“Home is where one starts from.” - T.S. Elliot

When people ask where I’m from, I’m always proud to say that my start began in Huntington, West Virginia.

I didn’t always feel that way—partially because I was too young to reflect on where I came from, and partially became I blindly succumbed to the wrongful trend of negativity surrounding our state. I get it: job opportunity isn’t the best and, as a progressive, conservatism and resistance to change within the state can feel overpowering. But every place in the world is imperfect and those imperfections shouldn’t give us license to abandon the community that raised us.

I grew up in the West End of Huntington with two loving parents and a neighborhood full of people who let me run up and down their porches. Every night, as I’m reminded, I made my parents take me up and down the street to pick up slugs and worms while wearing a flashlight on my head. We could walk down the block to our local gas station and get something cold to drink, or go the opposite way and play on our local elementary school playground. Looking back, our neighborhood was the definition of a quaint, middle class community. Today, not as much. The quality of the houses has gone down, drugs are more prevalent, and possessions aren’t always safe from thieves. But when I went door-to-door there in 2014, people I barely recognized greeted me with excitement, saying how much I’ve grown up. Others embraced me and said how proud they were that I was working in politics. Through economic and social strife, that sense of love and community is still there, just like it is in all of West Virginia. We shouldn't’ give up on it.

People who know me are probably a little sick of me talking about the sense of community at Marshall, but it’s something that shouldn’t go understated. Just like Huntington helped raised me, Marshall turned me into a confident adult. As a kid, I never thought I’d belong anywhere. I was the weird girl on the playground with the buckteeth who had no idea how to interact with the people around me. A large part of me still sees myself as that little girl. But another part of me can see how far I’ve come. I look around at all the people around me who not only accept me, but support my passions, encourage me to become a better leader, push me to take opportunities, make me laugh, and allow me to refine my already-questionable sense of humor. I know not everyone has been as lucky as I am, but when I hear people desperate to “get out,” I wonder why they can’t see what I see. It makes me sad every time.

If we leave every place that’s flawed, where will we have left to go?

One time, I was doing a mock interview and in response to a line of questions about I didn’t want to leave the region for grad school, I finally responded “this is home.” Afterward, some panelists advised against that phrase, saying that I seemed scared and closed off to new experiences. Another defended me, saying that I showed emotion and consistency with my interests. While everyone on that panel was brilliant, I stand by my answer. The problem isn’t that no one wants to leave, it’s that few want to stay—not just within the boundaries of West Virginia but within Appalachia as a whole.

Yes, loving something that is imperfect breaks your heart a little, but West Virginia raised me, and continues to educate me and give me a home. For that, I’m forever thankful.