Edward’s Advice for Managing Vulnerability

Meet Edward.

He’s a first-generation college student who dropped out of college more than three times before he ever hit his stride with academic skills. His path was anything but linear. Along the way, he learned—often the hard way—that intelligence and potential don’t mean much if you don’t yet have the tools, language, or support to navigate complex systems like higher education.

Recently, Edward made another big leap. He left a stable role as a Learning Center Director at a prestigious university to start his own academic coaching business. That decision didn’t come from confidence alone—it came from years of reflection, skill-building, and learning how to sit with uncertainty rather than run from it.

In the video above, Edward talks candidly about vulnerability. Not in a polished, inspirational-quote kind of way—but in the real, sometimes uncomfortable way it shows up when you’re a minority, when you’re a man who’s been taught to keep things close to the chest, and when you’re stepping into leadership without a tidy script.

He reflects on how hard it can be to allow yourself to be seen when your story doesn’t match the dominant narrative of “success.” And he also names something powerful: what changes when you’re accepted exactly as you are, without needing to perform expertise or confidence before you’re ready.

Edward shares what it meant to find that kind of acceptance inside the Anti-Boring Learning Lab. Not as a place where everyone has it figured out—but as a space where learning, growth, and uncertainty are treated as normal parts of the process. Where executive function coaching isn’t about fixing people, but about building toolboxes that respect identity, context, and lived experience.

For Edward, managing vulnerability wasn’t about becoming fearless. It was about learning how to stay present with discomfort long enough to grow. It was about realizing that asking for support, naming uncertainty, and letting others see the in-progress version of you are not weaknesses—they’re skills.

His story is a reminder that academic coaching, executive function coaching, and building a private practice for educators are not just technical endeavors. They’re deeply human ones. And for neurodiverse learners and educators alike, progress often begins the moment we stop pretending we’re supposed to have it all together.

A version of the following article was originally published here on June 1st, 2022.