As everyone knows, negative media about fraternities and sororities is everywhere. Those of us who are Greek read it, detest it, and wish we could fight back. We write articles on media platforms telling anyone who will listen about how our sororities are our home-away-from-home and how our sisters are part of our family as though they were related by blood. I am not here to tell you these things; I am here to show you.

I don’t remember what day it was; I just know it was the Spring of 2013. I was a freshman at the University of Montana, my brother was at war in a country he wasn’t allowed to disclose the name of, my mom was still reeling from her second divorce, and I was off attempting to ignore all of it while fielding calls from home. After a particularly bad phone call, I stripped naked and wrapped a towel around me, climbed the stairs to the third floor of my sorority house and entered the bathroom that was the most rarely used. I turned on music as high as the speaker would allow, hung my towel on a hook, and stepped into the last shower stall. I turned on the water and sat on the floor, knees to chest, sobbing. I pinched my wrists and scratched my ankles and begged God to make the hurt stop.

“What are you doing?” A Texas-twang came from the other side of the glass door.

“Showering,” I mumbled. The door swung open to reveal two girls in my member class. The girl from Texas, JJ, was my sorority “twin,” which meant we were paired with the same older girl for mentoring.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re crying,” JJ said as the other girl, Ashley, reached in and turned off the water before dropping a towel into my lap. It didn’t matter that I was naked, it didn’t matter that I was looking for privacy. Family has no boundaries.

“Get up,” Ashley said. They helped wrap me in the towel and ushered my trembling body down the hallway to the room they shared. JJ held up her robe for me to wear, thick and soft. Then Ashley summoned me to her chair. She sat on her desk brushing my hair. JJ made me a cup of hot chocolate in the mug I left in their room on a semi-permanent basis.

I don’t remember how long I cried for. I remember moving from the chair to the floor, to a body pillow and throw blanket. I remember attempting to force out sentences past the tears and I remember them telling me I didn’t have to talk if I didn’t want to. I remember JJ holding my head in her lap as I told her my brother might die and that I lost the only father figure I ever had. I remember them telling me they would take care of me, and to this day, they have.

I was away from University of Montana for two years. While I was gone I called both those girls, and many other sisters, out of the blue with extreme emergencies. “I just needed someone to talk to and you were who I thought of.” They always answered and they always helped, whether it be lending a kind word or doing an extreme favor. People will say what they will about sororities, but who knows where I would be now if I had been crying in a one-bedroom apartment alone. Say I bought my friends, but to have a support system so close at such a volatile and emotional time in my life: that’s priceless.

This is part one of a multi-part series.