Cowering in the drug house basement, a young Paula Whitman could hear cops shouting and the tap-tap-tap of dogs’ nails running across the linoleum floor upstairs. 

Having lived through police raids in the past and fearing the worse, suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Thinking it was a policeman she turned to find no one there. 

“In that moment, it was as if divine intervention was summoning me to a higher purpose, telling me that my way of life with drugs was intolerable and that I needed to pull myself up and look for the joy and peace that life offers.” 

She traces her addiction, in part, to an emotionally abusive early family life and a lengthy stint as a bartender where she fell victim to the promised euphoria of alcohol and a drug-addled lifestyle. 

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