The Story of ESA: From Pain to Purpose
- tyler miller
- Aug 2, 2025
- 3 min read
I was born in Akron, Ohio—a city that taught me about survival before it ever taught me about success. Both of my parents battled addiction for most of my life. For a long time, it was just me and my mom. Growing up in Akron wasn’t easy. I was surrounded by drugs, violence, and very few role models.
I didn’t have anyone to look up to, so I turned to music. Music became my escape and my therapy. Eminem was a huge influence for me—his lyrics felt like they were written for someone like me. Someone hurting. Someone searching for meaning.
Being one of the only white kids in my neighborhood came with its own set of struggles. I got bullied, beat up, and pushed to the side because of how I looked. I didn’t have many friends. But even when I felt like I had no one, I always had music.
I wrote my first song when I was 12. But it wasn’t until I turned 15 that I started taking it seriously. By that time, I had already moved about 25 times. I was living on the west side of Akron when I finally found a group of friends who accepted me for who I was.
That’s when I met Jamarian.
We clicked instantly. He came to my house every day, and we started rapping together nonstop. We didn’t have a studio, no fancy equipment—just two broke kids with two phones and a dream. One phone played the beat, the other recorded us rapping. We’d crouch down, freestyling in the hood, pouring our hearts into that tiny mic.
Eventually, I moved in with my dad—someone I hadn’t really seen or talked to in about four years. I didn’t think he’d support my music. I expected the usual “get a real job” talk. But instead, he bought me a laptop so I could start recording at home.
Once I got that taste of real recording freedom, it was over. I was hooked. I’d stay up until 2 or 3 a.m. laying down tracks, then wake up at 5 or 6 to record more before school.
Fast forward to when I turned 18—everything changed.
My grandma, who I saw as a second mom, passed away. That loss shattered me. Friends drifted away. Depression came in waves. But even in that pain, I went back to the only thing that ever-made sense—music.
After about two years of grieving, I started to come out of the darkness. I was recording again, more focused than ever. I started getting my name out in Cleveland. It felt like things were finally turning around.
Then I got the call.
Jamarian—my brother, my day one—was shot and killed. Left to die in someone’s front yard.
That loss nearly broke me for good. I stopped making music. I felt numb.
Around that time, I got close with my uncle. He became a mentor and a real friend. But just when I started to find some peace, he passed away too. Another hole in my heart.
But he believed in me. And that belief was enough to keep me going.
So, I kept creating. I met other artists, producers, people who believed in what I was building. Slowly, I started carving out my own sound.
Now I’m 23. I just dropped my EP GAME 4—a project that captures every emotion and story I’ve lived through.
I went from being a kid nobody believed in, to building something real. Something honest. Something mine.
To anyone out there struggling—stay true to yourself. Trust the process. Push through the dark times. Grind harder when it hurts most.
Because success isn’t just possible—it’s inevitable.
C.I.T.E. — Champions In The End
“I’ve been through hell and kept walking. I didn’t fold. I didn’t quit. That’s why I’m still here—because I was built for the fire.” — ESA
“Real pain makes the best music. If you’ve felt it, then you know.” — T Money
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