Embracing the Silver

 

I always swore I would never go  “gray-c-fully”; but here we are. Now, before you clutch your pearls and reach for a bottle of hair dye, let me walk you through the rollercoaster of emotions — and hair products — that have come with this bold decision.

Let’s start with the moment I made the decision. I was sitting on the porch, sipping sweet tea and thinking about life decisions…not.  It was actually a long period of wondering, discussions with my very adored and trusted hairdresser, and then her very heart-breaking, unexpected death that really made the decision for me.  See, after losing someone I trusted with my hair it took me a while to wrap my mind around what to do next. I would have never actually had the courage to do this, especially in the naturally, God-ordained way! But, since my all mighty creator understands that about me, he used this “what to do next period" to let glitter to shoot from my scalp faster than a cat on a hot tin roof. So, at some point, I just looked in the mirror and thought, “well, I have come this far.” After all, if Southern women are known for anything, it’s our ability go big or go home — and what’s bigger than a head full of silver? 

 

If  I am being thoroughly transparent, the true Southern drama is in the transition period (which I have seen last from a few months to a few years - if one chooses to avoid chemical assistance!) Let me tell you about this transition phase. It’s like trying to make biscuits without a recipe or a Southern Mama's guidance — messy and full of uncertainty. I started off with a lovely dream of “salt and pepper", which, let’s be honest, is more like “salt, pepper, and a whole lot of confusion.” Many days I feel like I am in a bad country music video where the singer is trying to decide if she’s going to embrace her inner grey or just drown it in dye.

And the comments! Oh, the comments! “Are you feeling okay?” “You know you can dye that, right?” and my favorite from one of my longest (notice I did not say oldest), dearest friends, "Are you doing a thing?" No, I am not "doing a thing." Yes, I know I can dye it. But can you dye my spirit? Because it’s feeling pretty liberated right now!

As the weeks are turning into months, I am beginning to embrace my new look. I am starting to see a season when I will fully channel my inner silver-haired goddess.  Though, it is challenging and I have experimented with different hairstyles to showcase my fabulous greys. A top knot here, a messy bun there. I even tried to get a little fancy with some hair accessories. Spoiler alert: if you’re going to wear a headband with grey hair, just make sure it doesn’t have sparkles. You’ll end up looking like a disco ball at a church picnic.

So here I am, a Southern woman in the prime of her life, proudly sporting my emerging silver locks. And you know what? I’ve never felt more like myself. The grey hair is a badge of honor, a symbol of all the laughter, tears, and sweet tea that have colored my life. But, I would be a liar if I didn’t admit that at least once a week I find my resolve to embrace all this glitter and sparkle wavering and a box of Autumn Burnette becomes a siren's call.

So, to all my fellow Southern belles out there considering the plunge: go for it! Embrace the glitter shooting from your head. Rock some gorgeous Paula Deen silver! You might just find that it adds a little extra sparkle to your already fabulous self — just maybe not too much sparkle. We don’t want to blind anyone at the church potluck!

Ultimately,  I’m Southern, and we pride ourselves on our resilience. I’ve survived hurricanes, humidity that could fry an egg, and all manner of flying insects. I can handle a little grey hair!  Here’s to grey hair, sweet tea, and the Southern spirit that keeps us all shining bright!

Hurricanes....

 

Growing up, I’m pretty sure I thought a hurricane was just a dramatic rainstorm. You know, like nature throwing a tantrum. But now? Hurricanes are practically on my speed dial—they’re that much a part of my life, both personally and professionally. I live about 60 miles inland from the Atlantic, so getting cozy with what a hurricane can do is kind of non-negotiable. High winds, floods, torrential rain, and the ever-terrifying threat of a tornado? It’s like nature’s horror film on repeat.

Everyone around here has their war stories—nights spent with the wind howling like it’s auditioning for a thriller, sitting in the dark, praying the roof doesn’t fly off, and just waiting for daylight. But here’s the thing about hurricanes: they don’t sneak up on you. Oh no, they’re more like the slowest, most anxiety-inducing stalker imaginable. It’s like being stalked by a Box Turtle—except this turtle comes with weather alerts and a terrifying to-do list. You’ve got plenty of time to pick up what we affectionately call Hurricane Snacks. And let’s be real, my "emergency" snacks are basically an excuse to load up on Pop-Tarts. I mean, who needs a milk-and-bread sandwich in a crisis when you’ve got frosted pastries, am I right?

Hurricanes, unlike their drama-queen cousin, the tornado, give you ample time to prep, evacuate, or settle in for a long wait. And let me tell you, the wait is the worst part. There’s this weird moment when you’re like, “Okay, can we just get this over with already?!" It’s almost like you’re impatient for chaos, which sounds insane, but here we are.

Then there’s the best part: Hurricane Parties. Yep, you heard me. I have friends with beach houses (must be nice) who treat incoming hurricanes like an excuse for a cocktail-fueled vacation. They hit the liquor store and head toward the storm, while the rest of us batten down the hatches. I will say, though, if I ever do score my own beachfront property, you better believe I’m throwing one of those infamous hurricane parties. And trust me, it’s going to be more than Pop-Tarts—though I’m not making any promises about milk-and-bread sandwiches!

Digging Deeper...Finding My Tribe and Navigating Disappointment as a Loner

If you've always been a loner, like me,  the relationships you do form can feel especially significant. When you open up and let someone into your world, there’s an expectation that the connection will be deep, authentic, and lasting. But what happens when those few people you’ve trusted turn out to be different than what you thought? Experiencing disappointment in relationships, especially as someone who values solitude, can be incredibly disheartening.

So, I have done a lot of research, praying, and trying to determine how to find my authentic tribe — people who genuinely understand and resonate with who I am.  These are steps I think we all have to go through to find those special souls to do life with and to feel safe around:

1. Acknowledge the Pain of Disappointment

When you’ve always been a loner, it’s easy to internalize the pain of disappointing relationships. I do that...I turn anger, disappointment, loneliness inward on myself and it has really challenged my ability to trust and open up with others. I always question, “What did I do?" regardless of whether I did anything or not. Opening up to someone feels like a risk, so when it doesn’t work out, it can hit particularly hard.  I am learning, ever so slowly, to  allow myself to grieve the loss of the connection, but also take heart in knowing that not every relationship is meant to last. Some people come into our lives to teach us lessons, even if they weren’t the deep, lasting connections we had hoped for.

2. Understand the Importance of Boundaries

Part of being a loner is naturally having clear boundaries with people, but when you start letting others in, those boundaries can become blurred. Disappointments often happen when someone crosses a line I didn’t know needed protecting, or when I ignored red flags because even as a loner I long for connection. I have learned healthy relationships thrive on mutual respect, and your authentic tribe will honor those boundaries without you needing to defend them.

3. Managing Expectations

One of the challenges of being a loner, who opens up to a select few. is the weight of expectation.   I am having to daily work on learning this one! I only invest heavily in a very few people, which means any misstep or disappointment can feel magnified. While it’s natural to want those close to you to be everything you imagined, it’s also important to remember that no one is perfect. That expectation is on me. Instead of seeking perfection in others, I am trying to focus on people who align with my values, support my growth, and respect my individuality.  I want to allow room for other's imperfections, just as I hope they’ll accept mine.

4. Revisit What "Authentic" Means 

I am having to determine what authentic looks like.  Is it someone who shares my passions and interests, or someone who understands and respects my need for solitude? Once I fully define what authenticity means, it will be easier to identify who fits that description and who does not.

5. Trusting MY Intuition

I am an intuitive person, or at least I used to be.  I tamped out my spirit of discernment to keep unhealthy relationships going for a long time. In this season I am having to make a conscious effort to trust my inner voice/intuition. Trusting your intuition is crucial in discovering authenticity and it is really hard if you’ve been burned in the past, it’s easy to second-guess yourself, but those instincts are valuable. I am really tuning into how people make me feel. Do I feel at ease and respected around them, or do I feel drained or misunderstood? When my gut tells me someone isn’t the right fit,  I am giving myself permission to step back, which is something I would have felt guilty about in the past.

6. Seek Smaller, Deeper Connections

For me, I have finally accepted that deep one-on-one relationships are often more fulfilling than larger social circles. Instead of trying to find a big group to join, I am focused on nurturing a few meaningful connections. Quality over quantity is a powerful mantra when it comes to finding my tribe.

7. Embrace Vulnerability

Part of finding an authentic tribe involves being vulnerable enough to show others who you truly are.  This is really hard for me.  It is scary, it feels uncomfortable, it is risky.  I am literally having to learn to be vulnerable. This doesn’t mean I overshare or open up all the time but it means making a choice to let people see the real me over time. 

Also, as a loner, I have developed a strong sense of independence, physically, emotionally, and spiritually, so I find it almost painful to share. It is about learning that it's about sharing pieces of yourself with the right people, those who will respect and reciprocate that trust. I am letting my tribe find me by showing up as my authentic self.

8. Let Go of the Past, But Keep the Lessons

I have some deep trust/abandonment issues and it is easy to carry the pain of past disappointments into future relationships, especially when those experiences have left me feeling guarded or mistrustful. But to find my  authentic tribe, I know I have to be open to new possibilities. Letting go of past hurt doesn’t mean forgetting the lessons learned; it means releasing the emotional weight so I can move forward.

Each disappointment taught me something about myself, my needs, and the kind of people I want in my life, and what kind of people I want to spend time with.  I am using these hard lessons as a guide, but trying to not let them close me off from future connections.

Summertime and Peaches

 I grew up in what is known as the Peach State but it didn't take me long to realize South Carolina actually has the best peaches. I suppose no matter where you live, fresh peaches are hard to beat. There is just something about peach season that makes me want to bake. It doesn't matter that it may be hot as blue blazes outside—if fresh peaches are on the counter, you can't risk letting them go bad, so you bake. Today, I was also lucky enough to have a nice amount of fresh blueberries, so a recipe was made.

Fresh Peach and Blueberry Cobbler

Cobbler:

• 1 stick of butter
• 1 cup self-rising flour
• 1 cup of sugar
• 1 cup of milk

Fruit:

• 4 cups fresh South Carolina peaches, peeled and sliced (I blanched the peaches first to make the skin slide right off)
• 1-2 cups fresh blueberries, washed and drained
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup water
• 1 Tablespoon cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

Melt butter in a large, shallow casserole dish. Mix together flour, 1 cup of sugar, and milk until blended. Pour mixture over melted butter, do not stir.

Combine peaches, 1 cup of sugar and water in a saucepan.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes.  With slotted spoon, spoon peaches on top of the batter.  Sprinkle fresh blueberries on top. Add the liquid from the peach simmer and dust with cinnamon.  Bake 35 to 40 minutes until light brown.  

 

Enjoy!  

My Appalachian Elegy

Have you ever considered how the place where you grew up continues to shape you, even if you’ve moved far away and never returned? With the recent announcement of a Vice-Presidential Candidate from Ohio with roots in Kentucky, much discussion has centered around his 2016 memoir, Hillbilly Elegy. I read the book and watched the Netflix docu-drama adaptation. Opinions about it are polarized; some love it, others hate it. Many of my friends, who also have deep Southern Appalachian roots, have strong feelings about it. If nothing else, it has sparked some great discussions.

Having grown up in the mountains of Appalachia, I understand the term “hillbilly” in a way not everyone does. Some parts of Hillbilly Elegy resonated with me, while others did not. I’ve also lived in various parts of the country, and I believe some of the themes in Hillbilly Elegy—poverty, dysfunctional family dynamics, addiction issues, and educational challenges—are not unique to Appalachia. This is an important point to make. Similarly, strong family connections are not exclusive to the region nor are they present in every Appalachian family.

My Appalachian family wasn’t wealthy or impoverished,  large, or particularly close-knit, though I knew many who were. My parents weren’t uneducated nor scholars. Our family has faced struggles with addiction, but it didn’t touch my life directly. My personal hillbilly elegy would be quite different. This is the challenge when an individual’s story is seen as representative of a larger group.

Despite my Appalachian roots, most of my adult life has been spent far from those hills and the Blue Ridge Mountains. I’m now a flatlander, more coastal than mountain. The cultures are as much the same as they are different, and my ears are more accustomed to the Carolina Low Country drawl than the twang of my mountain roots. I have moments when I deeply miss my hometown, lifelong friends, and the region. But I also cherish seeing Spanish moss blowing in the breeze or a palm tree against a Carolina blue sky. These experiences are equal parts of who I am, blending to shape my identity.

Yes, the deep, unique, and rich culture of Appalachia is part of my soul, but it’s mixed with so many other life experiences. None of us can fully claim to know all the facets of what it means to be a hillbilly.

Signed, Southern Flatland Mountain Girl

Convertibles in the South

Who doesn’t love a spin in a convertible? I find it to be hugely stress-relieving and calming. But for those of you in other parts of the world who prep and put your convertibles to bed in the fall for a good six months or more until convertible weather returns, we in the South have a different routine.

Where I live, we enjoy a convertible season that lasts pretty much nine to ten months. The “off months” for us are not during the cold, winter months. Instead, our top-up time is in the dead of summer. Personally, I have been known to drive in freezing weather with the top down, wearing a heavy coat with the heater blasting. However, when it starts to feel like the backside of Satan’s toaster oven, there isn’t enough AC to keep that top down. I will keep the top down and the AC flowing until I could cook a lasagna in the passenger seat. But after that, it is no longer convertible season. I. Can’t. Roll.

So, for the next couple of months, my top-down days will be missed and very limited (maybe left for a few nighttime rides).  Though, this is a good time to tweak some of the "work in progress" and maintenance that comes with driving a vintage car...like a new clutch. I am counting down the days until I can feel that air in my hair again! Y’all up north, just know I am envying your summer rides!

Until the cooler days return, I'll be dreaming of my next top-down adventure!

Rediscovering My Voice...

I wrote my first blog post of 2024 yesterday. It wasn’t deep and it wasn’t long. It was just the marking of a celebration for someone I love. But, in so many ways, it was much more. 

For years, writing was my sanctuary. I found solace in the rhythm of my thoughts flowing onto paper, the tap-tap-tap of keys as my ideas took shape. My blog was a personal haven where I could share insights, stories, and snippets of my life with a supportive community. Eventually, it even led to a paid position as a columnist, and I held a secret dream of writing the great Southern Novel one day. However, an unexpected turn of events led to a hiatus from writing. After a long break, I finally found my way back to the keyboard to share, though not so frequently. 

 As I struggled to keep the muse fed and the words flowing someone used my own blog to try to assassinate my character. It wasn't just a nasty comment by an anonymous online person, casual jab, teasing remark, or even my words. Harmless clip art, I shared as an accent to a post that discussed my personal financial journey, which was a common theme, were presented in court. Now mind you, the post – words - (in full) was not presented. But the clipart from this post was used to paint me as someone I was not. Someone who knew how much writing meant to me used it as a weapon to attempt to hurt me, and I am sure make me stop. And stop, I did. I pulled away from writing on my blog except on rare occasions. 

Fast forward several years and I would, from time to time, write a post and think of jumping back into the words until a few months ago, when someone very near and dear to me ridiculed my blog, my writing, my use of social media. The blog that once represented my voice, my history, my faith became a source of embarrassment and hurt. The sting of their judgment was sharp. I often tell myself that I shouldn't care what others think, especially when it comes to something as personal as my creative expression; but reality is different. The criticism and mockery cut deep, especially coming from someone I love - someone whose opinion mattered to me. I had hoped for support, maybe even pride in my accomplishments, but instead, I was met with ridicule and reopening of long sealed scars. 

In the aftermath, I stopped writing. The blog that had been a canvas for my thoughts and experiences lay dormant and made private, hiding almost 20 years of my life. I pulled in my personal social media use, making previously public presences private, as I felt vulnerable. I withdrew, silencing the words that had once been better than therapy. The fear of judgment, of having my words twisted and used against me, was paralyzing. Each time I considered returning to my blog, the memories of those hurtful experiences would resurface, and I'd retreat further away from the keyboard. 

But I missed the cathartic release that writing provided. I missed the community of readers who found value in my words, who connected with my stories. Slowly, I am rebuilding my confidence. It isn’t easy. I must remind myself that my blog is my space, a reflection of my journey, thoughts, and creativity. I am starting small, rediscovering the joy of writing without the pressure of an audience. 

I decided to reclaim my blog. Sharing my story—this story—for me. To anyone who has faced similar challenges, know that your voice matters. It's easy to say we shouldn't care what others think, but it's okay to acknowledge that their opinions can hurt, especially when they come from those we love. However, it's crucial to remember that their views do not diminish your worth, the value of your creative expression, or your story. 

Rediscovering my passion for writing is a journey and I don’t know where it will go. My blog is once again a space where I can be unapologetically myself…whoever that is in this season of life. It is a place where I hope I can share my truths and connect with others who find solace or humor in my experiences, my wins, my losses, my adventures, and who knows what else. I hope that by sharing this experience, I can inspire others to reclaim their voices, to continue creating despite the setbacks, and to find pride in their unique stories. Writing is more than just putting words on a page; it's a reflection of your path. No one should ever have the power to take that away from you.