I’ve been reflecting on my birth name. Even going by Ash now, I find my birth name to be beautiful. I appreciate my parents gifting it to me. I enjoyed the simple elegance and the infrequency of encountering others who wore it as their first name. The latter became especially appealing in classes where I had to keep track of which Jessica someone was referring to.
In 2019, I legally changed my name to Ash. Does this mean I now abhor the birth name given to me? While I do have a complicated history with my gender identity and expression, no, I do not hate my birth name. It simply no longer fits.
It’s similar to when I stroll through the mall and see some clothes through the shop’s window. What lovely garments! I stop to admire how they flow and drape the mannequin. Maybe I snap a few pictures on my phone so I can show the outfit to a friend or practice drawing them later.
Yet I know those garments aren’t for me. As pretty as they are, I’d only see dysphoria in the changing room mirror. Much in the same way I feel dysphoria when being called my birth name. It’s taken me years to process this lesson, that I can admire clothing and jewelry and names without wanting to partake.
Once upon a time, my birth name fit me, or, at least, I thought it did. Still, sometimes we outgrow things and try out newer alternatives. Turns out Ash is the better, euphoric even, fit. Still, like many people, I store treasured mementos in my closet. Every now and then I see my old name tucked away. I’m lucky to have worn it.
An amusing side note: When I first started using Ash in 2015, I had no idea how common it would be among other non-binary people. How the tables turn!
