I made it to another twelve step meeting. A few people popped in on their lunch break, arriving late and leaving early. But they needed even this brief contact with a support group. As each person described in vague terms what was going on at home, they expressed frustration, and the need to work around the addiction of a loved one. But something was missing. 

Blame. 

Blame is like a spider's web, ready to snare me. It is sticky, and hangs on when I try to break away. 

There is a distinctive quality about a blame free zone. You don't generally find it in a seventh grade classroom after a test, or in a courtroom. But those environments are not conducive to healing, or personal reflection. When blame gets uninvited to the party, our collective fists uncurl, and the tension in our shared shoulders releases. 

I am not there yet, I confess. When I arrive to an appointment at the wrong time, or forget to send in five dollars for a field trip, I go back through my email history to find out if it was my mistake or theirs. As if it matters. Which it doesn't. 

One day I hope to let go of the compulsion to know who messed up. Then I can use the full measure of my energy on getting to places I would really rather be.