Plenty, if you ask me! 😉 Our names help define who we are, to ourselves and others.

Our given names are how we are labelled for others, but they are also how we identify ourselves. If we stop to think about it, our names mean a lot to us. I know I have a visceral reaction, although I keep it silent, when my name is mispronounced or shortened – or a nickname is used – by someone who does not know me. Mispronunciations are innocent enough, but the decidedly brash move of shortening another’s name or addressing a person with a nickname in the absence of a relationship with that person is really inexcusable. I believe it is a sign of disrespect and is dismissive when someone chooses to address others by a name other than how they are introduced.

When my Mom chose names for me and my sisters when we were born (with my Dad’s input and agreement, no doubt), she chose popular names of the times. She wanted each of us to have a different first initial, so that mail coming to the house would be very easy to sort properly – and with each of us having the privacy to open our own mail. No confusion. I think my Dad deferred to my Mom’s wishes in naming us as, hey, she kind of did all the work in bringing us into the world. 😉

Other parents choose to name their children all with the same first initial, perhaps to create a familial feel. No matter how our first names are chosen, they are a part of us. I believe our first names play a role in the sense of who we are. Perhaps you may feel similarly?

My given name is Debra, but my nickname growing up was Debbie. My Mom told me I was named after the actor Debbie Reynolds. Ms. Reynolds was very popular at the time and quite beloved. There are a lot of women my age that are also named Debbie. 😉 When I was a child, I didn’t think about whether I preferred to be called Debbie or Debra. By high school, I just didn’t feel like the name Debbie was who I was. Upon graduation, I chose to be called Debra. I thought it sounded more professional as I began to seek full-time employment. I still prefer to be called Debra today. I don’t mind the nickname Deb used by my friends and family. My two nieces are “allowed” to call me Auntie Debbie, because Auntie Debra was a bit hard for them to say when they were little children. 😊

In my childhood, if I thought a person was not very nice, I attached negative feelings to their first name. So, others with that first name had an unfortunate taint of the unliked person. The opposite was true as well. I remember thinking that if I ever had a daughter, I would name her Rachel – which was the name of a main character I loved in the soap opera Another World. I don’t harbour particular feelings attached to various first names anymore; but I doubt I’m alone in having ascribed characteristics about a person simply because of their given name.

When I was in grade six, my homeroom teacher taught the French classes. One day my teacher decided that she would assign us a French name that would be the equivalent of our English names. For instance, Peter would be Pierre, John would be Jean, Susan would be Suzanne, etcetera. The teacher went around the classroom assigning French names to everyone until she got to me. She told me, “There is no French equivalent for Debra, so we will call you Diane.” Well, I remember how I felt when she said this. Not only was I singled out (perhaps this doesn’t happen as much in school anymore), but I was given another identity – or so it seemed to me. I felt excluded and as if I, as I knew myself, didn’t exist. It was such a visceral reaction to, on its surface, something so simple and insignificant. But, to me, it was important.

At a professional conference I once attended, audience members were given the opportunity to stand up and ask questions of the panel members onstage. One gentleman, who I was not acquainted with, stood up and identified himself by his first and last name before he asked his question. The name he mentioned was the same name as a buffoon-type cartoon character. I almost laughed out loud and was so relieved that I didn’t. It was the person’s actual name. I would have been utterly embarrassed. I don’t know what stopped my laughter from erupting from me, but I was grateful for whatever intervened to spare me a mortifying moment. I would never laugh at someone. That was not how I was raised. Whew! Afterwards, I thought to myself, gee, I wonder why this person hadn’t changed his name. But, my next thought was, why should he? It’s his name and was his name probably long before this imaginary character became popular. I had a lot of compassion for him because it was likely he dealt with all kinds of reactions from strangers in his everyday life. That’s an added stress that few of us would want to have.

Fortunately, for those of us who truly dislike our given name – or even our last name – we can choose to legally change it or just adopt another name to use informally. We don’t have to live with a name that doesn’t suit us. Why should we? The wonderful thing is that it is our choice of what name we call ourselves, whether it is our name at birth or not. We can choose how we wish to present ourselves to the world with our name.

If we are happy with our given name, we can embrace it wholeheartedly and love hearing it every time we are addressed. It can be one of the things we value and appreciate about ourselves. You are important and your thoughts and feelings matter.

You are the Light of your own Life.