60 second q&a with corddarryl williamson-rose: “authenticity builds trust far more than perfection ever will.”

The first time I spoke with Corddarryl Williamson-Rose was roughly a year ago –  just ahead of the release of his book (co-authored by his husband Jeffery) We Love You ForAva!, which follows the everyday moments shared by two dads and their spirited daughter, celebrating the beauty of modern families and the love that brings them together.

I walked away from the conversation excited to read the book to my own children and knowing one thing for certain about Corddarryl: in a world that often asks us to dim our lights or fit into boxes, Corddarryl embodies what it truly means to be authentic to oneself.

The unwavering sense of self has propelled Corddarryl to many monumental moments in life, including publishing the book in 2025 and most recently, walking across the stage to receive his Master of Communications degree from Wake Forest School of Professional Studies and moving straight into his Ph.D. in Leadership Studies at North Carolina A&T State University.

His life is rich with stories of resilience, legacy, and profound love. 

With June bringing the intersection of both Pride Month and Father’s Day, I couldn't think of a better person to feature. Enjoy these 60 seconds with Corddarryl as he talks about representation, rewriting the stories we tell our children, and what it means to live out loud.

– steph

toth shop (ts): Last year, you and your husband published We Love You ForAva to celebrate love and family in all its forms. As a father, what is it like to read a book to your child that you actually wrote for her? Does it change the way you think about the "stories" we tell our children about who they are? 

Corddarryl Williamson-Rose (CWR): What makes it so special for me is knowing this book came from a very real place. It was never just about publishing a children’s book or saying we became authors. At the heart of it, this was simply two dads wanting our daughter to always have something she could return to as a reminder of how deeply loved she is.

When I read it to Ava now, it honestly still feels surreal sometimes. There are moments where she’s sitting in my lap turning the pages, smiling, pointing at things, and I catch myself thinking, “Wow… we really wrote this for her.” Not for the world first. Not for attention. But for her. That’s the part that gets me every time.

As a Black queer father, I also carry the weight of knowing I didn’t grow up seeing families like mine represented often, especially not in soft, loving, intentional ways. So being able to create a story where our daughter can see herself, her family, and our love reflected so naturally means more to me than I can probably put into words. It feels healing in a way. Not just for her, but honestly for me, too.

It definitely changed the way I think about the stories we give children. Kids believe what we consistently place in front of them. The stories we tell them become part of how they see themselves, how they understand love, and what they believe they deserve in this world. That’s why representation matters so much to me now, not just for queer families, but for everybody. Every child deserves to feel seen. Every child deserves to feel safe, valued, celebrated, and worthy of love exactly as they are.

More than anything, I hope Ava grows up never questioning how loved she is. I hope she always remembers that she was prayed over, chosen intentionally, and surrounded by so much love before she could even understand what love was. And if our story helps another family feel seen or helps another child feel a little more understood, then that means everything to me.

ts: You’ve balanced a lot since entering fatherhood, including work and school. What’s been your go-to to help you get through the challenging moments?

CRW: There were honestly moments where I doubted myself more than anybody else ever could. Life happened, responsibilities grew, and at times I felt stuck. I questioned whether opportunities like graduate school, leadership spaces, or even pursuing a Ph.D. were still meant for me. Watching other people succeed sometimes made me wonder if I was already too late or simply not good enough to compete in those spaces.

But when those thoughts came up, I always found myself thinking about my great grandparents and the sacrifices they made for me to even have these opportunities in the first place. They believed in education deeply and helped put me through college, and although they’re no longer here physically, I carry their legacy with me in everything I do. There are moments where I genuinely feel like I’m walking out prayers they once had for me.

Fatherhood also changed my perspective completely. It pushed me to stop shrinking myself and stop talking myself out of rooms I belonged in. I wanted my daughter to grow up seeing someone who kept going even when things felt uncertain.

So honestly, my go-to has been faith, purpose, family, and remembering where I come from. Remembering that I come from people who sacrificed too much for me to give up on myself now.

ts: June is LGBTQ Pride Month. In 10 words or less, what does pride mean to you?

CRW: To me pride means living out loud in the love my younger self deserved.

ts: You’re moving from a Master’s in Communications to a Ph.D. in Leadership Studies. In your opinion/experience, what is the one thing "leaders" often fail to communicate effectively?

CRW: In my opinion, a lot of leaders fail to communicate humanity. Too often, leadership becomes about titles, authority, performance, or always having the right answer, and somewhere in that, genuine connection gets lost.

The leaders who impacted me most were never just the smartest people in the room. They were the people who made others feel seen, valued, heard, and capable. I think people remember how you made them feel long after they forget your title.

I’ve also learned that authenticity builds trust far more than perfection ever will. As I continue my journey into doctoral leadership studies, especially as a Black queer man, I’ve realized leadership is not about controlling the room. It’s about creating space for other people to feel like they belong in it too and reminding them they are capable of more than they may see in themselves at the moment.

ts: Every person we interview answers this same question last – Mile 18 is generally considered to be one of the hardest miles in a marathon. You’re hitting a wall. You’re forced to dig deep. What’s mile 18 in your line of work or at a point in your career, what do you tell yourself when you find yourself in the middle of a mile 18?

CRW: I think my mile 18 has been the moments where I questioned whether I was enough. Enough to pursue bigger opportunities. Enough to return to school. Enough to walk into rooms that once felt out of reach for someone like me.

There were seasons where life felt heavy and I felt stuck. Watching other people move ahead while quietly wondering if my moment had already passed. But in those moments, I remind myself that delay does not mean denied.

I think about my family, my daughter, and my great grandparents who sacrificed so much to help me get an education and build a future bigger than what they had access to. I remind myself that I come from resilient people, and because of that, quitting has never really been an option for me.

So, when I hit a mile 18 moment, I tell myself to keep going. Even if it’s slow. Even if I’m tired. Even if I’m scared. Just keep going because sometimes the breakthrough is waiting on the other side of the doubt.