By Hannah Cedars
There’s a strange truth you don’t see when you’re young.
You only learn it after years of living, trying, failing, rebuilding, and watching people react to you in ways you never expected:
The Lesson: Not every community celebrates improvement.
Some resent it.
Some punish it.
And some rise with it.
I’ve lived in both worlds — places where beauty is admired and appreciated, and places where simply pulling weeds or repainting a porch can make people glare as if you’ve insulted them. Over time, after watching both the mountain hollers and the city streets change, I started to understand the deeper psychology behind pride, appearance, and community spirit… and why the reactions to your hard work can be so drastically different depending on where you are.
This is the lesson no one prepared me for.
When Pride Lifts a Community
There was a time — and many of you reading this will remember it — when pride wasn’t a luxury. It was a way of life.
Front porches were swept every morning.
Laundry was white as snow because Grandma scrubbed the collars by hand.
Cars were washed in the yard every Saturday.
Barns were painted every few years whether they needed it or not.
And spring cleaning wasn’t a suggestion — it was a ritual.
Families washed walls from ceiling to floor.
We cleaned out every drawer, every closet, every shed.
And after all that scrubbing, folks held yard sales as if it was a community event written into the calendar.
That pride wasn’t about money.
It wasn’t about impressing anyone.
It was about respect — for your home, your neighbors, your family, and your own reflection.
Everyone contributed.
Everyone cared.
Everyone lifted each other up simply by taking care of what was theirs.
And when someone built a nicer fence or planted flowers or bought a new tractor, the neighbors didn’t resent it.
They admired it.
It gave them inspiration. It made them stand a little taller. It encouraged the next person to try just a little harder.
Because the community was rising together.
When Improvement Becomes a Threat
But the reaction isn’t the same everywhere.
There are places — and I have lived there too — where improvement triggers resentment instead of admiration.
You clean up a property…
You fix a fence…
You repaint a barn…
You mow straight lines into your yard…
…and suddenly people start treating you like you think you’re better than them.
You’re not trying to outdo anyone.
You’re not showing off.
You’re simply caring — exactly the way the older generations taught us.
But in some neighborhoods, effort becomes a mirror.
And when people look into that mirror and see what they aren’t doing, they don’t like the reflection.
So instead of stepping up…
They tear down.
This doesn’t happen in communities where pride is normal.
It happens in communities where pride has died.
Living in Both Worlds Taught Me the Hardest Lesson
When you improve a property in a struggling area, you think:
“People will appreciate this.
It’ll make the road look nicer.
It’ll raise the spirits around here.”
But what often happens instead is:
“Who do they think they are?”
“You’re showing us up.”
“She must have money.”
“They should’ve left it the way it was.”
Same action — different setting.
Then you take that SAME level of effort to a neighborhood full of well-kept homes and manicured lawns, and the response is completely different:
“Thank you for restoring that property.”
“It makes the whole road look better.”
“You’re adding so much value to the area.”
“We appreciate the work you’re putting in.”
Why?
Because in places where pride is the standard, your improvement aligns with the community.
In places where pride has been lost, your improvement threatens the community.
Not because of you — but because it shines a light on neglect people have grown comfortable ignoring.
Where Did Our Pride Go?
The decline didn’t happen overnight.
It came slowly:
• Two working parents with no time to maintain a home
• Grandparents no longer living next door
• Spring cleaning forgotten
• Fast food replacing family dinners
• Divorce becoming common
• Discipline disappearing in schools and homes
• Homes built cheaper, faster, flimsier
• Communities losing their sense of togetherness
• Appearance labeled as vanity instead of respect
• Families scattered and disconnected
• Cities overwhelmed and understaffed
• “Just getting by” replacing “doing your best”
And the saddest loss of all —
the grandparent generation that used to tie every family together is nearly gone.
They were the keepers of pride.
The maintainers of order. Back then people stayed active into their latter years but today, it seems so many suffer illnesses and don’t have the abilities that our elders had back then… They stayed active cooking & working around the house.
Our grandma’s were the ones who taught us to scrub a white shirt until it glowed. This memory belongs to every family of every color that once took deep pride in housekeeping and appearance. Our grandmas all knew how to make something bright, clean, loved, and cared for.
Pride is about culture and character.
Will the World Ever Restore Its Pride?
Sometimes I drive down the road and cry — genuinely cry — for what my grandchildren will never see:
🌿 Residential streets with clipped grass and fresh paint.
Highways and state/county roads well maintained and mowed.
🌿 Town squares overflowing with baskets of petunias
🌿 Children dressed in their best clothes and shoes on Sunday
🌿 Neighbors waving across clean white fences
🌿 Homes cared for with quiet dignity
🌿 Lawns that reflect love instead of neglect
🌿 Families sitting around the dinner table
🌿 Grandparents raising the next generation with wisdom
🌿 A world where “pride” wasn’t arrogance — it was responsibility
The older I get, the more I realize that pride isn’t a luxury.
It’s a lifeline.
It gives people:
• self-respect
• motivation
• dignity
• hope
• community
• and beauty to wake up to each day
We didn’t lose pride because we stopped caring.
We lost pride because we stopped being taught how to care.
Why I’m Writing This Now
Because there are people out there — maybe you’re one of them — trying to restore a little corner of the world.
Trying to make a home beautiful.
Trying to plant flowers where weeds have taken over.
Trying to build something meaningful in a place that’s forgotten how to appreciate effort.
And I want you to know:
You’re not wrong.
You’re not “too much.”
You’re not the problem.
You are the antidote.
Some places will celebrate you.
Some will resent you.
But don’t let either outcome change who you are.
Because pride — real, humble, soul-level pride —
is one of the last gifts we can give the world.
And it starts with one home, one yard, one person, one act of care…
right where you are.