As a lifelong Georgian now living under a six-week abortion ban, I often feel like the South is written off as a lost cause when it comes to social justice issues, or that we’re full of bigots who want to watch the world burn. Neither are exactly true.

I recently had the pleasure of joining Amplify Georgia and SPARK Reproductive Justice NOW at the Georgia Capitol to introduce new legislation demanding accountability from anti-abortion pregnancy centers as part of their Fake Clinics Suck campaign. This involved speaking with legislators (both the bill sponsors and likely opponents) and joining a press conference to highlight the importance of laws to regulate the anti-abortion pregnancy center industry in our state. As someone newer to the activism and advocacy spaces, I was incredibly nervous about speaking with legislators who oppose abortion. What would they say? Would they even want to hear me out?

I’m faced with this sort of dilemma more often than I’d like. Growing up religious and in a conservative home in the South, I’m no stranger to being the only one in my social circles who supports abortion or opposes anti-abortion pregnancy centers. People I know well are active in anti-abortion spaces and very vocal about their beliefs. Over the years, I’ve found myself straying away from speaking about my efforts to combat anti-abortion pregnancy centers and the anti-abortion movement at large out of fear of being labeled “difficult” or “combative.” I do this despite intuitively knowing that I deserve to be heard, despite knowing that my silence helps no one. My fear is both a valid response to my environment and something I’m working to challenge.

Joining this legislative advocacy day was the start of this process for me. While individuals can also request to speak with their legislators, my nerves were seriously appeased by being part of an organized group of reproductive justice advocates, many of whom had lobbied before. Together, we reviewed major talking points, simulated meeting with our legislators, and shared why we care about fighting anti-abortion pregnancy centers.

Even then, I was still nervous once we arrived at the Capitol. When I submitted that lobbying slip to my anti-abortion legislator, I braced myself for all the potential clapbacks they would have for the very real truths I was about to spill about anti-abortion pregnancy centers. I still wondered if it was worth arguing with someone whose mind would likely remain unchanged about these harmful, deceptive centers. I wondered how I’d even measure whether I’d succeeded or failed in my lobbying efforts.

While my own legislators did not end up coming out to speak with me (we weren’t told why they didn’t meet with us), I got to thank the few but incredibly passionate supporters of the anti-abortion pregnancy center accountability bills. I got to observe as one of my fellow advocates went back and forth with a legislator who denied that anti-abortion pregnancy centers often perform ultrasounds without being licensed medical clinics or without licensed staff. I got to be part of the team of advocates, armed in truth and fact, who explained why legislation to defund and regulate anti-abortion pregnancy centers is necessary, especially in a state with some of the most abysmal maternal mortality rates in the country. Whether or not we changed our opponents’ minds, we exercised our right as their constituents to speak about what matters to us. These bills, even if they never make it to committee or ever pass, are a proclamation that Georgians won’t accept deception under the guise of health care.

This experience taught me how to lobby, but my greatest takeaway had nothing to do with the process at all. I realized that I was so worried about making a fool out of myself that I didn’t see the real success was in the showing up. By showing up, I met a coalition of Georgians from all over the state who, like me, had also grown up in Georgia public schools, with conservative parents, or in religions that oppose abortion, yet we learned to fight for what we believe in anyway, even if it made us different. We’ve gone on to become birth workers, clinic escorts, researchers, organizers, law students and faith leaders. We support each other despite our state’s restrictive abortion ban and the many other barriers to care. It is our resilience and resourcefulness that makes me proud to be a Georgian.