IN LATE AUGUST 1981, still alive, I returned to Wesleyan and my New Born church family, where I would not have to expend psychic energy guarding my secret. Dr. Coughlin readmitted me from my involuntary leave of medical absence to begin my senior year in Middletown.

My new roommate, Jackie, and I shared a university owned apartment—a third floor walk-up—in a house on High Street. Both of us were members of New Born Church of God and True Holiness.

Because I had taken two separate semesters of medical leave since entering Wes U in 1977, most students I knew well had graduated in May of 1981 or earlier. At this point, it didn’t matter. Since getting saved at New Born in November 1979, my interests had shifted away from on-campus life. My life was much different than it had been in the summer of 1979—unbalanced rather than peaceful.

I knew people who went to college and morphed from straight-laced geeks without any social life to all-the-way live partiers. My transition was pretty much the opposite. I arrived at Wesleyan as the gregarious, improvisational theater performer who spiked the punch with grain alcohol for the freshman party I organized at the Malcolm X house.

In the absence of campus sororities, a group of girlfriends and I launched a sisterhood we called I Phelta Thi. We created an anthem based on the refrain of the song, “Bustin’ Loose.” It went, “I feel like feeling a thigh / I felt a thigh.” As we chanted, we’d touch some random male student’s leg. All in good fun. As I sought more spiritual depth, I abandoned my free-spirited partying lifestyle. It wasn’t in sync with my newly learned concept of sober-mindedness.

While living on High Street, I attended classes on campus during the week. I spent the greater part of my weekends at church, attending services on Friday nights, Sunday mornings, and Sunday evenings. I occasionally attended prayer on Saturday afternoon, as well. Our assistant pastor drove to the Wesleyan campus on Wednesday evenings to lead the in-depth Bible study I loved.

As a result of those teachings, I learned the importance of studying and internalizing scripture in order to lead a fulfilled life. I also reabsorbed the necessity of looking for the good in others. After all, I was the young woman whose senior yearbook page included a Confucius quote, “Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

When I first began attending New Born regularly in September 1979, I learned the scriptural admonition, “Not forsaking the assembling of yourselves together, as the manner of some is.” The thought, this church schedule is a bit excessive, lingered in my mind, but I eventually accepted this regimentation as a necessary part of our congregational culture. Knowing a little more about holiness than I, Penny shared that each pastor set up rules to best serve the entire membership. I trusted my pastor’s judgment. I wouldn’t learn until many years later that some of our dogma was simply rooted in Pentecostal traditionalism.

My family knew I had changed religious affiliation, but they had no idea how often I went to church. I didn’t tell them. My conversion was too soon after the Jim Jones debacle in which the cult’s leader convinced his membership to commit suicide en masse by drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. I didn’t want them to think I had joined a cult. Karen often encouraged me to “return to the faith of our fathers.” Knowing I often pursued new endeavors in two-year blocks, she figured I’d abandon this new religion soon.

Academically, I majored in English. My original double major was Psychology and Theater. Psychology was not a fit for me. I was a little disappointed when it didn’t work out. My mom had intimated she wanted to study child psychology in college. It would have been gratifying to achieve her goal. In the 1940s, a college instructor suggested she become a teacher or a nurse, appropriate jobs for professional colored women of that day. Dutifully, she became an elementary school teacher.

I had excelled in one psychology course, Dramaturgical Approaches to the Study of Psychology, because it was a theater class—a natural fit for me. Of course, I dropped my theater major after becoming a fundamentalist Christian.

In February 1982, before I understood the necessity of eating regularly, sleeping restfully, and remaining stress free for stable mental health, I embarked on a month of consecration with my church congregation. I ate and drank once a day at dinnertime. During that time, a religious station in Hartford, CT requested an interview at the station to talk about our local congregation. My pastor chose me to discuss our church’s teachings on the air. Because I was a well-balanced, articulate college student, he trusted me to give a well-rounded description of our congregational beliefs and practices. With my mood escalating, my interview responses were pretty much in your face.

Meanwhile, I continued my class regimen, determined to earn a degree in English in May 1982. Hopefully, by that time, I would be offered a job in close proximity to my new church family.