When You Grieve the Person You Used to Be

The view above is from the place where I first realised I was grieving the person I used to be.

When we think about grief, we often think about the death of someone we love.

But grief doesn't only arrive after bereavement.

Sometimes it arrives quietly after a life transition. After a relationship ends. When illness changes what your body can do. When your children grow up. When retirement comes. Or when you realise that a chapter of your life has closed, even though you chose to close it.

I discovered that for myself last week.

While I was sitting on a bench overlooking the sea in Lanzarote, something unexpected happened.

For the first time, it truly hit me.

I'm no longer a teacher.

Even writing those words now brings tears to my eyes.

I spent 13 years working in classrooms.

But if I'm honest, teaching was part of me long before that.

I'd wanted to be a teacher since I was eight years old.

Everything I worked towards, every qualification I gained, every placement, every interview, every challenge... it was all with one goal in mind.

To become a teacher.

For so many years, that wasn't simply my job.

It was my identity.

Even now, friends still introduce me as "Kelly, the teacher."

Although I'm still a qualified teacher, I know in my heart that I won't step back into a classroom.

As I looked out across the ocean, I realised something I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge before.

I didn't quite know who I was anymore.

And I cried.

Not because I regretted becoming a counsellor.

Far from it.

I genuinely love the work I do now.

Over the last five years I've trained, grown and built a career supporting people through some of the hardest moments of their lives.

In many ways, the transition makes perfect sense.

Good teachers use so many of the same qualities that counsellors rely on every day.

Listening.

Being present.

Showing compassion.

Helping people believe in themselves.

Creating safety.

Supporting growth.

Those skills haven't disappeared.

They've simply found a different home.

But knowing that didn't stop the grief.

Because grief isn't always logical.

Psychologists have long recognised that we can grieve the loss of roles, identities and futures we once imagined for ourselves. Family therapist Pauline Boss describes this as ambiguous loss—a loss that can be difficult to define because no one has died, yet something significant has changed forever.

Research also tells us that our identities help us make sense of who we are. When a role that has shaped us changes or disappears, it's common to experience sadness, uncertainty, anxiety or even a sense of feeling lost while we begin to rebuild that picture of ourselves.

Sitting there on that bench, I realised I wasn't grieving my decision.

I was grieving the person I used to be.

The version of me who spent decades dreaming about becoming a teacher.

The version of me who walked into classrooms every morning.

The version of me who celebrated children's achievements, comforted them on difficult days, laughed with colleagues, worried about them over weekends, and poured everything she had into helping young people flourish.

There are parts of teaching I will miss dearly.

There are memories that will always have a special place in my heart.

Those years helped shape the person I am today.

And perhaps that's what grief asks of us sometimes.

Not to forget who we were.

Not to rush towards who we're becoming.

But simply to sit with both.

I sat on that bench for at least fifteen minutes.

I let the tears come.

Thankfully I was wearing sunglasses.

I didn't try to stop them.

I didn't tell myself to "move on."

I simply allowed myself the space to grieve.

Because that's what I would encourage anyone else to do.

We live in a world that often celebrates moving forward.

Finding the positive.

Starting the next chapter.

But sometimes we need permission to pause.

To acknowledge that something mattered.

That someone mattered.

Even if that someone was the person we used to be.

Today, I feel excited about this next chapter.

I truly believe counselling is where I'm meant to be.

I feel incredibly privileged to walk alongside people as they navigate grief, loss and life's many transitions.

But I can hold two truths at once.

I can be excited about what's ahead...

...and still grieve what I've left behind.

Those two things can exist together.

If you've recently changed careers, retired, become a parent, experienced illness, watched your children leave home, or simply feel like you've lost a part of yourself along the way, please know you're not alone.

Grieving who you used to be is still grief.

And your grief deserves space too.

If this resonated with you, you don't have to carry it on your own. If you're navigating grief, loss or a significant life transition, I'm here to offer a safe, confidential space to explore what you're experiencing.

Book a free 20-minute consultation to see whether counselling feels like the right next step.