Embracing Motherhood After Parkland

One Teacher's Account, Eight Years Later

Words by Brittany Sinitch

February 14th will always carry weight for me.

That day, eight years ago, I was teaching at my alma mater, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. I was only 22, but I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. I loved my students and the creativity that came with teaching young kids. As educators, we all carry in the back of our minds the possibility of tragedy—after so many shootings and incidents in schools across the country, it’s something we can’t ignore. But I had always believed my classroom was a safe space, where I could teach without fear.

We were in the middle of a Romeo and Juliet unit, talking about different types of love and how they show up in people’s lives. My students were making Valentine’s Day cards as if they were characters in the play, and some were making cards for one another. The day felt light and familiar, like so many school days before it. But that afternoon, everything changed.

I became a survivor of a school shooting. We lost 14 students and three staff members that day. (Since Parkland, there have been over 900 school shootings in this country.) Experiencing this during my first year of teaching changed me in ways I could not yet name. I felt numb. I was lost in my own body, broken, and afraid as if I were living outside myself. I knew I needed help processing it. At the time, mental health was not something I spoke about much, and I didn’t have the tools to understand what my mind and body were holding. Six days later, I began therapy, slowly trying to make sense of what had happened and how it was already shaping me.

"The day felt light and familiar, like so many school days before it. But that afternoon, everything changed. I became a survivor of a school shooting. We lost 14 students and three staff members that day. (Since Parkland, there have been over 900 school shootings in this country.)"

The months that followed were a mix of moving forward and holding on, showing up even when I wasn’t sure I could. I returned for a second year, and as February approached, I felt the weight in my body before I could explain it. I’ve learned that anticipation can be heavier than the day itself. Whether we are preparing for a commemoration, facing a milestone, or bracing for a life event. The buildup to the one-year remembrance was intense, and even walking into stores with Valentine’s Day displays felt overwhelming. The red and pink, the cards and candy, everything felt too loud. A holiday I had once loved had become something I feared.

In the months and years that followed, I learned how to navigate the weight of Valentine’s Day and all that came after. Therapy gave me tools to cope, ways to ground myself when grief or fear felt overwhelming, strategies to face memories without being consumed by them, and practices to carry my emotions without letting them take over. I learned how to carry pain alongside hope, and how to keep showing up for myself and for others. These lessons didn’t erase the fear or the sadness, but they helped me begin to reclaim my life in a way that felt steady and sustainable.

I always knew I wanted to be a mom and I realized that healing mattered not just for me, but for the family I hoped to have. When I first found out I was pregnant in the fall of 2023, I was in the bathroom and nearly fell to the ground when I saw the positive test. I had every feeling at once—excitement, disbelief, fear, and that endless wonder about what motherhood would mean.

"I learned how to carry pain alongside hope, and how to keep showing up for myself and for others. These lessons didn’t erase the fear or the sadness, but they helped me begin to reclaim my life in a way that felt steady and sustainable."

One Friday night, we were in sweatpants, waiting for pizza to arrive, when we got a call asking if we wanted to know the gender. We had our neighbor write it down on a piece of paper and ran into our baby’s one-day nursery to open it together. When we saw ‘girl,’ my world shifted in that instant, my own little Rory to my Lorelei. In that moment, I felt the weight and joy of raising a strong girl in today’s world and realized how much I wanted to pass on the tools I had learned over the years for healing, resilience, and carrying hope even through hard moments.

When Valentine’s Day began approaching in 2024, the displays in stores caught my attention in a completely new way. At first, I braced myself, expecting the same heaviness I had felt in past Februaries. But something felt different. I remember running to the store as part of my early nesting journey, comparing different types of diapers, and that’s when I saw a baby onesie that said ‘My First Valentine’s Day.’ In that moment, something clicked.

Over the years, I had started to understand that it wasn’t the holiday itself that was getting easier, it was me who was changing and growing stronger. I had spent years showing up for my students, facing grief, and slowly learning to carry it without letting it break me. I realized that I had been healing incrementally and that this strength had grown inside me. Seeing these things now, I realized I could choose what Valentine’s Day would mean for me and the kind of memories I wanted to create with my daughter. I wanted her to experience the crafts, the little moments of joy, and the love that this day can hold. In some ways, she was already helping me, even before she had arrived.

So often, we think about who we were before becoming mothers. The trips to the movie theater where we get to pick our own popcorn and candy, the rare moments of going to the bathroom alone, and the little fragments of freedom we suddenly cherish. Looking back, I realize that so much of who I was before motherhood—the work of figuring out how to heal, learning to fall apart and put myself back together again, and reshaping what my dream of working in education looked like—was preparing me for this stage of life. Motherhood feels like the ultimate continuation of that process, only now I get to carry it alongside someone else, showing her that strength, resilience, and joy can coexist even in the midst of chaos.

"I realize that so much of who I was before motherhood—the work of figuring out how to heal, learning to fall apart and put myself back together again, and reshaping what my dream of working in education looked like—was preparing me for this stage of life."

This journey has shown me that I am constantly becoming, slowly learning who I am meant to be. My daughter’s birth was full of unexpected challenges. She came earthside through an emergency C-section, and while my body and mind are different now, every day since then has shown me a new kind of strength. What feels important now are the smallest, purest moments like the first time she smiled at me, when she falls asleep in my arms, and the little wins like hearing her say she likes her banana pancakes (there’s spinach in them).

I am learning to listen to myself, to move at my own pace, and to care for my mental health with intention. Sometimes I wish I could go back and tell my 22-year-old self that we would make it through, that the fear and uncertainty wouldn’t last forever. Of course, I can’t, and maybe that’s the point. We grow through life’s highs and lows, learning how to carry them, and figuring out each day as it comes. I want my daughter to grow up knowing that there are no limits on who she can become and that healing is always possible, even after the unspeakable.

This month will always be deeply hard, but it also holds so much hope. I have learned that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting, that we can honor what we carry while still making room for love and joy. Motherhood has shown me how we continuously put ourselves back together, even when it gets messy. And in the quietest, simplest moments, watching her tiny hand reach for mine, listening to her laugh, or seeing her curiosity bloom, I can feel us both becoming exactly who we are meant to be.

Brittany Sinitch (@fivefootoneteacher) is an educator, speaker, first-time mom, and the Executive Director and Founder of The Unbreakable Organization, a nonprofit dedicated to transforming youth mental health. She leads programs that ensure young people never feel alone in navigating their well-being, providing tools, resources, and trauma-informed support that foster connection, resilience, and healing. Brittany also oversees the organization’s scholarships and mentorship programs for young people impacted by gun violence, granting over $43,000 to date in educational, emotional, and financial support. She is passionate about creating safe, supportive spaces where young people feel seen, valued, and empowered, and finds joy in storytelling, teaching, and building programs that inspire community and healing.