Tyler E.
Photography by Cat White
If you’re reading this, risk being seen in all of your glory.
For those who know me, you already understand that I’m “Tyler from Norfolk, Virginia, the 757.” And for those who don’t, let me share: “I’m from Norfolk, Virginia, the 757.” Where I was raised has been a defining part of my identity, shaping my purpose, existence, and the intentionality behind everything I do.
In all that I do, I always attribute my success to my parents, especially my mom. Born in 1963, she was the eldest of ten and dropped out of middle school to take care of her younger siblings and mother. As the offspring of a Caucasian man and an African-American woman, she worked tirelessly to provide the best she possibly could for her children, all while enduring derogatory racial comments and derogatory comments from her siblings and others around her. My dad, whom I called “Dada” since those were my second words—the first being “Mommy,” of course—was born in 1961, the offspring of a Caucasian woman and a Jamaican father. He enlisted in the Marines and faced similar challenges to my mother. Two individuals with no formal education worked to provide what they could for me: I am the embodiment of their desires and wishes.
As a result of their burning passions, I was a hyper-vigilant kid, growing up with older parents among peers whose parents were only half, if that, of my parents' age. It was a bit weird. I always struggled to fit in and sometimes thought my racial identity set me apart from my classmates because I didn’t know where I belonged. It was incredibly difficult to fathom and express, but I came to the conclusion that I was much wiser than many of my peers, a result of having older parents. Adding to that, I was extremely introverted to the point where I’d refuse to make eye contact because I found it too intimidating to handle. However, I was always driven and empathetic to the problems and people around me. I loved it when my parents and teachers had high expectations for me—I found fulfillment once I met those expectations. I loved helping classmates with their problems and remember how my teachers would tell me how infectious my smile and attitude were. They thought I was perfect. But you never know what someone is dealing with behind closed doors. No matter how happy someone looks, how loud their laugh is, or how big their smile is, there can still be a level of hurt that is indescribable.
During all of this time and for as long as I can remember, I struggled with my personal and sexual identity, my father’s manipulative and abusive behavior towards my mother, along with his battle with cancer. He passed away in August 2018 after battling consecutive cancers for almost ten years. It was a pivotal moment in my life. For a long time, I didn’t know how to process the emotions I was feeling. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t hurt, I wasn’t happy—I was empty. I had a very complicated relationship with my dad. I loved the ground he walked on, but I hated how his absence of care left a profound void in my life.
One of the biggest regrets I carry on my shoulders is not being able to mouth the words “I love you” before he went to the hospital in 2018 and never came back. I reflect deeply on that moment, and I believe deep down that the reason I refused to say it was because I knew it was the last time I was going to see him, and I couldn’t fathom that fact. I remember he was on life support for five days with no sign of recovery. I remember the physician at the time sat my mom and me down and told us that our best plan of action was to remove him from life support. I was inevitably the one who made the final decision, and you can only imagine the amount of stress someone my age endured having to make that decision.
There are days when I still ask myself if it was the right decision, and whether I could have advocated for more. I had so much resentment for this man, but his passing brought an overwhelming mix of emptiness and heartache. Despite the inner turmoil, I remained strong because I knew I had to take care of my mom during this time and continue to focus on 10th grade and beyond. And so I did, and it paid off.
I was overjoyed to receive my acceptance letter from the University of Virginia. The first person I told was my mom, and I remember her crying tears of joy, so proud that my hard work had paid off. I remember the hot, humid move-in day at Gooch-Dillard! I said goodbye to my mom, and of course, she cried as this was the first time her baby would be away from home for an extended period. Time passed, and I was still struggling with my personal identity. Living up to the expectations of others made me wonder about my own expectations for myself: What did I like and dislike? What was my foundation?
I started with coming out to my mom—a part of my identity that I had locked away since childhood. I realized that life was too short to live as something I knew I wasn’t. I had endured too much to let a simple identity hold me back from happiness. Easier said than done, of course, but I did it. I felt happy, I felt accomplished, and I felt that I was a step closer to figuring myself out in such a complex part of my life.
I eventually started exploring some of my interests. Becoming an Emergency Department Medical Scribe in my first year was quite the feat, and becoming a mentor with M.O.C.H.A. (Men of Color, Honor, and Ambition) was equally rewarding. I felt like I was making progress, but something was still missing. I went to speak to Dean Chelsea “CC” Duncan, my UAA Scholarship Advisor. I told her that I was still missing something—something that would not only complete me but also fulfill my UVA experience even more. She politely asked me, “Have you ever considered working in the Office of Admissions?” The answer to that question was no, actually. She told me how versatile and personable I am and how my story would resonate with many prospective families and students.
Mentorship was a big part of my identity, so I thought, why not? I eventually became an Office of Admissions Intern, and it’s been one of the most fulfilling roles I’ve taken on-Grounds. I continued to expand my roots, something I had hesitantly refused to do when I first arrived here. From that shy kid living in a ten-person suite in Gooch-Dillard to a Lawnie, setting an example for those around me; Vice President of the Black Student Alliance, a voice for my community; Office of Admissions Intern, inspiring others through my story; OAAA Peer Advisor, mentoring and guiding; and, more importantly, a friend whose heart couldn’t be more full due to the people and love that surround him.
Through my journey of self-discovery, I came across Jim Carrey’s 2014 Maharishi University commencement speech. His words resonated with me and fueled my journey:
“You can join the game, fight the wars, play with form all you want, but to find real peace you have to let the armor go. Your need for acceptance can make you invisible in this world. Don’t let anything stand in the way of the light that shines through this form. Risk being seen in all of your glory.” - Jim Carrey
I realized that meaningful connections occur with vulnerability. I needed a village to continue raising and supporting the person I wanted to be, but I had to risk being seen. It doesn’t hurt to strike up a conversation with a stranger; you’d be surprised by the commonalities you share and the impact you’ll have when you talk to them. So, if you’re reading this, risk being seen in all of your glory.
With all the love and support I can provide,
Tyler E., University of Virginia
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