When I was fourteen I decided I no longer wanted to be called Amanda.
It wasn't some big revelatory experience or attempt to change my identity. I sat near another Amanda in math class in the 8th grade and we were both sick of being confused at which one of us the teacher was talking to when he said our name. So, in a moment of frivolousness and adventurousness characteristic of adolescence, my friend Blair and I decided that I would be named "Jerree."
It took a while to get Jerree to stick. I had to constantly remind my friends not to call me Amanda anymore. My church family, many of whom were older adults, simply couldn't handle the change, so they combined my new name with my old name, making me Jerree Amanda. And since I went to a church where people addressed each other as brother or sister so-and-so, my name at church became Sister Jerree Amanda. Which is just way too many syllables for a person to have in their name, period.
When 9th grade came I was finally able to really make the switch. I had all new teachers and lots of new classmates, so I made sure Jerree was pencilled in to every roster on the first day of school. After that, I didn't have to remind anyone anymore. Jerree was my name.
At age nineteen I was lying in the bed of my dorm room on the campus of a religious youth organization I had joined, wondering about the rest of my life and my adulthood as it pertained to my name. Would I continue being called something that I made up when I was fourteen? How would I explain the story to others as a 20 or 30 or 40 or 50 year old? Was Jerree really a reflection of me, or was she an identity I had chosen to wear in my youthful insecurities? Was I just trying to be different just to be different, or to really be authentic? Was the name i'd been given at birth really all that terrible?
I decided to try out "Amanda" for about a month. I would tell all of my friends and work mates to call me Amanda. This was to be an experiment, to see how I felt about hearing Amanda instead of Jerree. To picture myself being Amanda for the rest of my life and no longer Jerree. Would I really prefer this transition? I couldn't commit to it just yet, I had to test it out...test the waters first. I told everyone that I would make a formal announcement at the end of the month - one month after my 19th birthday.
However, it really only took a few days into the test to realize and truly feel that Amanda was who I was. I knew the meaning of the name was something especially special for me. Amanda means, in Latin, "beloved," or "worthy of love." This wasn't really about me coming of age or changing my foolish ways in order to become "a real adult." This was simply something I felt perhaps the hand of God nudging at me while I tried to sleep in my bed. "I want you to understand this." I wanted to understand it, too.
So, while I pretended that I was trying out the name Amanda, really on the inside I was letting go of Jerree. I had no regrets. Jerree was with certainty an honest reflection of me and I would never forget her influence on my life for those five years. Jerree was the girl who wore bracelets up and down her arm, who made fake tattoos on her hands with ink pens that her mom said would be the cause of blood poisoning someday, who sang in the choir and tried out for plays, who argued with her teachers and made them laugh. Jerree was not a mistake, nor would she ever be forgotten. But she had played her role as Amanda, who would be returning to explore a new dimension on the stage of life.
When February came I made a fake announcement over email which was long and arduously written telling everyone I wanted to forget both Jerree and Amanda and start being called Anamika. I wanted this to start right away and I was serious about it. I sent out the "ha ha just kidding" followup email after I'd given myself enough time to enjoy the various reactions.
Amanda was on her way...
It wasn't some big revelatory experience or attempt to change my identity. I sat near another Amanda in math class in the 8th grade and we were both sick of being confused at which one of us the teacher was talking to when he said our name. So, in a moment of frivolousness and adventurousness characteristic of adolescence, my friend Blair and I decided that I would be named "Jerree."
It took a while to get Jerree to stick. I had to constantly remind my friends not to call me Amanda anymore. My church family, many of whom were older adults, simply couldn't handle the change, so they combined my new name with my old name, making me Jerree Amanda. And since I went to a church where people addressed each other as brother or sister so-and-so, my name at church became Sister Jerree Amanda. Which is just way too many syllables for a person to have in their name, period.
When 9th grade came I was finally able to really make the switch. I had all new teachers and lots of new classmates, so I made sure Jerree was pencilled in to every roster on the first day of school. After that, I didn't have to remind anyone anymore. Jerree was my name.
At age nineteen I was lying in the bed of my dorm room on the campus of a religious youth organization I had joined, wondering about the rest of my life and my adulthood as it pertained to my name. Would I continue being called something that I made up when I was fourteen? How would I explain the story to others as a 20 or 30 or 40 or 50 year old? Was Jerree really a reflection of me, or was she an identity I had chosen to wear in my youthful insecurities? Was I just trying to be different just to be different, or to really be authentic? Was the name i'd been given at birth really all that terrible?
I decided to try out "Amanda" for about a month. I would tell all of my friends and work mates to call me Amanda. This was to be an experiment, to see how I felt about hearing Amanda instead of Jerree. To picture myself being Amanda for the rest of my life and no longer Jerree. Would I really prefer this transition? I couldn't commit to it just yet, I had to test it out...test the waters first. I told everyone that I would make a formal announcement at the end of the month - one month after my 19th birthday.
However, it really only took a few days into the test to realize and truly feel that Amanda was who I was. I knew the meaning of the name was something especially special for me. Amanda means, in Latin, "beloved," or "worthy of love." This wasn't really about me coming of age or changing my foolish ways in order to become "a real adult." This was simply something I felt perhaps the hand of God nudging at me while I tried to sleep in my bed. "I want you to understand this." I wanted to understand it, too.
So, while I pretended that I was trying out the name Amanda, really on the inside I was letting go of Jerree. I had no regrets. Jerree was with certainty an honest reflection of me and I would never forget her influence on my life for those five years. Jerree was the girl who wore bracelets up and down her arm, who made fake tattoos on her hands with ink pens that her mom said would be the cause of blood poisoning someday, who sang in the choir and tried out for plays, who argued with her teachers and made them laugh. Jerree was not a mistake, nor would she ever be forgotten. But she had played her role as Amanda, who would be returning to explore a new dimension on the stage of life.
When February came I made a fake announcement over email which was long and arduously written telling everyone I wanted to forget both Jerree and Amanda and start being called Anamika. I wanted this to start right away and I was serious about it. I sent out the "ha ha just kidding" followup email after I'd given myself enough time to enjoy the various reactions.
Amanda was on her way...
1 comment:
Oh, my, I remember when you changed back to Amanda! It's funny because I actually didn't remember that you were called Jerree when I first met you until I started reading your post here.
Well, what's your reflection on "Amanda" for the past ten years?
(Crazy that's it's been about that long, huh?) I've been wanting to contact you and catch up a little. Hope all is well!
~Ashley
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