Navigating Identity Shifts: From Educator to Creator
Let’s get right to it:
Before everything changed, I worked in education.
I was the go-to girl: enrichment leader, classroom whisperer, chaos coordinator, snack-slicing, spirit-week-surviving queen.
I gave my heart to that work—because that’s who I am. I show up fully. I love deeply. I care hard.
But when Nannie passed, everything in me broke. And I didn’t go back.
Not to the classroom.
Not to that version of me.
Not to a life that didn’t fit anymore.
When Grief Hits the Redo Button on Your Life
Nannie wasn’t just my grandmother. She was my home base. My soft landing. The one person who knew the real me before I did.
Losing her wasn’t just grief—it was a soul earthquake.
I couldn’t imagine returning to normal, because normal no longer existed.
The classroom? It didn’t call to me anymore. The schedule, the standards, the structure—it all felt impossibly far away from where my heart had gone.
And so I stopped.
I sat in the stillness.
I let the grief do what it came to do:
Wreck me.
Strip me.
And, eventually… reintroduce me to myself.
Who Am I If I’m Not “Miss Sina”?
Let me tell you, identity shifts are not cute at first.
I went from knowing exactly who I was—an educator, a caretaker, a provider—to staring at the ceiling like,
“Okay… now what?”
No job title. No dress code. No fluorescent-lit room full of tiny humans calling my name.
Just me.
And this terrifying freedom.
And a lot of tissues.
But when you lose someone who loved you unconditionally, it changes your relationship with time.
I couldn’t waste another second living small.
I knew Nannie would’ve wanted me to chase what lit me up—especially the things I’d buried under duty and survival.
The Glorious, Chaotic Becoming
So here’s what I did:
I let myself explore.
I started writing again—not just in a journal, but with fire. With purpose.
I launched a blog. I built a brand. I started telling stories that felt like mine.
Did I know exactly what I was doing?
Absolutely not.
Did I sometimes feel like eating cereal for dinner and sobbing into my keyboard?
Yes ma’am.
But for the first time in my life, I belonged to myself.
This new life—the creative one, the wild one, the honest one—was born from the ashes of grief.
And yeah, it’s a little messy. But it’s also holy.
What I’ve Learned (Besides the Fact That Grief Is a Full-Time Job)
- You’re allowed to stop.
- You’re allowed to change your mind—even if people don’t understand.
- You’re allowed to leave the life that no longer fits and make room for the one that does.
- Healing and creating can (and often do) happen at the same damn time.
- You’re still honoring the ones you lost—especially when you choose to live fully, loudly, and beautifully in their absence.
If You’re in the In-Between…
Let this be your permission slip.
You don’t need to go back to who you were.
You don’t need a perfect plan or a polished elevator pitch.
You just need to trust that your grief isn’t the end of your story.
It might be the doorway.
Nannie’s not here to see this version of me, but I feel her everywhere—in my words, in my strength, in the fire that got lit the day the world changed.
I didn’t just quit my job.
I answered a call.
To create. To evolve. To rise.
And babe, I’m just getting started.
