By Jayce Tyler
I lost my mother at a young age. I didn’t lose her physically, but like many queer folks, lost my relationship with her—all understanding, love, and support. Because of this, I’ve long dreaded Mother’s Day, a time when scrolling through social media means seeing the endless posts from those praising their mothers for loving them—something I’d spent years trying (to no avail) to drag out from my own. This year, however, I decided to make a change; I celebrated my chosen mother instead.
I first met Rylie Jefferson at the University of Houston’s LGBTQ Resource Center, where she works as office manager. Right off the bat, I noticed how she goes out of her way to greet every student with a smile. But it wasn’t until I started working alongside Rylie at the Center that I experienced just how genuine and truly amazing she is. There were days when I walked into work carrying the weight of my own personal issues, not knowing how I would make it through the day. Yet, all it took was a hug from Rylie to make me forget my woes. It wasn’t long before the students who frequented the Center dubbed her “Mama Rylie.” She’s constantly going out of her way to do things for others, out of the kindness of her heart, and goes above and beyond to be the support system so many of us desperately need.
“Rylie always made sure to remind me to drink water when I was in the Resource Center,” one student shares with me. “And she was quick to change my name and pronouns when I came out as trans.”
“She always made me feel safe at the Center and made me feel more confident and better about myself on days where I felt like garbage,” another says.
“Rylie made my day whenever I saw her,” another of Mama Rylie’s students says. “And she remembered who I was when I went, and she noticed when I hadn’t been by the Center in a while.”
Not a day goes by that Rylie isn’t on top of her game. Even while working at the Center, being an active member of Save Our Sisters United, and one of the many faces of the Houston Health Department’s #IAmLife campaign, Rylie manages to keep track of the little things—remembering students’ birthdays, diffusing any tension in the office, and making those around her laugh. She does all this while looking flawless, I might add—no matter how much she insists she “hasn’t done enough” with her hair or makeup. She truly is the Resource Center’s own personal Beyoncé.
Growing up, my mother would constantly make excuses as to why she wouldn’t show me affection—something that haunts me to this very day. There were times when I’d try to give my mother a hug or a kiss on the cheek, only to be pushed away and mocked in disgust. Because of this, physical affection can often be a difficult concept for me. Rylie, however, was always there with open arms, even when I felt like I didn’t deserve such affection.
My own mother struggled to say that she loved me and rarely did so unless prompted. Rylie, on the other hand, would tell me she loved me throughout the day, encouragement that made even the worst days feel more bearable.
In only a year, Rylie became everything that my mother was unable to be for me. She became this for not only me, but for any student who walked in the Center and felt comfortable opening their hearts to her.
At times, I still wish I could sit down with my mother and ask her why she never felt the need to heal our broken relationship. And at age 23, there are still days when I cry and wish I could tell her my worries. But then, I think about Rylie and how she deemed me worthy of her love. Of being loved. Rylie gave me a piece of her heart, and I feel honored to carry it with me. She has given me the confidence and encouragement I need to prosper in life. I will forever be the child of the beautiful, talented, amazing Mama Rylie.
