Latest news with #SouthernVoices'
Style Blueprint
11-07-2025
- Lifestyle
- Style Blueprint
Decorating with Family Heirlooms: My Path to Processing Loss
Share with your friends! Pinterest LinkedIn Email Flipboard Reddit 'Southern Voices' is a reader-submitted series. Today's personal essay comes from Brittany Shepard of The Sentimental Decorator, where she shares the art of sentimental style through home decor tips, family heirlooms, and rituals for joyful living. ********** I never expected grief to show up in the china cabinet. At first, it came in waves, the quiet kind. A flash of memory while folding linens. A lump in my throat when I unpacked the holiday dishes. After my mother passed away, I felt adrift in a sea of belongings that had once felt so anchored in her presence. What do you do when the people who made a house a home are gone, but their things are still with you? For me, the answer was both practical and sacred: I started decorating. Not decorating in the glossy, Pinterest-perfect sense. There was no mood board. No rush to 'finish a room.' Just a quiet desire to keep her near. To give her things a place. To give me a place, really. At the time, I was living alone in a little 1956 cottage, far from the life I thought I'd be living in my thirties. There was no husband to help carry the emotional weight, no children to center holiday traditions around. Just me, my mother's sweet dog, and a whole lot of heartache. But what I did have was a house, a blank canvas, and a growing collection of heirlooms tucked away in boxes. My mama had a talent for creating warmth. She made even the most ordinary day feel like a celebration. I didn't realize how much I'd absorbed from her until I began to unpack her treasured collections. They weren't just objects. They were stories. Stories of her. Stories of me. Of holidays spent crowded around the table, of laughter echoing from the kitchen, and of traditions she carried out and held so dear. I couldn't bear to let those memories collect dust, so I started styling vignettes. Little moments of beauty on shelves, mantels, and side tables. And each one was anchored by something of hers. A framed photo of her as a child, smiling with a bow in her hair. A Jim Shore bunny figurine that she adored. Her Longaberger basket collection, now displayed in my kitchen like still-life art. With every object I placed, I felt like I was building a bridge between what was and what could still be. It wasn't just her things I incorporated. I found myself drawn to vintage stores and estate sales, searching for pieces that reminded me of the women who raised me — a dish pattern like my grandmother's, a set of brass quails like the ones I used to play with in my great aunt's living room. These 'adopted heirlooms,' as I've come to call them, carry a quiet familiarity. They feel like home. What surprised me most was how the process didn't just soothe my grief; it helped me reclaim my voice. For the first time, I wasn't trying to decorate a home to impress anyone or to look like what I saw in the latest magazine. I wasn't waiting to be married or to move into my 'forever house.' I was creating beauty just for me. Making space for memory, for healing, for joy. And in the quiet of those decorating moments, when the house was still and the light came in just so, I began to feel something I hadn't felt in a long time: peace. Now, years later, 'sentimental style' is the very foundation of my home. Even though I'm not in that little cottage anymore, I've carried what I learned during that time of grief with me. I'm in another 1950s charmer that I've gotten to personalize with sentiment and stories. The kitchen cabinet hardware is leftovers from when my parents built our home in the early nineties. The dining room chandelier, table, and chairs are the same combination that hosted many family dinners at my grandparents' house. The guest room's twin antique bedroom set is the same beds I had in my room as a child. It's not perfect. It doesn't follow trends. But every room tells a story, and every shelf holds a connection. There's comfort in knowing that even though I lost my mother, I didn't lose everything. Her legacy lives on in the rituals I keep, the meals I serve, the way I fluff the throw pillows and light a candle at the end of the day. Grief has no roadmap. But for me, decorating became a quiet kind of therapy. A way to move through sorrow with intention, tenderness, and just a little bit of Southern charm. I will never stop missing her. She was my best friend, after all. But now, when I look around my home, I don't feel the ache of what I've lost. I feel the richness of what remains. I see my mama everywhere — in her antique settees that I had reupholstered. In the brass candlesticks I use on my Christmas table. In the chinoiserie vases I dry my limelights in every year. And in that same sweet pup that still sits by my side. If you have a story of your own to tell, you can find the guidelines for Southern Voices submission HERE. ********** Discover more amazing Southern people and places. Follow us on Instagram! About the Author Brittany Shepard
Style Blueprint
03-07-2025
- Style Blueprint
Jason Vaughn of 'Fat Tested Travel' on Overcoming His Fear of Roller Coasters
Share with your friends! Pinterest LinkedIn Email Flipboard Reddit 'Southern Voices' is a reader-submitted series. This personal essay — 'The Ride That Didn't Fit' — comes from roller coaster enthusiast Jason Vaughn of Fat Tested Travel. If you have a story to tell, see our guidelines for submission here. We love to hear about your wildly wonderful, challenging, captivating (and sometimes Southern-centric) experiences! ********** Growing up in South Carolina, Carowinds was our park — the place every kid in the Carolinas begged to visit. I have happy memories there as a little boy, especially of that log flume ride that splashed you just enough to feel like a daredevil. But right next to that ride was a roller coaster. And that one … well, that one stayed with me for all the wrong reasons. I've been a bigger kid since around age six. In kindergarten, I was a skinny little blond thing. By second grade, that changed. I remember getting on that roller coaster, pulling down the bar, and it wouldn't lock. I don't remember what the ride was called. I just remember the bar not closing, the ride not starting, and the silence that felt like screaming. I had to do what's known as the 'walk of shame'— getting off while everyone else watched. Were they really laughing? Probably not. But that's the story I told myself. And those stories … they stick harder than the facts. I didn't set foot in another theme park for over 20 years. I kept telling myself, When I lose the weight, I'll finally go to Disney. I never lost the weight. After COVID, I was the heaviest I'd ever been. Depressed, stuck, watching the world pass by through a window. And then, I found Pammie Plus Parks on YouTube — a plus-size woman calmly walking people through what to expect at Disney: which rides fit, which didn't. And just like that, a little door cracked open. I had a trip to Fort Lauderdale already planned. I decided to detour through Orlando. I didn't fly (I wasn't ready to ask for a seatbelt extender yet), but I drove to Animal Kingdom. And that's where I faced my fear: Expedition Everest. I got in. Pulled the bar down. Expected to be asked to get off. Instead, the cast member checked it, nodded, and moved right along. I gasped. I smiled. I held on for dear life. I was terrified. And I was free. When I got off the ride, a woman approached me and asked if that had been my first time. I told her it was my first coaster in over two decades. She said she could tell — said she'd seen the on-ride photo with her kids and saw me behind them, smiling like someone who'd just won the lottery. She was right; I was hooked. Within six months, I'd gone to Disney three more times, got an annual pass, and — as a joke — started posting 'fat testing' videos on TikTok. A week later, I had 10,000 followers. Turns out, I wasn't the only one wondering what rides would fit and whether it was worth going. Now, I've got more than 360,000 followers across my platforms, I became a travel agent, and I get messages every day from people saying, 'You gave me the courage to go.' The ones that hit me hardest? The moms. The ones who've made excuses for years about why they couldn't take their kids to Disney … until now. Yes, I've lost some weight since I started, but that's not really the point. I'm just glad I got up and went. Sometimes, when you move — even if you fail — life blesses you anyway. Last year, Carowinds invited me back to film a 'Fat Tested' walk-through of the entire park. And wouldn't you know it, when I got to the spot where that old coaster once stood, it was gone. Replaced by something new. I tried it; I didn't fit. But this time? I just moved on to the next one. That's the wisdom life's been teaching me over and over: not everything will fit, and that's okay. There's always another ride around the corner. There's always joy to be found if you're willing to move forward, even a little. I used to believe I had to earn happiness by changing my body. Now I know the truth — happiness comes in all sizes. And so do people. ********** Discover more amazing Southern people and places. Follow us on Instagram! About the Author Jason Vaughn
Style Blueprint
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Style Blueprint
When Life Handed Me the Ultimate Plot Twist
Share with your friends! Pinterest LinkedIn Email Flipboard Reddit 'Southern Voices' is a reader-submitted platform. Today's submission comes from our StyleBlueprint Memphis Account Executive, Faith Pool. If you have a story to tell, see our guidelines for submission here. We love to hear about your wildly wonderful, challenging, captivating (and sometimes Southern-centric) experiences! ********** When Life Handed Me the Ultimate Plot Twist If you'd told me a few years ago that I'd be standing here, planning my dream wedding with the love of my life, I probably would've laughed — and maybe rolled my eyes. After all, my life was headed in a completely different direction, like some unwritten chapter in a novel that wasn't supposed to happen yet. I was in a season of change, ready to leave behind what no longer felt right. A friend once told me, 'Just because they're a great person doesn't mean they're your person.' That line clung to me like a song lyric stuck on repeat. You know that little voice — the one that whispers for you to take a risk? I finally listened. The next two years became all about rediscovering myself — getting comfortable with who I was, learning what I wanted, and yes, getting over Memphis. I was ready for something new, mentally preparing for life in Charlotte or Austin. Maybe Florida. New city, new me. That was the plan, right? But as fate would have it, life was about to serve me a plot twist with a side of confetti, champagne, and a little push from my friend Emily. Enter New Year's Eve at Bar Ware. The room was buzzing with excitement, a perfect snapshot of the kind of night I'd expected — just another champagne toast to a fresh start. But then, there he was. Josh. We ended up at the same place at the same time, and though neither of us expected anything more than a fun night out, Emily clearly had other plans. In true Emily fashion, she made sure Josh and I exchanged Instagram handles before the night was over. And just like that, we were both spiraling into the whirlwind of fate. Pin Fast forward to the next morning. Slightly hungover, yet still feeling bold, I slid into Josh's DMs, casually inviting him to a 'hair of the dog' brunch. What was meant to be a quick fix for the morning-after blues quickly turned into something far more interesting. That one message led to hours of FaceTime, during which Josh casually mentioned that he'd had his eye on me for a while. (Smooth, right?) By the end of the call, our first date was already on the calendar. Talk about instant chemistry. Later that week, we went on that first date, and from the moment we sat down, it just clicked. By the end of the night, we both knew this wasn't just another passing connection. This was something real. Something that felt effortless, natural, and meant to be. Both having lived in the same city for 10 years, I was shocked I had never seen Josh. After all, Memphis is small — everyone knows everyone, right? But Josh quickly informed me that, in fact, he'd seen me plenty of times. I just never acknowledged him — too busy chatting with everyone around me to notice the guy who'd been right there, waiting. And then, the plot twist. Five months later, life threw us the biggest surprise of all — we were going to be parents. Fast track much? One minute, I was plotting my escape from Memphis, and the next, I was building a future here with Josh, a future that suddenly felt exactly where I was meant to be. Pin And now? We're making it official, because when life hands you a plot twist this good, you don't think twice — you say 'yes' to forever. ********** StyleBlueprint would love to consider your story! Please see here for guidelines. About the Author Faith Pool
