What It Means to Love and Loathe Your Hometown

I have a confession: I’ve always had complicated feelings about D.C. Growing up in Northeast Washington, the city felt like both a loving parent and an overly critical coach. It was the place that nurtured me but also insisted I "do better, run faster, and shake it off" even when things got rough. And, like many relationships, my connection with home oscillates between gratitude and frustration.

Let me be clear—I love where I come from. But sometimes, when the pothole-ridden streets of D.C. get one too many side-eyes from me or when I hear tourists call Ben's Chili Bowl “overrated” (blasphemy, by the way), I have this visceral need to escape.

Let’s dive into the love/hate dynamic many of us share with our hometowns. Because, much like a tricky relationship, sometimes we don’t appreciate where we’re from until we’ve left—or until we’re forced to explain to someone why yes, Mumbo Sauce is essential even if we don't know all the ingredients.

Home Is Where the Heartbreak Is

There’s something about the streets you grew up on that hits differently when you get older. As a kid, walking to Lincoln Heights with my cousins felt like an adventure laced with the smell of fried whiting and fresh-cut grass in the summer heat. But as an adult? Sometimes those same streets feel heavy. Like memories wrapped in nostalgia that you didn’t ask to revisit.

First crushes happened here. Awkward group outings to the movie theater at Union Station (back before it got revamped) happened here. First arguments happened too—like the time my boy Will and I almost threw hands over whether Chuck Brown was internationally known or just a local gem (spoiler alert: Chuck is global).

It’s weird how your hometown retains the residue of every relationship you’ve ever had—romantic or platonic. You can’t pass the basketball court without revisiting the time you fumbled asking that girl to prom. You can’t go to that corner store without seeing an old neighbor who still calls you your childhood nickname (for me, it’s “Lil C,” and yes, it still makes me cringe).

D.C. taught me that proximity to people doesn’t always mean deeper connections. That’s a lesson most of us wrestle with in relationships, isn’t it? You can live on the same block as someone for years and not truly know them. This city can sometimes feel like that—like a familiar stranger.

But Home Will Also Ride for You

Here’s where the pendulum swings. For every pothole in this city, there’s also pride. Real pride. Washington D.C. ain’t just a postcard of cherry blossoms and the National Mall. It’s the heartbeat of go-go music, the legacy of Marion Barry, and the spirit of tight-knit communities that won’t let anyone talk slick about where we’re from.

I think about the stubborn resilience built into D.C., especially in neighborhoods like mine. My parents were immigrants from Jamaica who worked tirelessly in an expensive city because they believed D.C. could provide their kids a better life. That mattered. My father poured his sweat into construction projects like his life depended on it—because for him, it did. My mom worked double shifts as a nurse, her accent cutting through every room with its distinct cadence.

When I went off to Georgetown and later to Harvard, people asked, “How’d you end up there?” Uh, because my hometown raised me to be both scrappy and resourceful. You learn that kind of grit when your dad has you painting fences in 95-degree heat before school starts or your uncle teaches you how to haggle down fruit prices at Eastern Market.

That’s the kind of unconditional love your hometown provides. It’s not always a warm embrace—it’s more of a stern, hands-on-hips “You got this, now go make us proud.”

The Shades of Complicated Love

If D.C. were a person, it’d be that Aries friend who’s unapologetically themselves—loud, vibrant, and a little too blunt sometimes. You love them, but they test you on the daily. That’s also what relationships feel like, right?

When I lived in Boston, my friends couldn’t understand my wistful tone whenever I talked about home. “But isn’t D.C. super expensive?” one guy asked, as if Boston’s rent prices weren’t out here fighting for gold in the ‘Ridiculous Costs’ Olympics. He wasn’t wrong, though. Living here isn’t easy—and that’s part of the tension.

You know how in dating, you have that one messy ex who stays on your mind—even when you know they’ve stressed you out to the point of eating an obscene amount of Ben & Jerry’s? D.C. is my messy ex, except I keep going back because I know it’s got unmatched potential.

Cities like D.C. force you to accept imperfection—whether it’s the gentrification battles (an entire article for another day) or the fact that parking will always require both divine intervention and a Ouija board. But in life and in love, you learn that choosing something (or someone) despite its flaws is its own form of growth.

What Your Hometown Teaches You About Relationships

If I’ve learned anything from navigating both my city and my love life, it’s this: there’s a lesson in everything, even the things that annoy you.

  • Appreciation Takes Time: Whether it’s a city or a partner, things may not always feel dreamy and magical. Loving something—or someone—often requires seeing them at their worst and deciding it’s still worth it.
  • You Have to Give to Get: D.C. gives what you put into it. If you don’t dive into its culture, its soul, and its quirks, you’ll miss out. Relationships are the same. Complaining about them isn’t a substitute for actively working on them.
  • Respect Your History: Every brick in D.C. holds history—and so does every one of your relationships. Don’t dismiss those experiences just because they didn’t end the way you wanted. There’s beauty in looking back and recognizing how far you’ve come.

Closing the Circle

As much as I gripe about the traffic or how gentrification changes the culture faster than I can keep up, I know D.C. will always feel like home. Its resilience is my resilience. Its warmth—yes, even when delivered with sass—is my warmth.

So, if you’re out there trying to reconcile your own feelings about where you grew up, don’t shy away from the discomfort. Lean into it. Whether your hometown feels like a gentle breeze or a stubborn storm, it shapes who you are. The love and hate can coexist. And when the balance feels just right, you’ll realize that home—and the relationships tied to it—was what you needed all along.

Coexisting with my hometown has taught me more about connection than I’d have ever guessed. And if that’s not worth embracing, potholes and all, then what is?