I lost my identity for a long time after we moved to Georgia. It was immediately obvious that I didn't fit in with my new environment. Among the more genteel, upper-crust Southerners, I was regarded as a blunt and unrefined Yankee. Southern women usually aren't seen in public unless their hair and make-up are perfect and their nails are done, whereas I'm a jeans and T-shirt, go-as-you-are kind of girl. Southern ladies sugarcoat everything they say, believing that even insults are OK as long as the heart is blessed: "She's probably gained 20 pounds in the last few months, bless her heart." I've never blessed anyone's heart in my life.
Among the rednecks, I'm seen as a bleeding-heart, slightly hippie-ish liberal. The sight of a pick-up with a gun rack in the back window, a Confederate flag waving from the roof, and a freshly shot deer in the truck bed offends my sensibilities; I can't help but cringe. I'm also viewed as a California sprout-eating, bicycle riding health nut by the tobacco-chewing crowd. I'm a Yankee transplanted to the Bible Belt, and I haven't been allowed to forget that fact for one minute. I've often wondered if Southerners realize that the term Yankee isn't used anywhere else in the country!
I soon became uncomfortable in my own skin and I wasn't even sure who I was anymore. I felt I had to hide my true self from others and edit myself constantly. The Southern drawl often baffled me and left me feeling slow and stupid when I had to question someone several times about what they were asking me. I quickly learned that shopping carts are buggies in Georgia, and every soda is a Coke. Food preparation is completely different and I got lots of funny looks from waitresses when I'd ask about the ingredients in Brunswick stew, or request baked chicken instead of fried. And who knew you had to specifically order "unsweet tea" unless you're into drinking syrup?
Religion is everywhere and is no longer a private matter as it was back home. In the South, people attend church twice a week, God is still in the schools and at all public functions, and there are more churches per square mile here than any other place I've ever seen. They all have those signs with the moveable letters, saying delightful things like, "Dusty Bibles Lead to Dirty Lives." Not being a particularly religious person, I had to learn to think fast when I was asked what church I belong to, which happens here just about as often as I'm asked my name.
My career identity was compromised when I moved to Georgia--there were no publishing houses in Macon nor any large companies with their own publications departments. My first job in Georgia ended up being in the office of an elementary school, where I felt like a fish out of water. The dress code was quite conservative and even my wardrobe was suddenly very inappropriate. I ended up buying a couple pairs of "sensible" loafer-type shoes, a couple of long to-the-ankle, button-up-the-front jumpers, one olive green and one navy blue (very popular among the teachers), and even a Vera Bradley purse--you know, those frumpy, quilted, flowered cloth bags that look like they'd appeal only to elderly women. Not so--apparently all Southern women love those shapeless bags! I didn't even look like the same person anymore.
It's taken me a long time to find myself again, and I'm still not 100% there yet. I've had to learn the art of sticking up for my own viewpoints without offending those around me. I've had to learn that it's OK to be true to myself without trying to blend in. I've finally learned to answer the "What church to you belong to?" question by answering, "I believe in the Golden Rule." Most people simply smile and tell me they believe in it too. I figure those who raise their eyebrows or give me a strange look in return aren't worth worrying about. It's been time-consuming to find compatible people with similar beliefs and interests as mine, but they do exist. Even in the Bible Belt in middle Georgia.
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