Why I Changed My Name (and pronouns)

So I had a small story as to my coming out. It’s on the main page of the website. I know coming out stories are important and I wanted to note it for those who were interested. Mine just doesn’t seem that interesting to me. The story that has proven more difficult and tricky to navigate has been changing my name and gender markers; especially in the Covid times when doing paperwork hasn’t exactly been an easy process. You see, I never felt quite like a boy or quite like a girl. I struggled with identifiers and restrictions placed on both genders. I always saw myself as something else. Not boy, not girl. It was a long time until I saw words like non-binary or gender nonconforming. When those entered my radar I suddenly felt less alone in the world.

I don’t/won’t/can’t have children. I don’t know what it is like to stew about a name for a little life. I know my mother had a name picked out that her mother then absolutely forbade. If I had that name would I have changed it? Maybe... Maybe not.

I knew I wanted a new opportunity to navigate the world in a way that felt more authentic. That held fewer preconceptions and was less baggage laden than what I was currently showing up with.

What a talk it was with dear husband. I had to admit that I hated how cornered I felt by my very overtly feminine name. To his credit he sat with me picking at things, opting to try on calling me different names I suggested, seeing what fit, what felt nice, what suited our little dynamic.

Quin became the preference in the house. It also gave me grace for a whole long name I constructed to my heart’s delight (that I probably won’t post because well, internet). I picked names that honoured the names I was given, same roots, same origins, nearly the same numbers of letters, and even the same syllables.

I picked this name and named myself. It feels like me, it feels like home. I would far rather anyone who knew me before to use this name now. When a person chooses their name it is a matter of dignity, respect, and care to use the name they’ve chosen.

I also have opted to change all my IDs to reflect the gender marker of “X”, so it would be “Mx” not Mr or Mrs. Now in Canada licenses/health cards/ passports can all hold this marker. So me and my singular “they/them” pronouns are going to go about our business. I’ve also recently learned there’s a sunset clause to the no fee instance to do this, so I’m on borrowed time at this point.

This has been met by utter confusion in my close relatives. The funniest portion of this for me was when someone was extremely concerned a paramedic wouldn’t know my gender. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable. It’s a really good way to deescalate conflict. “What if you have a heart attack and the EMTs don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl?!”

If the EMTs are trying to do something about a heart attack through my genitals, I would please like to have new EMTs as I’m quite sure that’s not how you fix a heart attack. I’m sure if the matter at hand concerns that region it will be said as I’m calling 911 and everyone will have all the information they need.

All of this manages to sound quite practical in consideration when there is a lot more nuance to changing your entire name. I didn’t quite realize how attached other people are to labels (not that I should be surprised, it just hadn’t crossed into my general awareness).

So, all of the above was typed quite some time ago. Writing this brought up a lot of feelings about changing my name and I have required a couple of therapy appointments to work through some of the nuance of the situation. So we’re going forward from a more informed place from this point onward. I realized my name change was more than just this practicality I’d illustrated and more into some nuance around life experience and trauma.

For everyone who asks why I would change my name and the reasons to do so, or those who don’t understand the complexities that come with this decision, please continue reading.

I’m changing my name because I hate nearly every memory attached to the name I had before. The weight that has carried hearing my full legal name spoken, has stolen my joy in life. When you spend your days in tribunals (endless disability boards and fighting for the right to have an income), about whether or not you count as a person and whether or not your experience is valid, someone else gets to make that decision. Someone else gets to evaluate whether your professionally medically diagnosed evaluations are legitimate. For me, it made me hate hearing it. It was too much.

Many people who have a name that can be shortened are familiar with this. Doctors’ offices and official appointments will always say the whole legal name, and that can leave one unsettled. Personally in that department, I’ve been through hell and I want a redo. I want for people to say my name and for me to feel joy about it. I want to be known and valid. In opting to change my name I write a new book. One where I don’t associate hearing my name with whether or not I’m going to eat tomorrow, or getting to count as a human in the eyes of society.

That’s really fucked up when you think about it, that a name can harbour such negative connotations and societal expectations to the past and present.

I have come through multiple abusive relationships. I’ve been beat up by a system designed to accommodate my death. I’m tired of walking through life with that name. I want a new one. I made a new one that suits me well.

Are there circumstances where I’m making awkward intros because people “know” me but they don’t “know” this particular name? Sure, that’s happening. It happened recently in fact with a new Facebook friend.

The funny thing that’s happening is more often than not most people take my explanation with “hey that makes sense, nice to meet you Quin” and just carry on, which is certainly not what I was taught to anticipate. But it’s really cool, and good on everyone who knows me and respects this decision, whether it’s toward myself or others like me.

To the rest of you, do better.

Simple mistakes are forgivable, but call people by their name. Honour their sense of identity. It’s not that hard. If it is that hard might I suggest you do some therapy about it.

I had a friend once who changed her name just because she had a traumatic childhood and wanted a new name. I respect her choice because it’s not about me. You can do the same. You don’t have to understand everything about someone to be courteous.

When people get married, many times the bride changes their last name and takes their husband’s name. You can grow up with someone having one name, and you can call them by another because of circumstance. This is no different.

So hello: my name is Quin. You may have known me as someone else and I ask for you to try this going forward because it’s really important to me.

Thank you.