been correct. Bill just told me the storm would barely miss middle Tennessee, but we aren't in the clear. He's a good man because he always gives me hope. A chance is all I need to keep the dream alive until I hear from the Snowbird report in the morning. The sky through the kitchen window doesn't show a sign yet, but it smells like snow. My dad would always tell me he could smell it in the air, and he was always right. After a solid night's sleep, I awake with a mission. There's no sign of snowfall outside, so my next source of information is the small black and white television in the kitchen. Ralph Emery is on, as usual, the Soap Sisters are singing, and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. "Momma, have you heard anything yet?" I asked on the way to the bathroom. "Nope, you better get ready for school," she says in the distance as I close the door behind me. Disappointment stares back at me through the medicine cabinet mirror above the sink while I say another earnest prayer. "Chris, it's Snowbird," Mom screams from the other side of the house. Ripping through rooms like the Dukes running from Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane, I join Mom in the den. My face lights up as Mr. Hall points at the map and presents the news I desperately need to hear. School is closed? School is closed! Yes! I love you, Bill, and I love you, Snowbird! My eyes shift to the window in anticipation, only to realize nothing has fallen. Grabbing up my heavy coat, I head outside. A rush of arctic air slices through my shirt before I'm able to zip up tight. Beads of ice strike my face like a million tiny angel kisses flung from Heaven. I expose the camouflaged precipitation by looking away from the white sky to concentrate on a nearby Spruce. The deep green backdrop affords the perfect frame for Mother Nature's display. A solitary snowflake as large as my hand sways back and forth, drifting silently to the glaciated ground. Finally, an opaque quilt covers any imperfections and charges me with the thrill of a weekend of adventure.

A breeze swirls and spins through the technicolored leaves on the giant oak. The wooden sculpture stands firm, but his limbs move to the melody as if conducting mother nature's orchestra. Gentle nudges encourage some to go and glide carelessly through the atmosphere. Leaflets perform a Japanese Kabuki dance in their final act before returning to the Tennessee soil. The best part about fall isn't even trick-or-treating. Every kid on my side of the Cumberland River gets excited about the annual Halloween carnival. The entire community shows up, and it's the only time I can't wait to burst through the doors of Cumberland Heights. The whole school is transformed into a spectacularly spooky spectacle for a day. Classrooms become a midway, as colorful as the oak leaves, painted with cornhole, fortune tellers, and duck ponds. Balloons popping and screams from the haunted house invade the halls as folks shuffle through admiring costumes. My favorite attraction is the cakewalk. I've managed to bring a cake home every year except for second grade. That was a challenging time with Mrs. Allen. She could have quite possibly sucked all of the luck out of me with those watchful piercing eyes. Mom is pretty happy when I bring home the prize. I mean, who doesn't appreciate a delightfully delicious sweet treat. This particular year is bitter-sweet because I'm a sixth-grader, and I'll be moving on to Montgomery Central soon. I probably get along with Mrs. Taylor better than any other teacher I've had so far. A few weeks earlier, I mentioned how I was concerned about leaving and how I'd miss my school. Most adults pretend to care and nod most of the time without even listening. Not Mrs. Taylor; she pays attention and lets me know that things will be alright. I'm still worried, but she inspires me to do my best, and I suppose that is all I can do. Making my way toward the gym for the cakewalk is no easy task with all of the distractions. My buddy Leon is in line for the haunted house. We've been close since kindergarten after meeting for the first time on the bus. I've spent the night a couple of times. Man, his dad makes the best bacon ever for breakfast. I'd never tell Mom that, though. It looks like Kim is on her way to the gymnasium too. She got most dependable this year, and her smile is incredibly contagious. I've always had a soft spot for her, but she will not stand in my way. I will do whatever it takes to win my final year. Everyone I know is in line for tickets. I see Stephen, Sabrina, Tammalyn, oh and Susie. Susie was voted best personality along with me. I'm sure the picture we took together will look awkward because I'm not used to standing that close to girls. It's not because they have cooties; it has more to do with how different they are. Take Melanie, for instance. One time I asked her if she thought Spider-Man could beat up Mighty Mouse. Can you believe she said no!? For real? Girls. A giant circle of paper plates, all numbered and taped to the floor, decorate the giant hall. I'll be starting on lucky number seven just like every other year. Well, except for second grade. Mrs. Tue, the librarian, carefully watches over the table full of goodness covered in frosting. The moment of truth is finally here, and I will be taking my trophy home this evening. Mrs. Mills drops the needle on the forty-five, and it's game on. Monster Mash begins to play as the contestants stroll from number to number. Tension builds while each lyric escapes the speakers infecting the auditorium. We all pay close attention anticipating the silence that will reveal a winner. FRIIP! The tune comes to an abrupt end, and everyone freezes in place, awaiting the announcement. "I'm standing on twenty-seven; please let Mrs. Phillips call out my number," I mumble under my breath. "Twenty-eight is the winner," screams our announcer. Luckily the spot in front of me is empty, so we keep going. The song plays again; I take a deep breath and start walking. The stress becomes overwhelming as I take each stride, hoping I land on the winning spot. Once again, the Halloween anthem is interrupted, and a new number is unveiled. The teacher calls out my lucky seven, and that happens to be where I stand! The contestants shower me with pats on the back and an overabundance of congratulations. Mom meets me at the table to admire the giant horseshoe cake we'll be enjoying soon. It turns out she is more excited than me, and I'm proud I could give that to her. My last Halloween carnival at CHES is a success. I'm sure going to miss this place. A light drizzle coats the windshield on our drive home. Wet leaves blow around and stick to the hood of the car, desperately trying to hang on. Eventually, they're pushed away by the unforgiving wind and carried off into the darkness without a sound. I took time to appreciate them before they vanished and stored their memory somewhere in my thoughts. Next year more will sprout, and the cycle will start all over again. It's how life works.

Our Spring Finale! We’ll return with new episodes this Fall. Raised Catholic and a native to Nashville, TN, Alan now has a home in the United Methodist Church. He works at Cumberland Heights, an alcohol and drug treatment center in Nashville, where he specializes in substance abuse. My conversation with Alan is a journey of finding self-worth that I know so many of us go through. After coming out, Alan struggled with his faith to the point that he turned to drugs and alcohol. He went into recovery and will celebrate seven years of sobriety next month. He has since found a home in Glendale United Methodist Church which has put meaning and ministry back into his life. Find Alan on Facebook and Instagram. For Reflection: 1.) Recall a time when you felt like you were at your lowest. Where did you turn? How did you get back up? 2.) How does religion inform your view or yourself? Do you view yourself positively or negatively? Has that shifted recently or in recent years? If so, how? Episode Sponsor: Glendale United Methodist Church - Glendale UMC is inclusive, affirming, and reconciling, a community that shares God's love for all people. Glendale UMC is a faith community that includes people of many diverse backgrounds and faith journeys – old and young, raised in the church, new to church, those from other denominations and faith traditions, and some who question it all. Come as you are to worship on Sundays at 10:00 AM in-person (when it is healthy to do so) or online at GlendaleUMC.org/Live. And be sure to find them on Facebook and Instagram. Resources: Based on this conversation, Greg recommends reading: People of a Compassionate God, edited by Janet F. Fishburn, which tells several accounts of churches becoming more open and affirming to various populations. Also check out, Cumberland Heights (Website) and Hot Mess Sports (Website), which were both mentioned in the episode. Out Loud is a podcast by and for queer people of faith in the South. Follow us on Facebook and Instagram, and join our mailing list for updates. Support the show financially by becoming a Patreon member and receive exclusive content and merchandise. Or leave us a tip on Venmo. Editing by Cariad Harmon. Theme music by JP Rugierri. Special Thanks on this episode to Will Potter, and again to Cariad Harmon, for sound consulting as we record from home during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Alex H Podcast – Life actually has meaning to me now. Spending his early 20s in the restaurant industry meant late nights, free booze and social night caps. But as Alex explains, things got out of hand quickly and he found himself at Cumberland Heights. Fortunately, now in recovery, he’s able to use his talents … Continue reading Alex H – Life actually has meaning to me now → The post Alex H – Life actually has meaning to me now appeared first on Top Rated Drug Rehab & Alcohol Treatment Center in Nashville Tennessee.

Check out this wonderful episode featuring Preston O'Neal and Eric Button. We discuss Cumberland Heights and Vista Taos, Two amazing treatment centers that are providing excellent services for individuals and families. Enjoy!!

Today it is my pleasure to introduce our guest for today, Sarah Jane Chapman! Sarah Jane lives in Nashville, Tennessee where she is a yoga and meditation teacher as well as a massage therapist. Yoga has continued to help Sarah Jane in her own recovery from an eating disorder. She has made it a part of her mission to share tools and insights with her clients that she serves. She has completed Kids Yoga teacher training with Karma Kids Yoga and completed her 200 hour Hatha Yoga teacher training in India. In addition, she went to massage school at Mind Body Institute to expand her knowledge of body and energy work. Sarah Jane teaches yoga to private clients in addition to teaching at Wild Heart Meditation Center. She also works with folks who are in recovery from drugs, alcohol and eating disorders at Cumberland Heights and other treatment centers around Nashville. Currently, Sarah Jane is working on completing her yoga therapy certification. In this conversation, we talk about eating disorders, intuitive eating, yoga, meditation, diet culture, and the idea of body neutrality. If you would like to know more about the work Sarah Jane is doing please do yourself a favor and check out her website www.sarahjanechapman.com or her instagram @sarahjanechap. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/curiouslyenough/support

Episode 6: What's RIGHT With You with Dean Porterfield Welcome to this week’s episode! Episode 6 covers the importance of being authentic, how healing requires looking at our family’s role in our story, and the benefits of turning to spirituality and community. On today’s episode, we are talking to Dean Porterfield LPC, MHSP, NCC, a licensed professional counselor and the Director of Adolescent and Young Men Services at Cumberland Heights, a residential Substance Abuse program outside of Nashville, TN. Dean works closely with his clients and focuses heavily on the strengths perspective. Dean has made it his mission to provide comprehensive therapeutic services to teens and young adults struggling with addiction, behavioral, and emotional issues. Get ready for Dean’s wisdom, his intelligence, and passion for helping others find peace in recovery! If you like to know more about Dean and the work he is doing make sure to visit his website: dolifetherapy.com OR www.cumberlandheights.org. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/curiouslyenough/support

Recently we had the privilege to host a conversation between Jeff Helton and Laura Glover. Jeff and Laura are both parents of young adults and have developed a friendship over the years through their common work. Jeff has been a pastor and counselor for years and Laura is an addiction counselor at Cumberland Heights, a non-profit alcohol and drug addiction treatment center. Jeff talks to Laura about what parents should know as they try to navigate alcohol and substance abuse issues with their adolescents. For more information about Cumberland Heights, visit CumberlandHeights.org.

Guest: Jay Crosson, CEO of Cumberland Heights On today’s show, I’m joined by Jay Crosson, CEO of Cumberland Heights recovery program near Nashville, Tennessee. He sat down with me at the Moments of Change conference in Florida to unpack the ethical dilemmas facing the treatment field and to share some self-assessment tools, practical tips and real-world examples to help us find contrast between what’s legal and what’s ethical. He also explains how his own experience of seeking help for alcohol addiction at Cumberland Heights inspires him to fight to do what’s right for their patients and patients everywhere. For more about Recovery Unscripted, visit http://recoveryunscripted.org For more about Cumberland Heights, visit http://cumberlandheights.org   For more about Heroes in Recovery, visit http://heroesinrecovery.com Music from this episode: "I Should Be Lost Without You" by David Condos - URL: http://davidcondos.com - "Running on Empty" by Podington Bear - URL: http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Podington_Bear/Brooding/Running_On_Empty - "Claire de Lune (Synth)" by Podington Bear - URL: http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Podington_Bear/Clair_De_Lune_Variations/Clair_De_Lune_Synth_Arr - "Twilight Grandeur" by Podington Bear - URL: http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Podington_Bear/Inspiring/TwilightGrandeur - "Ronny" by Alex Fitch - URL: http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Alex_Fitch/Eola/Ronny_1253

We kick off another "Inside Music Row" with the mention of Little Jimmy Dickens as he has been overwhelmed by his fans' support through his recent radiation treatments.  He received a crate of cards and letters wishing him well in his treatment for a pre-cancerous condition on his vocal chords.  Alan Jackson is also in the news as he is set to release his long awaited bluegrass project next month.  Look for "The Bluegrass Album" September 24th.  Up next is country icon Kenny Rogers - Kenny will headline the 16th annual concert for Cumberland Heights - tickets are on sale now for "An Evening with Kenny Rogers" at the Ryman Auditorium September 25th.  Speaking of legends, we also mention Loretta Lynn as she is welcoming some of the gospel greats to her home in hurrican Mills, Tennessee for the inaugural "Loretta Lynn's Gospel Music Festival" beginning September 28th.  Next, we mention Toby Keith and Sammy Hagar as they have joined forces for "Margaritaville" on the upcoming "Sammy Hagar and Friends" album.  Look for that project September 24th.  Finally, we go Inside The Song with Connie Harrington to hear about a heart-touching song she co-wrote called "I Drive Your Truck" which Lee Brice took all the way to number one.