“I grew up in a suburb outside of Oklahoma City, where everybody was white and prosperous and believed in Christianity,” Angie “Pumps” Sullivan says from bed 1,500 miles away at the New York Edition Hotel a few weeks ago. The 55-year-old is happily snacking on a room-service truffle fry. As the golden-hour sun peeks through sheer curtains, Sullivan presses her coiffed hair up against the headboard, doing her best to avoid the rays. “It wasn’t until later in life when I met her” — she nods to the woman tucked underneath the covers beside her, her best friend, Jennifer Welch — “when I started to have real problems that I realized, Okay, it’s going to take more than prayer to solve this. How am I going to cope? ”

You’ve probably heard a tale like Sullivan’s before — maybe even within your

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