If you’re from the South, you already know this:
hot mess is practically a term of endearment.

We use it for everything.
The kitchen.
The schedule.
Our hair.
Life in general.

For a long time, I used that phrase to describe myself — and honestly, it felt funny. Relatable. Almost comforting. Like a way to laugh through the chaos instead of crying in the bathroom.

And for a season, that worked.

But here I am, three years later, rereading something I wrote back then — and I can’t help but smile.

Because now I see it clearly.

Hot mess was never the problem.
Using it as a weapon against myself was.

Somewhere along the way, what started as a lighthearted Southern phrase turned into an identity I kept handing myself over and over again. I wasn’t just having messy days — I was the mess. And the more I said it, the more normal it felt to stay there.

Funny how that works.

What I’ve learned since then is this:
The words we use about ourselves matter more than we think — even the ones we say jokingly.

Calling myself a hot mess gave me permission to stay overwhelmed, inconsistent, and stuck. It softened the discomfort of patterns I was actually ready to outgrow. It made self-criticism feel casual instead of something to question.

And eventually, I realized… I didn’t live there anymore.

Not because my life became perfect (far from it), but because I had grown.

I was learning how to notice my thoughts instead of being run by them.
I was caring for my body instead of punishing it.
I was leading myself with more intention and a whole lot more grace.

That’s not a hot mess.
That’s a woman becoming aware.

These days, I can still laugh and say, “Well, that was a hot mess,” when the moment calls for it — because humor is healthy and life is still life. But I no longer wear it as a label.

I don’t speak over myself with language that keeps me small.

I choose words that reflect where I’m going, not just where I’ve been.

And here’s the thing I want you to hear clearly:
Not calling yourself a hot mess doesn’t mean you think you’re above the struggle. It means you’re no longer using self-ridicule as a coping mechanism.

It means you’re ready to lead yourself differently.

I don’t call myself the Hot Mess Express anymore because I’ve learned this:

You don’t abandon the old train.
You rebuild it.

And rebuilding takes clarity, patience, faith, and compassion — not shame disguised as humor.

So if you’ve ever called yourself a hot mess, especially with a little Southern flair and a half-smile, just know this:

There is nothing wrong with you.

But you may be ready for new language.
New rhythms.
And a way of speaking to yourself that honors who you’re becoming.

And when you are — I’ll be right here, probably laughing with you, not at you.

With love,
Karen