Somewhat related to lrt, but only tangentially so; I& #39;ve been thinking a lot recently about chosen names. I& #39;ve tried a few. Honestly, it& #39;s been a huge exercise in frustration, and a sort of dispelling of fantasy equally so.

Story time.
I guess I always bought into that idea that, like a lot of transitioning folks, I& #39;d look at babynames dot com and just fall upon some perfectly fitting, music-to-ears realization that, of course my name is X, or Y! I& #39;ve always been that!
The truth is that the deeper I dug, the more isolated and- in many ways *interrogated* I felt as I investigated options.

Do I look like a Samantha? Do I sound like an Elizabeth?
Every time I found a name I liked, I imagined having to introduce myself with it. I heard the things I didn& #39;t like about my voice. I saw the surprise on people& #39;s faces, the suppressed laughter at ever daring to think of me as something I chose and not what was forced upon me.
Sure, I& #39;ve had positive experiences being someone that lives full-time out of the closet these days, but it feels a lot like spinning the revolver with one bullet dropped in at random.

Being accepted is a base-level norm for most. But sometimes I& #39;d hit that bullet.
Someone who just erupted with laughter at who I presented myself as. Someone who got angry at me for my names, or some who& #39;d go so far as to think of a masculine alternative to what I said and use that instead because OBVIOUSLY that& #39;s what I MEANT to say!
I think these challenges that people face really prevent that magic, warm feeling of concrete identity from forming.

I don& #39;t feel like my name. I don& #39;t want a name. I don& #39;t even really want to be spoken about at all, because if I can& #39;t settle on anything, why challenge you to?
The big takeaway being if my sense of knowing in myself rivaled the absolutely burning wrath I feel towards my assignment at birth, I would be in a very healthy, happy place.

But people. People don& #39;t want you to have that.
You see it day in, day out. I& #39;ve been in the damn room when fellow transitioning folk have been mocked for their name choice. Sorry we& #39;re not all boring and subscribed to something parents we may not even have a close relationship to wrote on a certificate decades ago.
And it makes me angry! I& #39;ll admit that! It makes me angry to be part of a category of people that have to put themselves at a blade& #39;s edge and wait the approval of others who we share -so much in common with- aside from winning the lottery that is self-image matching self.
Should I care? No, god no - it& #39;d be healthier if I didn& #39;t.

But I spent so much of my life being taught that I -should.- That I should be good. Kind. Unoffensive. Quiet. If there was a dispute, it was my fault, so of course I& #39;m going to flinch when I fail.
Then comes the weight in the equation; people who think supporting who you are is a favor they& #39;re doing that they can revoke at any point if you wrong them.

Being that vulnerable to someone feels like an emotional hostage situation.
But why is it we& #39;re the ones ridiculed for "choosing" personality instead of being destined to it? Why is it we& #39;re viewed as a sort of & #39;poser& #39; in this grand scheme of things when - here& #39;s the big secret - everything everyone ever does to present themselves is a choice.
You don& #39;t love your favourite band purely because their music is good, you love the aesthetic. You love how it makes you look. You love the brand.

Your favourite clothes, the same way.

Hobbies? You bet.

-We choose who we are.-
I started this thread because I was originally going to list a bunch of the names I tested, what they meant to me, who I was at the time, but- honestly, I just came out of the thought angry. Angry that I& #39;m still letting expectations of me shape who I am.
I guess my whole thought is simply; I don& #39;t really know who I am. I& #39;m still trying to figure that out.

But I trust myself more than anyone else to decipher that.
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