From the Eye of the Storm.
Allow me to reintroduce myself.
Hi y’all—I’m Southern Peanut, and I am a Leader.
I say that now proudly, with conviction, because it is not a persona I created to please those around me like I believed for so many years, but one that was forged over a long-burning fire that never quit smoldering, long after the flames had died down.
Time and time again, I emerged poised and “unbothered” in the face of the largest storms I had ever endured—storms that came from the darkest and loudest places in my own mind.
I was raised Southern.
I was raised Northern.
Half and half.
My mother was Northern—
and that’s where the fire comes from.
Where she taught me I had great triumphs,
my Southern roots sometimes taught me those same things could be seen as weakness.
And somewhere in that tension,
the masking began.
A bright, blue-eyed, blonde-haired little girl
who knew she was different—
just too young to understand what that would cost her.
She learned quickly that bravery and curiosity
weren’t always met with kindness.
Sometimes they were met with words that stung,
and looks that tried—without much effort—
to dim a light she didn’t even realize she carried yet.
Some three decades into her life, after a long and lonely journey,
she began to understand the words her mother spoke to her when she was little:
“What others think of you is none of your business, baby girl.”
They were more true than she ever could have imagined.
And they became part of what gave her the strength
to stand up,
to swallow the darkness for good,
and remain the light she was born to be.
I love the South—
as much as, if not more than, anyone.
I love the charm.
But let’s be honest…
sometimes it’s a bit fake.
And I believed in the good in people so deeply
that I blocked my own ability
to see what wasn’t good—
or what wasn’t real.
Once I was grown, I learned quickly
that the behavior I accepted
in relationships, friendships, and even within my own family
wasn’t normal.
And something in me shifted.
Not small.
Not quiet.
A global shift.
The kind that shakes everything loose
when you decide to stop carrying
what was never yours in the first place.
It terrified my parents.
It fueled the rumor mill.
And it left me feeling like I was treading water…
close enough to see land, but not close enought to reach it.
And somewhere in that - right before drowning - I remembered…
Don’t Fight, Just Float.
That shift—
as uncomfortable, terrifying, vulnerable, honest, ugly, and freeing as it was—
became the most important thing I have ever done.
It cost me almost everything.
And I kept going anyway.
Lantern in hand.
No directions.
No guidebook.
Just forward.
I decided I could be a Boss
and a good person—
someone who makes mistakes,
someone who feels deeply—
and I didn’t care if it was the last thing I ever proved.
I was Freddie’s daughter—dammit.
And that meant something.
But I’ve learned he wasn’t the only hero I had.
I was raised in a melting pot of stories,
backgrounds,
and unconditional love.
So really—
I am just Southern Peanut.
A southern woman taught to bat my eyes & use my manners.
Raised by a no nonsense blue collar turned white collar daddy who’s presence alone demanded a room and a fiercely independent and assertive mother who was ahead of her time and a force to be reckoned with in her own right.
Being in a room with them was like lightning in a beautiful kind of way, being the product of that kind of energy sets a precedent I was not fully aware of until my thirties.
The girl sent to make an honest man out of the devil himself.
A woman who questions.
Who pushes.
Who was never meant to stay inside the lines drawn for her.
Raised to be polite—
but born to challenge.
And now…
I’m finally putting pen to paper
on everything Southern Peanut is.
A boss lady,
busting at the seams,
breaking norms,
and calling out what isn’t right—
one story at a time
from a 100-year-old home in Lower Alabama.
If you’re here,
pull up a chair,
You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.
Welcome to the porch,
Stay a while.
Signing Off,
Southern Peanut