With Great Power…

Last night, I went to a campus basketball game and ran into my friend Craps from the soccer team. Now, her real name is Mina, but everyone has nicknames on the soccer team, given to them by teammates. Mine is Tri, short for “Triangle” (the perks of being a math major). About to introduce myself to her roommates, I found myself turning to Craps and asking, “Soccer name or real name?”
“Whichever,” she replied.
So for that night and for the foreseeable future, Craps’ teammates will know me as Tri — and not as Rose.

I loved the name “Tri” immediately upon receiving it. It encapsulates my entire personality — math, literal, and to the point. Yet very few people actually go out and use their soccer name in real life, for obvious reasons. Most take a little while to start responding to their names (or in my friend Insta’s case, had to deal with infinite derivatives based on Facebook’s other subsidiaries). For me, though, it was easy. Naturally, though, since it wasn’t my first name change.

Obviously, I wasn’t born a Rose. I was born an August — a blessing and a curse at the same time. August is a gender neutral name that skews more masculine. August is a kickass, confident name that I would have loved as a cis man, but also as a cis girl. My more masculine-ish presentation would actually be encapsulated perfectly by a masculine-ish name like August — but if I had kept the name, it clearly wouldn’t have ever allowed me to say my name and not explain my gender. Even now, where I live in the grey zone between “looking female enough to be a clearly trans woman” and “being a very feminine guy,” there is no doubt in my mind that Rose takes me further than August could in being addressed properly without making a big deal about things. So I couldn’t keep my original name, even though part of me wanted to. Hence, when I kept thinking about my transition, I knew I needed a new, more feminine name.

Here’s the thing people don’t tell you about changing your name: it’s terrifying. Coming back to the idea of omission bias, whereby an action is judged more harshly than inaction, your new name is so important. Before transition you may have loved or hated your name, but it was likely treated as permanent and there to stay. Now, you have the power to find your favorite name on the planet, the one that suits you the absolute best. All this control over your life and your future, and if you make a mistake, well, how likely are you to try again?

The method people tell you to use is similar for both names and pronouns. Try to find one that fits you, try it on (Pronoun Dressing Room is such a great resource by the way), and then go from there. But while you will likely find one set of pronouns (and “set” is inclusive of multiple pronouns) that you feel suits you best, names are a lot harder to get “right.” Do you go for the more aspirational, princess name like Rose? The kickass scientist name like Rosalind? Or meet somewhere in the middle with Rosaline, which can be shortened or extended as you see fit? What I found when choosing a name early in my transition is that I didn’t know what kind of girl I would become, and so it was hard to find a name that suited me. So instead I looked to the second option: the name that represented the person I wanted to become. In this case, Rosalind. A name that wasn’t for shy people; no, Rosalind sees what she wants and takes it. A name that was less pretty and more powerful, just like me (as long as I’m not in a group, because then I’ll sh*t my pants — metaphorically).

But Rosalind was still a name where people were okay associating it with guys. Wanting to avoid any association with the gender I was assumed to be, I switched to introducing myself as Rose at the end of last year, and even made that the name on my drivers license. Rose is a pretty name, and in theory, it’s a name I could get behind. Rose was actually the name of a middle school crush (but also just a really good friend I looked up to), so it held plenty of meaning in that way as well. In fact, on paper it is such a good name, a pretty name, a name worthy of a girl next door. I’m just never going to be that girl.

Cue “I’m Not That Girl” from Wicked the musical

But this is getting away from the point of this piece, which was not to complain, believe it or not. Rather, it was to demonstrate the complicated thought process that goes into the name of your choosing. A process which can generate incredible stories, and great, deep connections to your name. For if I could go back today and change my name from the start of my transition, I wouldn’t. Tri is still a funny name that I’ll keep as a regular nickname if I can. Rosalind is still the kickass term I can pull out of the closet when I want to impress or gain confidence. Rose is still the name that sounds so pretty off the careful lips of someone who loves me. Rose is even the name of one of my friends who came out yesterday — who let me know today that my support helped her feel safe enough to do so. There is so much beauty in this word that people say to get my attention, beauty that many folks do not see when they keep their names. Of course these people have their own connections to their names. They’ve lived a full life with them, that is powerful enough even without the potential family connections. But when transness often results in a loss of memory, or consensus reality of the past, it does not cause a loss of meaning in our names. I may have only lived a few years with mine, but my name has lived before me and will live after.

Everyone who has had the courage to change their name, and/or their reality, and experienced that shift in their own interactions with the world, I am so proud of you. May you go out and remind the world of how great a *insert your name here* you are.

All the love,
Rosalind ❤