Double HBCU Ivy, a Classic Car, and the Sister Who Changed Everything

Lauren Petry is a soon-to-be graduate of Tuskegee University, originally from Abbeville, Louisiana. Her journey through veterinary medicine has been shaped by grace, grit, and a deep understanding of what it means to belong to something larger than yourself.

As an Air Force dependent, Lauren grew up moving from place to place—an experience that taught her early how to adapt, how to start over, and how to carry “home” with her wherever she went. But no matter where life took her, home was always Louisiana. The food, the family, the culture, the pride of knowing exactly where she came from—it never left her.

At 25, she is now completing her veterinary degree at Tuskegee University, earning her place as a proud “double HBCU Ivy” graduate. Her clinical interests span small animal medicine, exotics, surgery, and dentistry. She is the kind of student who shows up fully—in the classroom, in the clinic, in the kitchen, and in every space she enters.

But more than anything, Lauren is someone who thinks deeply about legacy.

So when it came time for graduation photos, she didn’t choose the obvious. She chose meaning.

“I wanted my photos to reflect the same continuum, and to feel like I belonged within that timeline of progress and history,” she said.

The 1929 Model A and the Weight of Legacy

Lauren’s vision centered around a 1929 Model A Shay, a deliberate choice that connected her personal milestone to Tuskegee’s historic landscape.

Tuskegee University is not just a campus. It is a living archive of Black excellence, resilience, and progress. Its architecture carries generations of history, and Lauren wanted her graduation images to exist within that continuum—not just in front of it.

“I specifically chose a 1929 Model A Shay because Tuskegee’s historic campus carries such deep visual and cultural weight,” she explained. “It’s tied to Black excellence, resilience, and progress across generations, and that history gives the environment a built-in sense of legacy and time.”

She didn’t get to drive the car, but that wasn’t the point. The images captured exactly what she envisioned—an intentional statement about presence, history, and belonging. These were not just graduation photos. They were a declaration.

The Person Who Teaches Her Strength Every Day

Ask Lauren who she admires most, and she answers immediately: her younger sister, Bailey.

Bailey was diagnosed with a brain tumor before she was six months old. She has undergone multiple surgeries and experienced a stroke during one of them. And still, she has continued forward.

She learned to walk. She learned to talk. She excelled academically. She graduated high school. She began college. And she continues to work toward new milestones, including learning to drive independently.

For Lauren, watching her sister has been a masterclass in resilience.

“Once she sets her mind to something, nothing stands in her way,” she said. “She has taught me so much about patience, perseverance, and optimism. She often says she looks up to me, but I look up to her just as much.”

There is something striking about a veterinary student—someone trained to operate under pressure, precision, and emotional intensity—saying her greatest teacher is her younger sister. It reframes strength not as endurance alone, but as the decision to keep moving forward, again and again.

Learning to Carry Hard Things Differently

Like many veterinary students, Lauren’s first patient loss came with a weight she did not expect. Even with preparation, nothing fully softens the transition from theory to lived experience.

It stayed with her longer than she anticipated. Not because she didn’t understand the medicine, but because she cared.

The advice she received afterward has stayed with her: when everything that can be done has been done, you have to release self-blame. You have to find ways to create space outside of work, so you can return the next day with clarity and compassion.

“That advice didn’t take the pain away,” she said, “but it helped me learn how to carry it differently. I will always have compassion for my patients, but I learned to have compassion for myself.”

In veterinary medicine, where sacrifice is often normalized—self-compassion can be one of the hardest skills to develop. Lauren is still learning it, intentionally.

Cajun Roots, Korean Traditions, and the Language of Care

If she were not entering veterinary medicine, Lauren says she would likely own a restaurant.

Her cooking reflects the story of her life. From rich Cajun dishes rooted in Louisiana tradition to Korean recipes taught by her Halmoni, her meals exist at the intersection of cultures, memory, and connection.

“Being able to bring those flavors together, create meaningful experiences through food, and connect with others is something that truly warms my heart,” she said.

Food, like medicine, is an act of care. Both require attention, intention, and presence. Lauren moves between these worlds with ease, even if she doesn’t name the connection directly.

What She Would Tell Her Younger Self

If Lauren could speak to her younger self, she would keep it simple:

It is okay not to be perfect.

For much of her journey, she believed the opposite, that success required control, certainty, and independence at all costs.

But that has changed.

“Growth doesn’t come from perfection,” she said. “It comes from learning, making mistakes, and giving myself grace. The people who care about you want to support you, and allowing them to do so makes the journey a little lighter.”

Patience, she says, is what matters most. Patience with the process. Patience with herself. And trust that things come together in time, even when it doesn’t feel like they will.

Coming from someone who has watched her sister defy expectation after expectation, it carries weight.

How She Comes Back to Herself

After difficult days, Lauren returns to routine. She walks her dog near a lake. She takes a warm shower. She cooks a meal. Then she reads, listens to lo-fi music, and lets the day settle into quiet.

It is simple, but intentional.

In a profession where emotional fatigue is common, rituals like this are not indulgence—they are structure. A way to reset. A way to return.

What Comes Next

As graduation approaches, Lauren stands at the beginning of her veterinary career with clarity about what has shaped her: a sister who taught her resilience, a profession that taught her compassion for herself, and a life that has taught her how to belong across multiple worlds.

Her interests in small animal medicine, exotics, surgery, and dentistry remain open. There is no rush to define everything immediately. There is time.

What she carries forward is stronger than a single specialty, it is perspective.

And somewhere in Louisiana, there is a kitchen that will be very lucky if she ever decides to make cooking her full-time job.