What’s in a Name?
How my trans daughter taught me grace
So here we are, with two children, whom not that long ago I referred to as our “sons.” When our youngest, Waylon, finally communicated clearly to us what she was experiencing — that she was not in fact a boy but a girl, we were full of fear, but moved forward to support her in the best way we could. I had just come out to everyone in my life, revealing our story, and I was so blessed with the overwhelming warmth and response — even from those I did not expect.
I felt a little more unburdened, a little more settled, than I had before.
A few days later, I drove Waylon to school and she said as I pulled to a stop in the parking lot, “Mommy, I want a girl name.”
My heart dropped and the lump in my throat came back. “What?”
She repeated herself. I asked her why she didn’t like Waylon? I thought that it was gender neutral enough — I mean we had been using it for 4 years, and in the last year, in public, people just assumed “Waylon” was a girl — even when she was dressed in “boy’s” clothing.
She told me that she didn’t like Waylon and wanted a girl name. I asked her if there were any names that she liked. She shook her head no and looked at me as if I should know her name already.
I said, “Well, when mommy was pregnant with you, I wanted to name a daughter Willow. But I didn’t know you were a girl when you came out, so I named you Waylon.”
Her eyes got incredibly wide and bright, “I AM Willow,” she said in the most determined tone I had ever heard her muster. It was if that name had resonated within the depths of her soul. I could see it in her eyes. “Well, ok, honey,” I replied. “Let’s talk about it with daddy later.”
“I am Willow.” She repeated happily. As I got her out of the car I was hoping she didn’t see me shaking.
I was simply devastated. I completely understood now the “grief” I told parents about that they may experience when a child transitions. All I could think of was my little baby, Waylon. I called her that in my belly, once the doctors assigned her “male.” I named her Waylon Joseph — the Joseph after my father — his middle name. How could I possibly change that?
I saw “Willow” as a different creature altogether. A little baby girl.
But “Waylon” had not been that. “He” was my little baby boy. Waylon was the one whose name I said as I gave birth to, the one whose name I said as I held to my breast, the one whose name I softly sang to, I even had a whole song with his name — of course it also had the phrase “my little boy blue” in it. I suddenly realized why she wanted to change her name.
“Waylon was the one whose name I said as I gave birth to, the one whose name I said as I held to my breast, the one whose name I softly sang to…”
I cried the whole way home, and called my mother, crying to her as well.
This felt too real. To change her name. To claim her as female. To change a 4 year old’s name. There is always real doubt here — it is hard to trust your child’s opinions and beliefs when they would do things like eat candy all day, never bathe, or run into a road with traffic.
But, I knew from my own experience, no one taught me to be a boy or girl; I had my own feelings that did not really change over time. And I had a sense of it, as a very young child — research indicates that you can start to see it from 18 months and a firm sense of it by 3 years of age. And I have seen her grow and be consistent with her gender expression ever since she could point and speak.
And the things that they don’t know yet at this age are really about how the outside world will view them. Kids are more in touch with their feelings than any of us — especially us adults. She would know how she feels and not be filtering it through fears of the future or what other people would think, like I was.
And then I cried again. What was happening right then was that I was letting go of my “little boy blue”.
“There is always real doubt here — it is hard to trust your child’s opinions and beliefs when they would do things like eat candy all day, never bathe, or run into a road with traffic. But, I knew from my own experience, no one taught me to be a boy or girl; I had my own feelings that did not really change over time.”
I spoke to Mike and told him what happened.
“Mike, this is moving too fast. I need her to slow down,” I said.
Then my white, cisgender, heterosexual, male husband said to me, “Misty, she’s not going too fast, she’s just not repressing anymore. But you still are.”
Damn, Mike, when did you get so freaking woke??
And I replied, “I am repressing! I’m not ready!”
The next day, not only did Waylon bring it up again, her teachers told me that she has been talking about it in school as well. She wants a girl name.
Mike and I decided to talk about it and offer her lots of alternatives, even things like Waylynn. She balked at the idea of anything else. Cry-screaming, “I AM Willow!” every time we offered another name.
As a family, including Wilson, we talked about what made Waylon want to change her name. Wilson seemed to understand immediately, and ran off to write out a page of name options. Unfortunately, those were a little scary and included one that he pronounced “Ho” (Howe), which she quickly rejected, reminding us once again, “I am Willow.”
I had originally chosen Willow as a child’s name in my early twenties. Partially because I am a Buffy the Vampire Slayer superfan, and partially because I am in love with willow trees. Everything about them appeals to me. Their wispiness and ethereal leaves speak of a spiritual component to nature that we often miss. Willow trees are also one of the strongest trees, simply because of how flexible their branches are — they are full of water, making them resilient. They bend to great distances without breaking. Yes, this baby was a Willow.
We all agreed and then moved to pick a middle name. I offered Josephine, something similar to my father’s name, and by that time my mother had Skyped in to help. My father said “Willow Josephine sounds horrible,” so we scrapped that.
It was a very surreal moment. Not just because my mother, who has struggled with accepting affectional and gender orientation differences was being super supportive, but because we were there with a child that was helping us name themselves.
The significance of that moment hit me. Of course she is picking her name. In every way, she is telling us that how people and society defined her is NOT who she is. She defines herself.
I sat there in awe for a moment, looking at this little soul, my daughter, a child who I wanted to teach how to be strong, and here she was teaching me that she’s already strong.
This kid LITERALLY violates all of our social norms. And there it was again — we let society define every aspect of ourselves, and then we walk around miserable that we don’t meet those expectations — it’s not just gender, it’s our physical bodies, our attractiveness, our health and mental health, our relationships, our work and career, what makes us happy, even our emotions, thoughts, and ideas. And she is saying, “No. I define me.”
“In every way, she is telling us that how people and society defined her is NOT who she is. She defines herself.”
My mother then shouted out, “Willow Grace!” And my heart jumped in joy. “That’s beautiful!” And then the definition of grace hit me.
Simple elegance. My baby was just that. Elegant and ethereal — she loved everything about femininity. In Christian belief, the religion of my youth, Grace means the unequivocal acceptance and love from God. And although I am not Christian, a lesson I still believe is greater purpose and the idea that our universe or Creator loves all of their creations. We all carry purpose and blessings.
She was put on this earth for a reason. And God, or the Universe, made her as a blessing.
Finally, grace means to honor someone or something by one’s presence. And that is the essence of her soul — she blesses everyone she touches. Her love makes everyone smile. Her heart is so open, and she brings joy to anywhere that she goes. She is a blessing to me every single day.
The next night she came home to write her name for her homework. Any misgivings I had were put to rest when I saw this — She had traced the name Waylon as she was supposed to do for her work. But on the name line, she wrote, on her own: Willow. Here she was asked to trace Waylon over and over, which she did, but she still claimed her real name on the top of her work.
So here she is. Our Willow Grace. We tried the name out for several months, and it stuck. She has been insistent, consistent, and persistent that she is a girl, and her name was never meant to be Waylon Joseph; it always was meant to be “Willow Grace.”
As we transitioned to the new name and pronouns, there were plenty of mistakes. Willow was very patient, reminding us of what her name was whenever someone said it wrong. The kids in her preschool class not only learned her new name, they vehemently corrected anyone who accidentally used her old name shouting together, “Her name is WILLOW and she is a girl!” How I wish all adults could just be as accepting as these children.
Several months later we got a new kitty. When I asked Willow what she wanted to name the kitty, she said, “Waylon.” Again, I froze. I said, “I thought you didn’t like that name anymore?” She laughed, “No, mommy, I liked the name, it just wasn’t mine.”
Her wisdom and understanding astounds me. Because she’s here to teach us that nothing defines us — not other’s expectations, not even a name. Be true to your soul, the essence of who you truly are — and you will find resiliency, strength, and grace.
