More Than a Name
Does anyone else feel cursed by their name? Or is it just me?
All of my life, I have felt cursed by my name. More specifically, the mispronunciation of it. The way I see it is that for 1.) I did not consent to birth, and 2.) consent to my chosen name, which is the way I am known and spoken to. A name is a label to describe an individual's existence. So, in some way, I feel entitled to being referred to correctly… because I think that is the least we can do in acknowledging and respecting others' existence.
Perhaps I was naive and overly idealistic to assume the diversity in America meant that people accept and keep up with the vast foreign names that have immigrated from all over the world, but this is anything but the truth, my truth rather.
Growing up, I was given a nickname: Camie, short for Camilla. Why must I be renamed? Was my original name too difficult or lengthy? Sure, I can be more convenient for you.
But even this nickname had troubles of its own. The idea of names lost value every time I was miscalled and misspelled. Times like those made being unique feel like a crime. I spent years brushing off mispronunciations for the sake of not wanting to be seen as difficult or mean. Over time, the celebration of names in society, juxtaposed with my reality of people just not even saying mine right, reached its limit.
In the fall of 2023, at a psychology conference, this limit was reached.
.
I didn’t mean to come across as too dominant or entitled, but after years of feeling misunderstood and disrespected, I became rather sensitive to what I believe is such a simple form of respect.
During the conference, a woman approached my poster to ask how to pronounce my name phonetically for the ceremony later, and I happily told her. The ceremony spiked my anxiety: a crowded room full of people whose opinions I care about, and the stage was rather far from where I was sitting, which meant prolonged discomfort. My social anxiety at the time was a fluctuating mess, and all I wanted was for this to be over with.
The ceremony held general participation awards and selected poster awards. During the general awards, my group’s research title popped up on the screen above the stage, indicating that we would be called next. With anxious and speedy energy, I rose from my seat, waiting, standing patiently for the speaker to announce me and my partners. But instead, I watched the speaker struggle. Then, I watched her laugh about how she had spoken to me earlier about how to pronounce my name and now couldn’t. During mid-joke and her admittedly charismatic way of handling this potentially embarrassing situation for her, I cut her off and announced my name loud and clear to get the show on the road.
Interestingly, my anxiety vanished as I walked toward the stage. I felt nothing. Maybe it was a sense of peace after doing something way out of my comfort zone, or I might have dissociated from doing something way out of my comfort zone.
In retrospect, my act of defiance, or whatever you want to call it, was visually fairly similar to when Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games rose from her seat during the reaping and said, “I volunteer as tribute.” But, in my situation, I just said, “Camilla Dziadosz” and walked up the stage to receive my participation award.
Ever since that scenario, I felt even more guilty for making a big deal about my name. Taking up space and commanding to be seen and respected like the rest was uncomfortable, because I’m used to being reduced and essentially people-pleasing at the expense of myself. I also knew that in terms of gender, it’s even more unconventional and more unattractive to see a woman demand respect, whereas, for men, it’s more digestable. These thoughts devolved into the fear of being seen as cold and rude rather than what it really was: saying my name correctly because the speaker was visibly and audibly struggling to do so.
It’s such a contradictory idea for me. A name is everything and nothing at all.
I often shock myself with my behavior. And while I still judge myself for calling that speaker out publicly, there is something powerful in standing up for yourself that is usually long overdue.
