I Went Back to my Elementary School... and I Remembered Who I Am

What if one memory could bring you back to who you really are?

In this deeply personal reflection, Wisdom for Wannabes host, Jackie Morreale, shares what happened when she returned to her elementary school 30 years later—and why it moved her to tears. Inspired by a powerful insight from sports psychologists about our brain’s tendency to hold onto the negative, Jackie explores the importance of intentionally creating joyful, meaningful moments we can revisit throughout our lives. This story is about identity, gratitude, and the people—especially educators—who shape us long before we realize it. Read on for a heartfelt reminder to reconnect with your roots, reclaim your truest self, and say thank you to those who helped you become who you are.

Topics:
• The importance of positive memories for mental health
• Creating intentional joyful moments
• Revisiting childhood to reconnect with your true self

Takeaways:
• Our brains are wired to remember negatively, but we must practice recalling positive memories.
• Revisiting childhood places can reconnect us with our authentic selves.
• Creating meaningful moments intentionally can help us stay grounded and true to ourselves.

Quotes:
• "I realized that little girl is still me."
• "I think I forgot her along the way."
• "We need to create moments on purpose."

Chapters:
00:00 Introduction: A Memory That Brings You Back to Yourself
00:31 The Insight That Sparked It All
01:11 Walking Back Into Where It All Began
03:15 Remembering the Girl I Used to Be
03:41 A Different Lens on the High School Years
04:05 Creating Memories You Can Return To
04:57 A Simple Exercise to Come Back to Yourself
​06:00 Say Thank You, Just Because!

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Jackie Morreale reading Princess Tessa & The New Look to Ms. Meehan's students, March 2026

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Transcript:

Jackie Morreale (00:00)
I went back to my elementary school after 30 years and I remembered exactly who I am.

My name is Jackie Morreale and I'm the host of Wisdom for Wannabes. I wrote this and I'm saying this now because I don't ever want to lose this feeling.

I had one of those experiences that I know I'm going to want to come back to. Not just to remember, but to actually feel again. It made me realize something.

I think every single one of us needs to have a memory like that. One that we can return to at any age. One that brings us back to ourselves.

I was interviewing these two amazing sports psychologists earlier this week and they said something that really stuck with me: "Our brains are wired to think negatively." We're built to remember the bad moment, the embarrassing moment, the failure.

Maybe at one point that kept us alive. It was survival.

But now, it keeps us stuck.

They said, "If we don't intentionally create and hold on to those positive memories, we won't have them to pull from later."

We actually have to practice remembering the good.

It took me a day to realize I had just lived one of those life-changing, happy moments that I will want to recall for the rest of my life.

So here it is:
Last Friday, I went back to my old elementary school. Thirty years later, I walked in with a stack of my books and my family.

From the moment we arrived, something felt different.

We were greeted by the security guard upon entering the building who said, "Hello, so you're the author?"

I paused for a second and thought, "Wow, yes, I am."

There's something so powerful about someone else seeing you as something you've worked so hard to become and identify with yourself.

The principal came right out, welcomed us in, brought us into his office. We were laughing because I realized this had been my first time to the principal's office, an idea that I once dreaded, and this time it was for good.

It felt like a full circle moment.

Then we walk down the hallway to my favorite teacher's classroom. My fifth grade teacher who still teaches there to this day, now teaching kindergarten. And how lucky are these students, this school, this community, how lucky am I to go back and see her and relive this experience?

We get to the door. There's a big sign over the doorway.

It says, "Welcome Mrs. Morreale!"
And it includes my family members' names. 
And streamers!
And all the autographs of the kids in the class, as well as the one for my teacher.

We walked right through the streamers and there she was, standing there: My favorite teacher.

She looked and sounded exactly the same, same presence, same person.

I just lost it.

Tears were instant.

The kind of tears that you don't even try to hold back.

The kids are all looking at me and saying, "Why is she crying?"

My teacher just smiled and said, "They're happy tears."

They were.

Because in that moment, everything else disappeared. I was her student again.

I sat down. I read my book to her class. My own kids sat next to me. The students were amazing. They raised their hands to point out rhymes, respond to my questions, and ask brilliant questions of their own. I even had a few belly laugh moments where kids say the darndest things.

I just felt joy. Pure, simple joy.

No pressure, no noise.

Just being exactly who I am.

And it hit me: That little girl, the one who loved writing, the one who loved stories and had felt seen by this teacher 30 years ago... she's still me.

She never left.

But somewhere along the way, I think I forgot her a little bit.

Tried to fit in.

Tried to be what I thought other people wanted me to be.

Even tried to dim parts of myself.

But going back there brought me right back to her.

We said our goodbyes, more happy tears, and a whirlwind of an amazing experience.

We went to revisit another special place, my old high school, to see the best art teacher in the world, the new art wing, the new students' work.

It felt different.

I remember feeling like I didn't quite belong back then. Like I had to change myself or keep up or try to prove something.

Looking at the kids now, they seem lighter than I remember feeling. Somehow more in touch with it all.

And I hope that's the case.

It made me the pressure we feel isn't even real.

It's just the story we're telling ourselves.

And the teachers, they see it all. They see what makes each kid different, what makes them special.

They nurture it, they protect it.

And I surmise that most of the time, they have no idea how much of that actually stays with all of us.

So here's what this experience gave me: We don't just need to remember those moments.

We need to create them. On purpose.

Moments that are so real, so grounded, so full of who we actually are, that we can come back to them later. When life gets loud or stressful or remind ourselves: This is me.

I want to try something.

Probably 20 years ago, I was fortunate enough to teach a group in Brooklyn, New York, not far from these schools, physical fitness. We would always end our practice with a visualization exercise, to end on a really beautiful note.

So here's one for today: Close your eyes.

Just for a moment, imagine you're back at a place that shaped you.

Maybe it's your elementary school.
Maybe it's your first job with a great boss.
Maybe it's your favorite relative's house.
Maybe it's a field or on a stage or in a studio with a paintbrush that dips into your favorite color.

You walk in, people know your name. Not for what you've done, not for what you've achieved, but for who you've always been.

People who believed in you before you even believed in yourself. And they're just happy you're there. And you're so happy to be there with them.

You can feel it in your chest. That warmth, that calmness, that certainty.

That's you! That's your core.

That's what you can come back to; in this place, in this moment, in this visualization, anytime.

For me, it's looking at the paper sign with streamers and 25 signatures that's now hanging on my office wall a thousand miles away from where it was last week.

There's one more thing I realized walking out of that school and it's an actionable item.

We don't say thank you enough to the people who saw something in us early, before the world got loud, before we started questioning ourselves, before we tried so hard to fit in.

To the teachers, Ms. Patricia Meehan, Mr. Keith Gamache, countless others. The ones who stay late, the ones who make things special, who remember our names, our strengths, our quirks.

Who shape lives every single most likely aren't reminded often enough how much it all matters to us.

If you can, reach out, send a message, say "Thank you!" Tell them, "You made a difference in my life." Most likely it'll mean a lot to them and it'll bring you back to yourself as well.

​Have a beautiful day.

Thank you, Ms. Meehan!

Thank you, Mr. Gamache! (Click for link to podcast interview)