Southern Hospitality

Southern hospitality is often praised as warmth, kindness, and good manners.But what we don’t talk about enough is how deeply it trains people to abandon themselves.

I was driving recently and felt that familiar knot in my stomach.The kind that shows up when you know what’s expected of you, even when your body is quietly saying no.

I realized something uncomfortable.

If I go to my mama’s house and don’t come inside, it’s considered rude.

Not asking how I’m doing.

Not checking if I’m rested.

Not noticing if I’m overwhelmed.

Just rude.

I sat with that feeling long enough to recognize what it really was.

It wasn’t discomfort.

It was guilt.

Guilt for not living up to the image of the “good daughter.”

The “good granddaughter.”

The one who shows up no matter how tired she is.

No matter how much she needs space.

No matter what it costs her.

I ended up calling my mom and realized she wasn’t even home.

The relief that washed over me surprised me.

And then it didn’t.

Because this wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way.

I’ve felt it visiting Arkansas for business.

I’ve felt it driving through snow to pick up family members because “that’s what you do.”

I’ve felt it my whole life.

And then it clicked.

This is what Southern hospitality teaches us.

To override ourselves.

To confuse obligation with love.

To show up out of fear of being labeled selfish instead of listening to our own needs.

When Politeness Becomes Conditioning

When my children were younger, people used to say they were rude because they didn’t always speak when they walked into a room.

That bothered other adults more than it ever bothered me.

Because what I saw wasn’t rudeness.

I saw children who were regulated.

Children who were observing.

Children who weren’t being forced to perform for adults.

I noticed the difference when I watched my niece and nephew run toward me, screaming my name, excited to see me.

That response came from relationship, not obligation.

And here’s the truth that made me uncomfortable enough to write this:

We ask children to respect adults who don’t respect themselves.

We ask children to love adults who don’t love themselves.

We ask children to override their bodies to make adults feel comfortable.

We force kids into hugs when they’re crying.

We minimize panic and call it “being dramatic.”

We dismiss fear and label it “being a baby.”

And then we wonder why adults don’t have boundaries.Why they stay in unhealthy marriages.Why they remain loyal to dead-end jobs.Why they confuse endurance with love.

Southern hospitality creates people of obligation.

“I’m staying because it’s the right thing to do.”

Even when it’s killing them slowly.

What We Don’t Name

There’s a part of Southern hospitality we rarely say out loud.

It is rooted in control.

It is rooted in grooming.

It is rooted in a slavery mindset that taught survival through compliance.

Smile.

Be agreeable.

Don’t talk back.

Honor your elders no matter what.

Endure.

When you grow up in that system, boundaries feel like betrayal.

Rest feels like rebellion.

And choosing yourself feels wrong.

But it isn’t.

The Truth I Had to Tell My Mother

Last night, I sent my mom a message.

I chose writing because it allowed me to speak clearly without abandoning myself.

I told her I need a real break.

From family.

From old friendships.

From familiar chaos.

I told her I cried in supervision earlier that day because I realized something painful.

That we could have had a different childhood if she had left her family patterns behind completely.

I told her that my good heart has cost my children safety.

That allowing hurt people into my home because they were “family” wasn’t fair to my kids.

That cycle repeats quietly when we don’t interrupt them intentionally.

I told her I’m choosing to stop.

Not out of anger.

Not out of blame.

But out of awareness.

I told her 2026 is for me.

That I won’t be participating in fake holidays, forced celebrations, or obligatory access.

That I deleted Facebook.

That I’m choosing peace over performance.

And I told her something else that mattered.

That there is no me without her.

That I love her always.

And that this choice doesn’t erase love.

It protects life.

The Last Matriarch of the Old Pattern

Southern hospitality taught me how to survive.

But it did not teach me how to be free.

I am no longer interested in messiness dressed up as family.

I want my children to experience love without hurt.

Connection without fear.

Respect without obligation.

I am choosing to be the last matriarch of the old pattern.

The one who saw it clearly.

The one who named it.

The one who stopped it.

And the next truth I’m ready to tell is this:

Generational curses are not just spiritual language.

They live in our bodies.

Our nervous systems.

Our DNA.

And they only change when someone decides to live differently.

That’s where we’re going next.

Ci Notes

This piece isn’t about rejecting family.

It’s about rejecting obligation disguised as love.

What expectations were placed on you that taught you to abandon yourself, and what would it look like to choose truth over tradition in this season of your life?

Let that sit with you.

Not to rush change, but to notice what’s already asking to be honored.