How to Be Who You Are
Step 1: Make an awkward announcement to acquaintances
Twice a week, I spend an hour lifting heavy things in the least bro-like setting possible. My gym group includes a mix of middle-aged moms like myself, queer folks, and retired ladies working on their bone density. I say this without a hint of snark: we are a truly delightful group. I’ve been in this program for more than a year, and with a few exceptions, it’s been the same group of ten of us for most of that time. We’re acquaintances crossing the bridge toward friendship.
That’s why it was awkward when I announced to everyone after class a few weeks ago that I actually preferred to go by Ash, not Ashley.
It made sense in the context of the conversation, but I felt weird as soon as I said it. My inner monologue was not kind: What a bizarre thing to blurt out! If I wanted to be called Ash, why do I introduce myself as Ashley every new cycle when we do icebreakers? They’re going to think I’m such a loser. You can’t just ask for a nickname like Ash. It’s the kind of nickname you have to earn or come by naturally, not something normal like Katie for Katherine.
I was wildly overthinking it. Every single person in the group nodded and said, “Ok, we’ll call you Ash!” One woman noted that it feels like a very different name than Ashley (which I agree with). Another, who could probably tell I was embarrassed, said that it’s becoming so normal for people to choose what they’re called and encouraged me not to feel weird about it.
Two weeks later, we had out last session before Christmas break. One of my gym buddies made us all ornaments with our names on them. Mine said “Ash.”
I’m not sure why this feels so meaningful to me, but it does. I was Ash for the first half of my life. Friends, family, and boyfriends all used the nickname. It wasn’t anything I ever asked for; it’s just what people called me.
Once I got to college, “Ashley” was written on my dorm door. It’s how I introduced myself. I wrote it at the top of all my papers. I figured people would eventually shorten it to Ash, just like they always had. Except no one did. And no one ever knew that calling me by my full name all the time was outside the ordinary.
So my nickname was relegated to my childhood friends and family. I started an editing business using my full name professionally. I married my husband, whose family is anti-nickname and who goes by his full name even though it has a common nickname equivalent.1 And Ash faded away.
It’s been an interesting thing to have people calling me by my “real name” again for a month now. Names have significance. We think our names somehow change us as people. That’s certainly what it’s supposed to signify biblically. Abram and Sarai to Abraham and Sarah. Simon to Peter. Saul to Paul.
But when you think about it, those people didn’t change all that much with their new names.
Saul was zealous about persecuting Christians, and Paul was equally zealous about professing his faith in Christ. Simon was renamed “rock,” but Peter still had a bad temper and was willing to deny knowing Jesus. Sarai and Sarah alike refused to believe there was a chance God could bless her with a child.
Wherever you go, whatever you’re called, there you are.
Nothing has really changed by having this small group calling me by my preferred nickname. Except maybe my willingness to be more fully who I am. To lean away from “Ashley”—the name that was most often used when I was in trouble growing up—and into the possibility of paths I can choose to walk in the future.
Well, one other thing has changed too: I realized that this is a good example of just asking for what you want. No one is going to be deeply offended or upset about using my nickname, but they won’t know to use it if I don’t tell them (particularly not if that’s how I keep introducing myself).
Asking for what you want, or even just acknowledging it to yourself, can be a spiritual practice. St. Ignatius believed that “our truest desires reflect God’s desires in us and for us.”
We hear a lot about God’s will, and a lot less about how God created us to be unique and amazing and he genuinely cares about our desires! Even something as small as a nickname that’s meaningful.
I’m writing about this because I was surprised by how deep this small, silly thing went for me. It’s got me thinking about how I show up in the world—and how I could show up if I made different choices. How God designed me to be in my fullness of self and whether I choose to honor that or hide it.
Sarah and Abraham and Paul and Peter all had their flaws that didn’t magically go away, but they also all grew and changed. I’m growing and changing. I’m trying to remind myself that growth is good, that my anxiety over how people perceive me isn’t worth playing small.
There’s a very large part of me that thinks this entire post is ridiculous and I should delete it without ever letting it see the light of day. That’s exactly why I’m publishing it. Years of writing has taught me that sticking your neck out and publishing the thing that feels vulnerable or scary is usually the right move.
So hi. Let me introduce myself as your friendly neighborhood writer on topics related to Ignatian spirituality. My name is Ashley, but you can call me Ash.
This came into play when naming our children. I wanted to name our youngest after St. Agnes but call her by a related nickname. My husband stood by his anti-naming principles. Now she has the name I wanted to call her in the first place, and very few people (plus you, dear reader) know that her namesake is an early Church martyr.