People often talk about getting out of their small towns. There’s this unspoken message that you haven’t “made it” until you leave for somewhere bigger and better. I remember feeling that pressure at twenty—that if I stayed put, I was somehow settling.
But the older I get, the more I realize it doesn’t get much better than small-town life.
The Pressure to Leave
I get why so many young people feel the pull to move on. When you’re twenty, the world feels wide open, and small towns can feel confining. I thought “making it” meant going somewhere else, somewhere with bigger opportunities, shinier things, and endless options.
But over time, I’ve learned that what looked small from the outside actually holds everything I need on the inside.
Redefining “Better”
Better, I’ve realized, doesn’t have to mean busier. It doesn’t have to mean more expensive or more competitive. Better can look like mountains on the horizon, dirt roads after the rain, the slower rhythm of life that gives you room to breathe.
This past weekend reminded me of that. Colin marched in the sweetest little parade with his soccer team. It wasn’t about trophies or scholarships—it was about kids in jerseys waving at their families, playing for the joy of being together. That’s the kind of “better” I want my kids to grow up with: joy that isn’t measured by performance, but by belonging.
Raising Kids in the Town I Once Wanted to Leave
It’s funny how full circle life can be. I don’t live in the same small town I grew up in, but we chose to build our home in one just like it. It’s the kind of place where the school may not have state-winning test scores (though we love our teachers and school so much!), and where next to mountain view-top-dollar homes you’ll find an old farmhouse that’s falling apart or a double-wide trailer. Where blue-collar folks are doing their best to get by. And yet, it feels exactly right.
Take Lyla, for example. She hit her back handspring out on the trampoline this week, and when I shared the video with her coaches, they celebrated her so hard. They know her personally, and her peers do as well. Yes, her gym competes across the state and wins, but what matters most is the culture inside those walls. She gets to grow up in a space where her effort and spirit are just as important as the medal count.
My kids don’t need designer clothes to feel like they fit in here. Their classmates have more, and many have less, and they know that’s not what defines a person. Instead, they’re learning that kindness, effort, and who you are to your community matter so much more.
The Pressure of “Better Parenting”
Somewhere along the way, “better” became tied to parenting, too. Are our kids in the best schools? Are they on the most competitive teams? Are they spending their childhood perfecting skills that will look good on paper someday?
It can feel like our worth as parents is measured by our kids’ résumés. If we’re not chasing elite programs or stacking every opportunity, are we somehow failing them?
But small-town life has taught me something different. Childhood doesn’t have to be about building a résumé—it can be about building character. It can be about learning teamwork on the team with kids who have barely played the sport, finding confidence on a trampoline in the backyard, or resilience in a gym where coaches cheer because they truly know you.
And honestly, that feels like the kind of “better” that lasts.
The Slower Pace as a Gift
Life here isn’t perfect, but it is slower. Slower mornings on the porch with coffee. Slower evenings where kids can chase fireflies, or drive around on four-wheelers and farm equipment. There’s space to roam, space to breathe, space to grow.
Sometimes people think small towns mean fewer opportunities, but I see it differently. They offer opportunities of a different kind—the kind that don’t always fit neatly on a résumé but shape a life: knowing your neighbors, being grounded in nature, learning resilience in a community that values heart over flash.
Coming Home to Myself
The truth is, I had to grow older to see the beauty in what was right in front of me. Maybe that’s how it works: sometimes you need to feel the pull to leave before you realize what it means to stay.
For me, “making it” isn’t about moving away. It’s about planting roots where my family can thrive. It’s about raising kids who know they are enough, who don’t measure themselves by what they own, but by who they are.
And for me, that will always mean choosing small town living.
Heart & Home 
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