Leave the Light On

by Jennifer Storm

  As I hung up the phone, I realized that it might have been time to find a new sponsor. I was upset because I didn’t like confrontation at all, and the last thing in the world I wanted to do was to disappoint or hurt her. It isn’t uncommon in recovery to have a series of sponsors throughout your time. Rose was wonderful and really gave me what I needed in the beginning of my recovery, but as I began to grow spiritually and educationally, she didn’t seem to fit my life anymore. I think I simply outgrew her. This happens in recovery. People can surpass others in terms of growth. It doesn’t mean I was better at recovery than her or that I was in some way more evolved; it was just that I was moving in a different direction than her in my recovery and she was no longer the right guide for me through my journey.

  I knew I would have to start seeking out a new sponsor, and I made a mental note of it as I readied myself for my date with Raye. She was taking me to the Grange Fair, an annual event on the outskirts of State College. Raye grew up in State College and was an agriculture major. While Pennsylvania State University was a rather progressive institution, it was embedded in a vast rural area of central Pennsylvania. The Grange Fair consisted of entertainment, agricultural competitions, attractions, truck and tractor pulls, crafts, rides, a circus, music, food, and more. It was historically and culturally important to the community and attracted thousands of people every year who camped in tents and recreational vehicles during the week-long event for which the school year was delayed so families could attend.

  Raye’s cousin had an RV and camped there every year with her family. Raye had borrowed her father’s car and picked me up and told me all about the fair as we drove. We had a blast at the fair; we played games and laughed as every one of my white, plastic balls bounced off the rims of the glass bowls containing fish, while hers splashed directly into the water. We shared a huge funnel cake with cherry topping and whipped cream—it was about a thousand calories, and we devoured it together. I didn’t even like cherry sauce, but I couldn’t remember anything tasting as sweet.

  It was the perfect date, only made better on the drive home when she pulled off the long, windy dirt road up to a large lake surrounded by trees in full fall foliage. We got out of the car as the sun was setting, and it was a breathtaking sight. I took it all in as the fall air was turning from day to night and the sky was growing dark. A shiver ran down my body as Raye reached for my waist and pulled me toward her. She was leaning up against the car, and as my body caved into hers and our lips met, my whole body lit up like a firefly in the night. As we parted lips, she looked up to the sky; my eyes followed hers, and I was in awe of the sight laid out before us. The stars were perfectly illuminated in the sky, and Raye began to point to various constellations and tell me the story of each one. I was fully engrossed in every word she spoke; I felt like a little girl in a planetarium. It was glorious and majestic, and I was pretty sure that even though the stars emitted an intense glow, their brightness was being absorbed in my skin and I was beaming radiant light. She kissed me again, and I knew I would never forget this night for as long as I lived.

  The next day when I checked my e-mail, I had an e-card from Raye that had one red rose and said, “Juliet, I’d do the stars with you anytime.” It was a line from an Indigo Girls song, “Romeo and Juliet.” I was so in love at this point that my smile was plastered on my face permanently.

  We spent as much time together after that night as we could— studying, going to dinner, and meeting up on campus for a quick coffee before class. I knew the night would come when we would make love, and I couldn’t wait to be with her in that way. After all, it would be my true first time; I discounted the drunken encounters in my past.

  One night as we sat in her dorm room on campus, I was at her desk trying to read a textbook as she lay against a large beanbag under her bunk bed. The bunk bed was constructed to have only the top bunk available, since she was a resident assistant in the dorm and had a room to herself. She gestured for me to join her, and my heart stopped—I knew this was it. I went to her and she gently guided me through a beautiful and poetic sexual experience. I had no worries as I navigated her body and held her in me and around me. It was the most natural feeling I had ever experienced to take her in and taste her and let her open me to her. I felt love and passion that I never knew were inside me. I felt safe and comforted. I felt true love for the first time while having sex. We tangled up into one another and, as corny as this sounds, became one.

  I woke up the next morning in her arms and just smiled down at her as I eagerly dove under the sheets for another round. Hours and many orgasms later, I glided out of her dorm room to the bus stop. I was overjoyed and felt the sticky sweetness of her all over me. I carried her smell with me all day, and when she rose to meet my nose, it would totally throw my balance off, and I would become giddy with ecstasy. It truly felt like the first time, ever. Even though I’d had such a troubled and vast sexual history—I had never had anything like this.

  33

  NO MEANS NO SHARING

  AFTER FINALLY HAVING MY FIRST LESBIAN SEXUAL experience, I felt even more emboldened in my newfound identity. It fit and it felt right. I called Rose and asked her to meet me for coffee. I wanted to share this with someone and my sponsor felt like the right person, even though she had been less than supportive regarding these issues. I must have been beaming so much when I danced into the coffee shop and sat down in front of her, because the look on her face was all scrunched up as though squinting from the sun. I realized quickly that she was not going to want to hear about my night. I decided that instead she and I would have the confrontation I had been avoiding. I said a quiet prayer, set aside my fears, and opened my mouth. I told her that I was going to start looking for a new sponsor and that she just wasn’t meeting my emotional needs anymore. I tried to explain that it wasn’t personal, that it was me, not her, and that we were growing apart. She wasn’t happy, but she understood. After all, every time I would call her to dump my heart out about Raye, she seemed indignant rather than unconditional and supportive—the characteristics that I had grown to rely upon and needed in a sponsor. She just kept rolling out her usual rhetoric, but there was no real connection there anymore. She said she understood, and we would remain friends.

  I left the coffee shop feeling like I had just gone through a breakup, and I guess in a way I had. I was sad about hurting Rose’s feelings, but also felt good about myself. I was getting better at vocalizing my desires and putting my emotional needs first. I had no idea that this was about to become a skill I would continue to practice.

  As the days and weeks passed, Raye and I continued to spend all of our time together, and I loved every second we spent together. I started to notice that she was growing a little distant, and she kept getting interrupted by phone calls from someone while we were together. I didn’t really think much of it until one night about a month into our relationship when she came by my apartment. We were supposed to study together, which usually meant we would open our books and pretend to read for about thirty minutes, and then one of us would peek up from behind our books and catch the other doing the same, and before we knew it we were studying each other under the covers. But on this night when she walked up my steps with her usual book bag casually slung across her chest, there was something different in her body language—as if the book bag wasn’t the only heavy thing she was carrying. She didn’t make a move to sit or take her bag or coat off. She was stiff and seemed to have news that she didn’t want to share.

  She began to tell me about an older woman whom she had known all her life and they had always been friends, but that she had always known there were feelings there that she wanted to explore, blah blah blah… and before I knew it, I was being dumped—sort of. Instead of breaking up with me, she made me quite the indecent proposal. She wanted me to keep dating her while she explored her feelings with this other woman. She was all innocent eyes and sincerity when she told me that she didn’t want to lose me, but also had
to see if there was something with this other person.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening, and instead of crying I just laughed, even though my heart was heading straight into my shoes. In the midst of the ache, I felt a clarity and confidence I had never possessed before. She looked confused. I smiled and stated that I deserved more than that, and if she couldn’t give me all of her, then I would rather have nothing. I had heard about these “open relationships” that seemed to be popular around campus, and I knew that I could never exist in one. I was a one-person kind of gal, and while I might share my seat on the bus, I wasn’t about to share my bed with more than one person. She looked down at her feet for a while as she shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m really sorry, Jen. I really do love what we have together. I just know I have to see what could be with her.” She seemed all tortured and genuinely upset, and I knew she really believed what she was saying. Raye was nothing but brutally honest. Then her beautiful eyes met mine, and I thought my heart would split in two. I held my ground strongly as she turned on her heel and left my house.

  I stood there for a long time looking down the steps, feeling her absence and smelling her lingering scent. I had an odd mixture of emotions running through my body. I knew I loved her and that I wanted nothing more than to be with her, but for the first time in my life, I loved me more. I could easily have said, “Go ahead. See if there is anything with that other woman. I’ll be here waiting.” And in my past relationships, I was always the type to put the other person first at the painful expense of myself and my needs and feelings. Recovery taught me that I was worth more than that, and I was beginning to believe it. I had integrity and a sense of purpose. I had gotten through so much in my life; I had truly felt and dealt with my emotions. I was strong, and once again I knew I would be okay. I discovered that as much as I wanted her, I didn’t need her. I also knew that this experience was happening for a reason, and that whatever pain it might bring would lead me to something better.

  During my time in recovery, I began realizing that every time I was in emotional pain, it meant I was actually dealing with something and emotionally or spiritually growing. Each time, I came out on the other side of that pain with clearer insights and feeling stronger than ever before. This would be no exception; I knew there was a lesson in this somewhere.

  And while I did cry myself to sleep that night, I woke up feeling the firmness under my feet and walked into the bathroom to start a new day with the knowledge that I was and would be totally fine. Sure, it was hard, and my heart broke like it never had before. Over the next days, weeks, and months, everything reminded me of her—songs, campus, friends. I cried often, the song of the broken-hearted. I spoke her name to anyone who would listen, an act I am sure was growing boring with my sisters in the sorority. But I managed. I got through it.

  34

  THE GIFT OF MAGI

  AFTER RAYE AND I BROKE UP, I WENT TO MY USUAL home group meeting that night. A home group is a meeting you make a commitment to attend every week, and you become active in ways like chairing the meetings and holding a leadership position, such as treasurer. Twelve-step groups aren’t organized in a real formal sense, but they must have some form of structure to exist. This was a good meeting for me because Lynn rarely went to it, so it was a safe place for me to make a weekly commitment to, and it was right next to campus so I could walk to it quickly. On this particular night I had a lot to share, and was so grateful to walk into a room of warm and inviting hellos and hugs. They immediately made me feel better. I was loved and I was able to show unconditional love in return, which was huge for me.

  At this particular meeting, a woman came into the room whom I had never seen before. I was immediately drawn to her. She was stunning and had model-type looks—very tall and thin with shoulder-length, dark brown hair and Brooke Shields-like eyebrows. She was gorgeous, and it wasn’t every day that women like this walked into the rooms of recovery. She stood out. As we went around the room and shared, I spoke of my heartache. I spilled my guts and found myself crying as I shared. It was so nice to make eye contact as I spoke with other people who I knew understood what I was feeling. To see people shaking their heads in agreement and acknowledgment made me feel so incredibly understood and not alone. I felt so safe in meetings that I often cried openly, because I knew I could wear my pain on my sleeve and the people in my meetings would hand me a tissue and offer me a supportive hug. I then began rambling on about how I really needed a job to take my mind off things and to make some money. I didn’t want a ton of responsibility because I was very busy with school and my activities, but I wanted something that would earn me some extra cash.

  After I spoke, the new woman, whose name was Magi, spoke of how she was new to the area but not to recovery; in fact, she had a significant amount of clean time. She talked about how much she could relate to what I was saying because she was going through a similar situation. As I listened to her speak, I felt connected to her instantly. She then spoke of her two small children whom she needed help with, as she had just moved to town on her own. We both just looked at each other and smiled, knowing we had just found what we were looking for and more. I approached her after the meeting and introduced myself. We chitchatted, and then I asked her if I could help with her children and we exchanged phone numbers. We formed a wonderful friendship, and I began babysitting her children a couple of times a week while she ran a children’s clothing store in town. It was a great situation, and I immediately fell in love with her two beautiful little girls, who were two and five years old.

  After a couple weeks of getting to know one another and my watching her children, it became abundantly clear that Magi and I had so much in common. She was born and raised in Allentown and did a good deal of her using there before she moved to New York City to model. Our histories were eerily similar. I felt like she was me, only ten years older. We clicked, and I found myself calling her with my woes about Raye and other life-related stuff. She gave great advice.

  One day it hit me that she was really the best sponsor I had—even though she wasn’t my sponsor. I asked Magi to be my sponsor that day, and she accepted. It was a perfect fit, and I finally felt like I had a kindred spirit in the program. She just got me, but we were so alike that she was also really good at calling me on my shit. Magi was and still is definitely a soul mate of mine, and I was so grateful that she and her children were brought into my life in that moment. We needed each other in different ways. I helped her get her new life in State College on track by being her first friend and helping with the kids, and she gave me an incredibly blissful distraction from my heartache in the form of her two girls. I loved every second I spent with them. They brought out the little kid in me, and we played every week. It was such a wondrous feeling to let myself be totally free and childlike with them. We had a blast together and really grew to love one another. They became a family for me, and Magi became not just a sponsor but a best friend and more. She was the sister I never had but always dreamt of.

  35

  SOCIOLOGY LESSONS

  In 2000, I became more active on campus in the gay community. I joined the sorority, and at Dr. Rankin’s suggestion, I also joined a couple of other gay groups that were active on campus. Pledging the sorority was amazing, even though it meant I would see Raye quite often. Joining something with all its traditions and activities made me feel a part of something that was unique, and it made me feel bonded to these women. When I saw Raye, my stomach did flip-flops and my heart ached. I managed to get through it all by diving head-on into pledging activities, which meant spending a lot of time with my pledge class and getting to know the other sisters. I had to set up a one-on-one meeting with each sister, and as a pledge class we had to put on socials for the sorority so we could all get to know one another. I was getting involved in activist work with the organizations Dr. Rankin hooked me up with and began getting involved in rallies, pride events, and other social activities on campus for the gay c
ommunity. I was also babysitting the girls often, so there was little time to think about Raye.

  I put my energy into learning as much as I could in school and focusing on my recovery work. I read a lot of recovery books when I wasn’t reading for school. I loved to read, and enjoyed reading stories of other people in recovery—it helped keep things in perspective for me. I was so busy on campus and found myself spending more and more time there, so I decided to see if there were any meetings on campus. It made sense to me that there would be. I called the health building and inquired about it, but they informed me that at the time there were no recovery meetings on campus. I didn’t let that stop me; I decided to start my own. I figured if I couldn’t get to a meeting as often as I wanted to, then I would bring the meeting to me. I went to the student union office and found out what I needed to do. I submitted a request to reserve a room once a week at noon for a twelve-step meeting. I collected all the literature I needed for the meetings and brought in my own books to use. My request was accepted, and I was ecstatic! I made flyers and hung them all over campus, as well as listing the meeting in the college newspaper and on all the community events web pages. I was so excited that now I had a meeting to attend right on campus each week between classes. The meetings were never packed, but we always had a good mix of staff, faculty, and students attending. Many of the faculty and staff thanked me, saying that there had never been a recovery meeting on campus before and that it was so nice to be able to take their lunches and come to a meeting during work.

  I began taking lots of sociology courses and was flabbergasted by the number of things I didn’t learn growing up and how incredibly limited and inaccurate my sources of information were. I learned of things like racism, oppression, and the Holocaust, to name just a few— events and realizations that were not a part of my vernacular growing up. I realized my father was racist and had taught me to be racist, even though he would never agree with that statement.