As part of the generation caught between Suzy Homemaker and Gloria Steinem, plenty of women in my age group grew up conflicted and confused. Especially Southern women. Specifically intelligent Southern women.  Should we aspire to spend our days cleaning the house wearing our stylish dresses and pearls? Should we await the arrival of our lovely children with homemade cookies and milk, and our husbands with his slippers and a perfectly shaken martini?

Or should we burn our bras, forego early marriage for a college education (needless to say join a sorority) and career, to be the woman who could have it all?  It was an unspoken assumption that proper Southern girls had two, maybe three career choices. Girls could be teachers, nurses, or secretaries.  A calling, a calling, and there’s always that coveted MRS degree.

The perfect example of that conflict is that I owned both an Easy Bake Oven AND my own microscope. Couldn’t care less about keeping the house, but would rather read all day. This caused a lot of friction in my childhood.

This conundrum has plagued many women in my generation. Some of tried the former, some the latter. Some of tried to juggle both.  Some of us have wonderful lives, regardless of the choice. Some of us regret our choices to this day and are still trying to clean up the messes.

The Fundamentals of Good Manners

The Proper Southern Lady has a code of manners and etiquette that, from a very early age she is taught. It includes such niceties as always saying ma’am and sir, please and thank you, rules about when it is acceptable to wear white shoes and pants, writing “thank you” notes (God forbid, you don’t do that),  trying not to giggle during the blessing or in church, how gossip is tacky unless you preface the news with “Bless her heart” or a similar sentiment. Ladies do not raise their voices, do not smoke cigarettes, drink beer out of a can or bottle – preferably not at all. A proper lady does not walk around with a cocktail in her hand. She must remain seated and wait until someone delivers the drink.   And Lord have mercy, a proper Southern lady never curses. Oh, my word! or I swan! are as salty as she is allowed to be. My grandmother would scold us for saying “dang” or “durn” or calling someone a fool. A lady should never have to open a door for herself. In social situations, the Southern lady does not speak of herself but listens and politely responds to others when spoken to. She must never, ever monopolize the conversation, or attempt to be the center of attention. Trust me, you will be talked about later, bless your heart.

Not all these are bad things – the thank you notes, the white shoes and pants, ma’am and sir – those are ingrained in my brain. The others….we’ll get right on those, won’t we ladies?

However, the “rule” or manner that has been drilled into all of us Southern ladies and has caused the most inner turmoil is this one:

 Others first, yourself last.

Self-denial and deference to others are the cornerstones of good Southern manners, particularly for ladies. Otherwise, you are acting needy and selfish, and that will not do. Nor will it keep a man satisfied. 

I am here to say that all that antiquated bullshit is exactly that. Bullshit.  That housewife vs. feminist conflict created a whole new breed of Southern Woman and we say to hell with that old putrid trash. Learn to say no.Trust me, always putting everyone’s needs and feelings before your own gets you exactly NOWHERE, except overwhelmed, chronically depressed, filled with self-doubt and feelings of worthlessness. I am walking, talking proof. Not to mention, it all leaves you emotionally drained and completely exhausted. I can’t help but think it’s one of the reasons why some Southern women are so dead-set on owning a gun. (I do, and only I know where it is.)  You just never know, do you?

I understand the concept of the rule, Jesus laying down his life and all, (FYI: I’m not Jesus and neither are you, but he seems like a nice enough guy)  but I guarantee that rule was thought up by some controlling, power-happy son of a bitch in an attempt to hold dominion over his wife and women in general.  He did it in order to be the first served while the women, preferably pregnant, slaved all afternoon over the hot stove cooking his  damn supper. Screw that bastard and all the bastards who follow in his footsteps. I was rebelling against this practice in my family when I was 8 years old. I say if that’s the kind of woman you want, go buy your bastard self a fuckin’ robot wife. They have them in Japan, I heard.

Of course as compassionate human beings, we all have to put others’ needs first at one point or another, especially if there are children involved. With children, that simply goes with the territory.  Not making yourself a priority should be out of the goodness of your heart, not because of some old social more.  But to live your whole life as someone’s doormat?  Umm, no.  That is a recipe for disaster and a one-way ticket to the Betty Ford Clinic or prison.

I have to confess that I have lived years of my adult life under the deceitful cloud of selflessness.  I have let some of the so-called men in my life try to “mold” me, control my education and career path, have listened to them berate me, tell me I’m not as smart as I think I am. This is verbal abuse. Abuse. It changed how I felt about myself and my own intelligence and abilities, and my basic worthiness as a human being. Turns out, I was way smarter than he was. I left his ass.

Feelings of inferiority and being taught to “stay out of other people’s private business” have caused me to not speak up when I knew I should have, one situation in particular that eventually ended in tragedy. It will always linger in the back of my mind that I could have helped prevent  it if I had just spoken up. Since then, I’ve held my tongue and my pain surrounding this event so not to hurt anyone else’s feelings or intrude, damaging my own psyche in the process.

Then, one day, I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. I had been “well-mannered” for long as possible. I lost it.Went CRASHING straight to the depths. I had no choice but to focus on myself. Decades worth of internalized pain, grief, regret, anger all came flooding out, and it is not done yet.  It will be over when I’m done processing, and I refuse to make excuses or sacrifices at my own expense. Not to say that I’m going to be a callous bitch – unless the occasion calls for a bitch.  I will always put my child before myself. Putting your child first is natural for a parent – but that too is a delicate balance. You don’t want them growing up to be entitled little tyrants.

As far as that stupid “rule” goes, from now on, the people I consider more important than myself are going to be my choice and it damn sure won’t be every Tom, Dick, and Harry. I’m changing, damn it.

I will try to do one positive thing every day. I will try to do one thing for myself every day. I will tell my daughter how beautiful, intelligent, and funny she is. Every day. I’m going to be brave & tell those I love that I love them. You never know if it will be your last chance. If I had done this 22 years ago, I have no doubt things would have turned out to be very different. Even with that knowledge, we learn to appreciate what we have, be grateful that life course-corrects. Settle into joy.

With all these changes, if you can’t accept me for who I am, for who I have been, having crawled through all the dirt, pain, blood, insanity, death, ugliness, regret, and anger that made me who I am today, well, I see that as your problem, bless your heart.