I can relate a bit more now, since Mercedes is my middle name. I use it all the time, with the exceptions of work (to insulate my job from my activism) and rare bits of personal business (i.e. going to the doctor). My partner also uses my first name as a pet name, otherwise that’s it (although it does give me an option to slip into obscurity or relative stealth at some time in the future if I desire to do so). WRT work, there’s a kind of switching of gears that happens — my identity doesn’t change, but the sense of surroundings does.

Finding MY name when it was time was basically a vision quest, so when it came together it was mine, me, who I am.

I went from having a standing policy of allowing people to call me anything but late for dinner, to having a very small handful nicknames, and of course my own real name. So for me, it was easy. I finally had a name of my own. So it was really easy. Oddly enough, my brother asked me this same question a bunch of years back because he thought it was amazing I’d made the switch so easily.

I’d say that having something you feel connected to and can relate to is important. Sounds like you have that under control. Then of course comes the paperwork if you decide to streamline the process so that all your paperwork and life syncs up.

It’s funny that you mentioned naming yourself in your head — I knew that my old name was “wrong” when I realized that other people do call themselves by name when talking to themselves. But even after changing my name, I don’t name myself much in my head. When I do, I use my new name, and it’s kind of a reassuring thing — reaffirming my identity in tough times.

Sometimes, though, I feel detached from all names and I start seeing the whole idea of having (being) a name as pretty wacky: are those few syllables supposed to represent me as a person? On the other hand, when I can identify with a name, it’s so rooting — like those few letters are holding me firmly on Earth.

Culturally speaking, adult name changes is common historically in most of my ancestral cultures – Canadian Indian and Celtic – but not in modern times. People don’t even seem to be familiar with the practice anymore. Whenever I’ve tried to explain it in this way, which is how it feels to me – childhood name vs. adult name – I get blank stares. Half the time I don’t bother and just end up saying “it’s a nickname” to save myself the frustration. But that irks me, too. It’s NOT a nickname. It’s who I am. And I really wish people could just respect that without needing a “why”.

There seem to be two exceptions: one when people use a name (or nickname) that I’m trying to discourage that definitely irks me rather than shifting my identity. The other is when different people use different names for completely valid reasons, which confuses matters – like I can’t settle on a solid identity as a result. I’m curious how people who have nicknames reconcile this confusion or if it occurs for them at all.

When talking to myself I generally don’t address myself by name, so I can’t relate on that front. The closest I get is the name I introduce myself under, which doesn’t reflect the name I relate most to at any given time but rather the name I’d like to relate to. It takes a full circle of people using that name for me to really start feeling it.

I found that, as I used Cindi when living as female, it was fairly easy. It was a matter of gradually dropping the pretense of being male, of thinking about the appropriate male response. So Cindi was easily associated with how I saw myself and the old name remained associated with the character I had constructed over two decades to fit societal norms.