Montgomery summers taught me a thing or two about sweating through a struggle. Thick, relentless heat feels like an uninvited guest who overstays their welcome in the South, clinging to you until you contend with it head-on. That's just how my private battle felt—a humidity inside my head that no amount of sweet tea could wash away.

The battle wasn’t bad dates or unanswered texts (though, let’s be real, those can hurt too). No, this was bigger: the fight for the voice inside me that whispered—then eventually screamed—that I needed to stop shrinking myself to fit other people’s stories. It took years of quiet turmoil and a lot of retroactive "Oh, girl, no!" life reviews to win that fight, but I got there, and here’s how.

The Perfect Southern Belle (Or So I Tried to Be)

Let me set the stage. I grew up on a steady diet of Southern manners and well-intentioned phrases like, "Bless their heart," and "Don’t make a fuss." The rules? Be sweet, be polite, be generous without expecting anything back. It wasn’t outright said, but being “charming” was the gold medal of Southern femininity. You don’t need to burn up under the porch light as the moths buzz around to know it’s exhausting trying to be perfect.

By the time I hit my twenties, I’d mistakenly tied my worth to this outdated blueprint. Relationships became an extension of that template: avoid arguments, meet their needs, and do your best not to be “too much” of anything. Was I happy? Eh, I told myself I was—it’s amazing how easy it is to confuse compromise with personal sacrifice when you convince yourself it’s what love should look like.

The Breaking Point (Served with Biscuits)

The moment things clicked for me wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation in some therapist’s office or a teary chat with a wise elder. No, it was during brunch.

I was sitting across from someone I was dating—let’s call him Greg—at this cozy farm-to-table spot in Auburn. It should’ve been dreamy, with sunlight streaming through the window, warm butter pooling on fresh biscuits, and my orange juice sparkling like something out of a Hallmark movie. But I wasn’t there, not really. I was doing mental gymnastics, trying to gauge the "right" opinion on something from Greg’s vague expression. Should I like his favorite band, even though they sounded like lawn equipment? Was I laughing at the jokes he’d hate for me not to find hilarious? It was a tiny thing, yet it hit me: How much of myself was I giving away just to avoid making waves?

That’s when I knew. I’d been so busy trimming my edges for other people that I didn’t even recognize the shape I was supposed to be. Somewhere between a bite of eggs and Greg’s critique of that week’s college football rankings, my heart muttered what my head had refused to admit: "This isn’t it. None of this is it."

Wrestling with Old Habits (And Not Always Winning)

Breaking up with the Southern Belle idea? That was harder than quitting sweet tea, bless it. The people-pleasing tendency ran deep, tangled up in cultural pride, politeness, and years of feeling like love meant molding myself into whatever my partner needed.

At first, I felt like I was fighting a hydra—chop off one bad habit, and three more popped up. I’d tell myself it was okay to take up space, but then I’d apologize to strangers for...existing? Standing up for myself felt like walking barefoot on Montgomery asphalt in July: painful but worth it. And let me tell you, growing out of this mindset wasn’t cute or Instagrammable. It was messy, vulnerable work.

I had to learn how to love the sound of my own voice instead of lowering its volume. I had to say goodbye to relationships where I bent until I nearly broke. I had to get comfortable with being “too much” for some people and just enough for me.

Here’s What Helped

If you’re nodding along because you’ve felt this too, you’re not alone. (And girl, I’m saving you a seat at brunch.) Everyone’s fight is a little different, but here’s what helped me get out the other side:

  1. Ask, "Is this me?"
    Before making a decision or expressing an opinion, pause and ask: “Am I saying/doing/choosing this because it’s who I am, or because I think it’s what someone else expects?” If you don’t know, give yourself time to find out. That pause works wonders.

  2. Pledge Allegiance to Boundaries
    Boundaries aren’t rude; they’re respect in action. For me, that meant learning how to say, “No thanks,” or better yet, “No, and I don’t have to explain myself.” Trust me, the first time you do this, you’ll feel like Beyoncé emerging from smoke. Keep practicing—it gets easier.

  3. Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable
    The truth? The path to authenticity isn’t all mason-jar sunsets and good hair days. It's awkward, messy, and often lonely at first while you’re figuring out what fits and what doesn’t. That discomfort means you’re growing. Stick with it.

  4. Find Mirrors, Not Critics
    Surround yourself with people who reflect the best version of you instead of pointing out supposed flaws. Friends who cheer you on for saying, “Actually, I hate guacamole, and that’s my truth,” matter more than dozens who just nod and stay silent.

  5. Remember Your Why
    Remind yourself what’s at stake if you don’t start fighting for who you are. For me, it wasn’t just about improving relationships with partners—it was about becoming someone I recognized and respected. That kind of love starts with you.

Letting Humidity Make You Shine

Here's the thing: Humidity might cling, but it also makes the South’s landscapes lush, vibrant, and alive. My private struggle was like Montgomery heat—it stretched me thin, sat heavy on my chest, and forced me to confront the things holding me back. But fighting through it made me stronger. Breaking old patterns, even when they feel as familiar as a grandmother’s living room, can set you free.

Now, I’m no longer eating brunch with people like Greg, wondering how much of myself I need to hide to make them stay. Instead, I’ve found joy in showing up as the root-deep, sometimes-too-much, but always-honest me.

If you’re battling something similar, know this: You are worth sweating through the discomfort of finding yourself. The fight isn’t just worth it; it’s necessary. And when the storm clears, you’ll finally see the landscape you were meant to inhabit all along—uncharted, unapologetic, and unmistakably yours.