I Asked TikTok To Help Me Find My Long-Lost 4th-Grade Teacher Because There Were Six Words I Needed To Say
melissamn | Shutterstock Since I was a 12-year-old kid posting short stories on the internet, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I graduated from college magna cum laude with a BA in English and a minor in creative writing.
Then I started waiting tables at a sports bar. For one, I needed the money. My student loans were $600 a month, and on a Saturday night, I could leave with half of that in tips (way more than I’d make as a slush pile intern at some publisher). For another, I was terrified to fail at something I loved; I’d rather skate by with something I hated.
The universe had other plans. Days before I got fired, my fourth-grade teacher sat down in my section. I didn’t notice her right away. I’d later be diagnosed with a severe dissociative disorder, which jumbles your memory and screws up your recognition of faces. But she recognized me.
“Hey there, my name’s Maria, and I’ll be taking care of — ”
“Maria Cassano. I thought that was you.” A pause. “You don’t remember me, do you? It’s Miss Bula, your — ”
“Fourth-grade teacher! Oh my god! How have you been?”
In the 15 or so years since she had me, she’d gotten married and had kids of her own. She introduced me to her husband and two boys, who sat next to her. Miss Bula said she was still teaching, though in a different grade at a different school.
And then she asked a question that shook me awake, dissociation or not: “Are you still writing? You were such a good writer.” A good writer? Back then? I was nine. Nine-year-olds can barely spell, much less string a coherent sentence together. Had she seen something in me, even before I’d seen it myself?
I didn’t tell her that I would’ve loved to be writing instead of memorizing dozens of beers and dealing with my creepy 45-year-old boss. I also didn’t tell her that I’d already written two novels, and I couldn’t get a literary agent for either, so I’d opted for comfortable misery instead of vulnerable rejection.
All of that would’ve forced me to confront the giant, aching hole inside of me, and pushing away feelings was my forte. Instead, I told her, “No, this place keeps me pretty busy.”
“Don’t let it keep you busy forever. You don’t waste something like that.”
A few days later, the boss called me into his office. He fired me on the spot for something I didn’t do (a story for another article), and I begged him to give me another shot. Every day, I thank God that he basically told me off.
Combined with that ego-shattering dead end, Miss Bula’s comment forced me to acknowledge that it was now or never. I started applying for writing positions. Eventually, I got a job writing two articles a week for $10 an hour. I had no idea what I was doing, and I was still terrified to fail — but this time, I took that chance.
Fast-forward a decade later: I asked TikTok to help me find my long-lost 4th-grade teacher
I’m a professional writer, editor, and journalist with bylines in Bustle, HuffPost, NBC, Allure, Food & Wine, and others. I write about feminism, mental health, and relationships on here, where I have an incredible community of readers. I make a hell of a lot more than I did waitressing.
In 2024, I landed a literary agent for my memoir about healing from dissociation, and last month, my agent texted me with the best news of my life: “You got a book deal.”
I was over the moon, but the primary person I needed to thank was nowhere to be found. Over the past few years, I’d tried multiple times to find and contact Miss Bula, but it was like she didn’t exist. She was MIA. A digital ghost. Not a single school article, tagged photograph, Instagram profile, or Facebook post.
I started to wonder if I’d hallucinated her that day in the sports bar. Then I got an idea: I’d seen TikToks in which people asked the internet to help them track down long-lost friends, exes, relatives, and people they’d met on vacation. Why couldn’t they help me find my fourth-grade teacher?
Social media isn’t my forte (I’ve dodged behind trash cans to avoid being in photographs), but I was desperate to contact her, so I posted this awkward-as-hell video asking for help.
Thousands saw it. Strangers reposted to expand its reach. Several people sent me DMs, telling me that they’d had Miss Bula, too, and they’d try their hand at some internet sleuthing.
I even had an elementary school friend reach out and tell me that Miss Bula had changed her last name when she got married, but because this friend was now an optometrist and Miss Bula was her patient, she was afraid to give me her contact information due to HIPAA laws.
Finally, a woman named Jenna came to the rescue. Jenna grew up in my hometown, and her mother had been a teacher at my elementary school for over 20 years. Her mom knew Miss Bula personally, and she was able to get me her new last name and an email address.
I typed out a message to Miss Bula, explaining the situation. I sent her the TikTok, so she knew what the hell was going on when someone inevitably told her, “Some girl on the internet is looking for you.”
Then I said the six words I’d been wanting to say to my fourth-grade teacher for the past decade:
“Thank you for believing in me,” not once, but twice. I hit send and hoped for the best.
Several hours later, Miss Bula responded, and I was thrilled to see that she was flattered rather than freaked out:
“Oh my god! I am so happy to hear from you! I am so glad that you followed your heart and continued writing. There is nothing better than doing a job that you love. I had several teachers in the faculty room in tears after showing them your TikTok! It is so rewarding to know that I played a small part in helping you follow your dreams! We all hope that we can have a positive impact on our students. Please let me know when your book comes out! I can’t wait to read it!”
I’m sure she’s trying to be humble, but she’s wrong; the part Miss Bula played in my life was a huge one.
If I hadn’t run into her 48 hours before I hit my dead end, I probably would’ve cut my losses and handed my resume to another restaurant. I probably would’ve spent the rest of my life assuming that I wasn’t good enough to do the one thing that lit me up from the inside out.
Instead, I wake up every day thrilled that I get to earn government-issued money while following my dream. Spin words into something meaningful. Speak my truth when I once had no voice at all.
And in case anyone else needs to hear it, whatever you’re too busy doing to distract yourself from the aching, stubbornly persistent passion inside of you, don’t let it keep you busy forever. A wise woman once said, “You don’t waste something like that.”
Maria Cassano is a writer, editor, and journalist whose work has appeared on NBC, Bustle, CNN, The Daily Beast, Food & Wine, and Allure, among others. She's in the process of publishing her memoir.
