Since Eve ate the apple, women have had to bear the shame and consequence of not just herself, but for society. We hold the responsibility for bringing life into this world, for prevention of life, for mentoring and guiding little lives into adulthood. Society blames us if we get pregnant out of wedlock. They blame us if we choose not to give birth. They blame us if we choose not to raise those we birth. But then blame us when the ones we raise do not live up to society’s standards.
We are blamed when the spouse seeks love in the arms of another. We are to blame if the dishes aren’t done. We must not age. We must not gain weight. We must stay graceful through all the shit life throws at us. We cannot drink too much. But we have to fun enough to drink a little. We cannot smoke. But we mustn’t complain about it either. We have to cook; but cannot eat too much. We have to clean; but cannot nag or complain about the messes.
Over the past several decades, society’s expectations of a woman have not evolved. They have only added more to our plate, making it impossible for us to be the perfect woman. But men’s roles haven’t changed a single bit. From the beginning of time, man has been only responsible for working. Nothing more. This was the case back when we lived in caves; and it is still the case today. Men can get fat. Men can go gray. Men can drink too much. Men can smoke. Men aren’t judged for not changing diapers. In fact, they are overly praised if they do change a diaper. Men aren’t expected at every school function. And sadly, we have normalized the absentee dad.
Now for the ugly part of life….. sex. A woman is expected to wait until marriage before participating in an absolutely natural act of sex. If she is to give into her own body’s urges, she is deemed a whore. And once she is married, sex is viewed as an act of service to her spouse; not an act of self pleasure for herself. Society’s views on women and sex are inherently engraved into our minds to the point that girls turn on other girls, creating a witch-hunt for the “school slut”. Men, on the other hand, are praised in the locker rooms for their weekend “conquests”.
Now take all of these unattainable expectations, bundle them up in a big, pretty pink monogrammed bow, and set it down in the heart of the Bible Belt- in the deep rural South. Now I’m talking the REAL south, not Atlanta, or some other big city. I mean the REAL south, smack dab in the middle of a soybean field in 2 red-light Mississippi! Pile all those expectations onto the tired backs of the southern women, who are already dead tired from working the garden, pickling peas, cutting the grass and driving a back-hoe, while carrying a baby on their hips. And if they are a black woman, you must tack-on racism to their list of bullshit to deal with.
Being in the South already has women at a disadvantage. The weather is unkind with smothering summers and wet winters. The economy is poverty level and opportunities are slim to none. And our damn accent doesn’t help one damn bit either! With these added on disadvantages, it takes not just a strong woman to survive, it takes a DAMN strong woman, the strongest of the strong. A southern woman is not a creature to reckon with. We are raised in fire and come out stronger than steel.
Because of our upbringing and pressures society has put on us, we are the most complex people you could ever meet. You will never fully understand us. Hell, we can’t even understand ourselves most of the time. I am a Southern woman raised in a Southern Baptist Church. I love my babies. I love your babies. I love my husband. But, if I am pushed to it, or my babies are hurt, I will not hesitate to take a charge for trying to kill your ass. And we will just pray about it on Sunday in a church that wouldn’t even allow me to be a preacher because I was born with a golden vagina. I love to cook my man a good home-cooked meal; but he better not demand it of me, or I’ll spit a little extra seasoning in it and serve it to him with a smile. I love to work in the yard; but I’ll cuss like a sailor on a drunken Saturday night the entire time I’m pulling weeds. I will bitch about cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for the entire family, but I am not gonna eat your casserole if you offer to bring one over. Like I said, we are complex creatures. I don’t know why I do some of the things I do. I’m Southern, it’s just who I am.
And I am not alone. All throughout the South, there are women handling things and getting shit done that no other person could ever imagine doing. If I should be so bold, I would say that the Southern woman is what has kept the lower half of this country together. We are the ones knocking sense (sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally) into these men’s heads. We are the loud ones (with quiet tones) fighting everyday to be seen, to be heard, and to be respected. We are the ones that always has to make the age-old decision, “Should I stay or should I go”. We are the ones that will get up early, clean the house, feed the babies, and then hop on a tractor to help our men in the fields when needed. We are the ones that will sit in the shower after everyone has gone to sleep and dream and plot for a better way out of today’s troubles. When the men get beat down, it is our laps they lay they heads in. When the men’s backs are sore from work, we are the ones to rub them. The men build the house; but it’s our nails that hold it together. And we’re baking pies and shit doing too.
So, that’s what this podcast is going to be about…. the Southern Woman. We are good; we are bad; but we are too strong to ever be ugly. I want to share the stories of the southern women who have faced the most tragic of storms and come out on the other end. I want to share the stories of the southern women who finally snapped, lost their damn minds and wreaked havoc. I want to share the stories of the southern women who fought the man and society, whether they won or lost. I want to share the stories of the southern women that walked so others could run.
“If This Kitchen Could Talk” is now a podcast on Spotify. Stay tuned each week as a share and speak with a special southern woman as they share their stories with me. You may hear a familiar voice; or that voice may be yours.
Lessons Learned From The Rainbow 