When I was a bright-eyed freshman going into my first year at an SEC school, there was only one thing on my mind: rushing a Greek sorority. I paid the application fee and participated in formal recruitment. I was drawn to the women I talked to during house tours and fell in love with the idea of a Greek sisterhood that would carry into my adult life post-grad. I was also excited about the philanthropy aspect of Greek life and the idea of serving the people of the community I would soon be calling home. At the end of rush, I got a bid from the house I felt most connected with.
I took the Bid Day pictures and met some pretty awesome women who I really connected with. From there, I participated in formal pledging, where I recited my sorority’s creed next to a crowd of my future sisters and received a pin that basically meant I was in it for real. I was so excited to officially start my college career with friendships that would last a lifetime. I saw how excited all the other new members were; I saw how the actives interacted with each other, and I couldn’t wait for that to be me. I pictured socials, formals, matching sweatshirts, and finding my best friends for life. For a while, I tried to convince myself that was exactly what I had found, but it wasn’t.
I found out quickly that Greek life was going to be harder for me than it was for others. Coming from a low-income family, the only financial backing I had for my college experience was my part-time cashiering gig. Working 12 hours a week at $14 an hour while balancing a full course load and the pressures of the approaching homecoming season, which Greek life is heavily involved in, just wasn’t going to work for me.Â
When housing agreements came up, I learned the costs of being an active member, whether I chose to live in the sorority house or not. I saw the numbers at the bottom of the page, and I was immediately terrified. So I negotiated, asked for and received payment extensions, but still, I just couldn’t do it. I formally withdrew from my sorority after only two months. I hadn’t even been initiated.
After I left Greek life, I had this empty feeling, like I was missing a huge part of my college experience. I didn’t really stay connected with the women I had met and was left with very few friends. I spent the spring semester of my freshman year practically isolated. Then, in late May of that year, I heard about LSGR.
The Little Sisters of the Gold Rose is a non-Greek, inclusive organization centered around service and sisterhood at my college. Even though it isn’t a nationally recognized organization like traditional Greek life offers, it sounded like exactly what I had been looking for. I reached out to an active member and asked everything I could about the cost, involvement requirements, and what being a member actually looked like. After a phone call with my mom and some encouragement from her, I sent in my interest form and jumped into the rush process in the fall of my sophomore year.
After a few weeks of info sessions, meetings with active members, and team building events, I was invited to activation, aka the ceremony where I officially joined LSGR. And that was just the beginning: About a month later, I got my “big,” giving me someone within the organization I could turn to for advice and support. (Last spring, I got to experience the other side of that relationship when I got my own “little.”) Service also remained a huge part of the experience. Active members complete 15 service hours per semester, and we participate in fundraising for our philanthropy, MizzouThon, a dance marathon that directly benefits the patients at the Children’s Miracle Network Hospital and their families.
Between service, sisterhood events, and the friendships I’ve built along the way, I finally found the sense of belonging I had been searching for since my freshman year.
I thought college was supposed to look a certain way. But I realized that finding my people, my true people, matters more than finding the experience I had pictured before I got there. There aren’t Greek letters attached to the friendships I’ve found now. But there is sisterhood — a version of it that finally feels like mine.