11: Adventures in Legal Name Change (or Why the Trans Person When to Court)

Alix
Alix
Sep 4, 2018 · 7 min read
[Person’s sweater-covered arm shown writing in pen on a stack of papers. A notebook and mug also sit on the table.]

Here’s a list from of moments that would likely induce panic for most of us: your car breaking down in the no-cell-service middle of nowhere, coming down with the flu before an important event, getting dumped.

There are also some scary situations that apply to far fewer people. This piece is about a fairly trans-specific situation that set me into a spiral of fear: my birth name, which I was no longer going by at the time, was read aloud in a very public setting.

I have nothing against the name my parents gave me in and of itself. The reason I don’t like to hear it used is that name reminds me of the time I spent unaware of my authentic self. Making the switch to a new name symbolizes living as the real me. It’s not a coincidence that I changed my name on Facebook at the same time I made a post coming out as transgender. Using Alix is empowering because it makes me feel like I’m in control of my identity.

In most cases, I could feel this sense of control without jumping through the legal hoops to officially change my name. But, as the story below describes, unchanged documents left holes in my otherwise coherent presentation of self.

Setting the Scene

I walked the short distance to the concert as the June sun disappeared from view behind the Olympic Mountains. A line of mostly 30-somethings with friends and significant others snaked around the side of the building. The venue was a grand church, a perfect setting for the acoustic guitar and soft, melodious voice we were about to hear.

Once inside, I settled into a pew about mid-way back since all the closer spots seemed to be taken. I silently cursed myself for not arriving earlier for a closer spot; after all, I had walked all of two minutes to get here. I also regretted not bringing a blanket and pillow like the pre-show email suggested. Those who came prepared were able to claim floor space in front of the pews, closest to the stage.

In all my anxious peering around, I spotted what looked like an open area in the second row to the left of the stage. I hesitantly left my seat and wiggled out into the aisle. Handwritten signs reserved the two spots nearest the stage, but the rest of the row was unoccupied, so I sat down, feeling a bit like I’d cheated the system.

Echoes bounced around the high-ceilinged room as people filed in and buzzed about, ordering drinks from the two makeshift bars in the back corners. For a while I sat unaccompanied; no one suspected that there would still be free seats that close to the front. Minutes before the opening act, a few observant people settled in next to me, just as surprised at their luck as I had been.

Lights, Camera, Action

I had been looking forward to this show since it was announced six months prior. I bought tickets the day they were released. This artist was one of my long-time favorites and his music had accompanied me through many tough times.

My body was pounding with anticipation as the MC for the night took the stage to make a few final announcements before the opening act began. He thanked everyone for coming, thanked the venue, the sponsors. The crowd clapped softly.

“Oh and one final thing: We received a lost wallet belonging to a [Redacted first name] Perry. [Redacted name], come find me and claim your wallet.”

The scene froze and my brain felt like it was drowning in its own amniotic fluid. I got that in-school-in-my-underwear-dream feeling. Something I was dedicated to keeping private had been exposed! After the few seconds it took for me to make sense of what was happening, I involuntarily blurted out, “that’s me.” Luckily, I refrained from yelling, and only the person sitting next to me heard. Patting my pockets and looking around me, I confirmed that indeed my wallet was missing.

Like I said at the start, I was no longer going by my birth name, so I rarely heard it spoken aloud anymore. However, I had yet to put the effort in to legally change my name. Thus, my driver’s license and other forms of ID in the found wallet still showed my now out-of-use name.

I saw the MC heading towards the back of the venue, where I would soon lose sight of him if I did not get moving. “Well, I better go track him down,” I said to my neighbor, as I stood up.

“Oh, it’s actually yours?” she said, surprised.

As I wiggled through the still-milling-about crowd, I felt that everyone was staring at me, [redacted name], who’d lost their wallet.

I caught up to the MC in the lobby. “Excuse me, that was my wallet,” I said.

“Oh, you’re [redacted name]?” He asked quizzically. As with the person seated next to me, the MC did not easily see the connection with (deep-voice, short hair, masculine clothing) me and my legal name.

“Yep.”

“Well, let’s see,” he said, opening the wallet to look at my driver’s license. The photo showed a female-presenting person with their hair tied back, side-swept bangs, narrow face, earrings. Quite different than how I now looked, but I didn’t doubt he’d see the resemblance. He held the license up next to my face. “Yeah, I suppose that’s you.”

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the wallet without bothering to check for its contents, and booking it back to my seat, head down.

I spent the entirety of the opening act taking deep breaths, eyes closed, trying to slow down my heart rate. I didn’t want to let the wallet fiasco ruin the night. Though I willed myself to exist in the present moment, I was having a hard time locating any metaphorical clothes to cover up the exposed feeling.

In the end, I was only able to settle down when the main act came on stage and I heard the voice that had gotten me through so many other difficult moments.

Paperwork Parade

Before that night I hadn’t been in a hurry to change my name legally. Though I had been going by Alix in most settings for nine months, I still harbored a bit of uncertainty about if I wanted to stick with it for good. There are a lot of names out there to choose from, after all!

Logically, I knew these events were unlikely to repeat themselves. But emotionally, I felt unsafe carrying an ID that could be used to reveal my birth name and gender to anyone who got their hands on it.

I picked up a big packet describing the name change process from a trans support group and started looking how to go about things. I’m sure all the information was there, but the amount of stuff to do was overwhelming. A court order, doctor’s letter of support (for gender marker change), driver’s license, social security card, passport, and birth certificate. Was there a best order for all this? It wasn’t clear.

Early the next month I had a doctor’s appointment, and took the opportunity to ask for the letter of support. After I submitted the paperwork with the secretary, she gave her recommendation for how to go about the whole process. That two minutes of explanation provided me with the confidence to go forward and get the court order later that same week.

When I sat in front of the judge and listened to her read my now-legal name I felt powerful, respected, validated. This was no ordinary person addressing me, this was the law confirming that I could be who I said I was.

Epilogue: Damage Control

My driver’s license, social security card, and debit and credit cards now bear the correct name, and my new passport is in the works. These are the main sources through which my name is revealed to others. But, I used my birth name for 22 years, and it still exists in a lot of places: a promotional email here, a pharmacy pickup there, and insurance bill in the mail. None of these individual things bother me much, but they add up to feeling like I’m playing Whack-a-Mole against my birth name.

Sometimes the mole will even pop up where you’d never expect it to. Someone recently alerted me that my voicemail greeting was still in my old name and didn’t sound at all like my current voice. I had been using iPhones, which have their own voicemail, for the past six years. When I got a new Samsung phone earlier this year, I started using Verizon’s voicemail box again, which apparently had retained all its settings from when I last used it in high school. Cringe.

I doubt that any amount of paperwork will make my birth name vanish for good. I suppose that’s not the point. All along, the purpose has been to not let the name I use get in the way of people seeing me how I want to be seen. I don’t need the law to tell me who I am, but it has certainly helped me assert my identity with others.

You can follow Alix on Instagram and Twitter @alixwuzhere.
If you liked this piece, in lieu of compensating me, click the links to donate to
Trans Lifeline and/or Ingersoll Gender Center.

Alix

Written by

Alix

I'm a transgender/non-binary, white, and Seattle-based writer. This space is dedicated to exploring gender beyond traditional narratives.

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