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To me, it's not so personal.  I like my name, but not with a strong feeling of connection.
People think of the capital of Texas, but I was born in Alaska.  I have never been to Texas.
Sometimes I wish there was more family history, more meaning to my own name.
Google tells me it comes from "Augustine" and means magnificent.

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Mi mama me dio mi nombre

Iris like the flower

Iris como el arco

Iris like the Goddess of the Rainbow in Greek mythology; it’s origin

En Espanol, suena como crema en tu boca: Iris

In English, it sounds like a statement said with finality: Iris!

To monolingual English speakers, saying it in Spanish, it is like an insult

To others, they chew it up and spit it out in forms unrecognizable to me

At times, it causes confusion

At other times, the focus becomes adding “rr” where it doesn’t exist

Oftentimes, there is no ‘s’ at the end and it simply become “Edie”

Under better circumstances, it leads questions for understanding –

“That is such a pretty name, where is it from?”

Under less than ideal circumstances, it lead to questions in an effort to “other” me –

“You have an accent, where are you from?”

My name as Iris (ee-rees) and not Iris (eye-res) is a revolutionary act of resistance

I have been told:

“You are in America now, where we speak English. Your name is not ee-rees, it is eye-res”

To which I responded:

‘I was born and raised in the United States of America and my name is and always will be IRIS (ee-rees)!’

To be Iris is to be me

It is to honor my Mexican and Spanish-speaking heritage

It is a reminder to myself and others that I am whole and not broken

That I know my history, my roots, my identity, my culture, my family and lineage

To call me otherwise it an attempt to erase who my ancestors fought to create

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Yo Soy Amada-I Am Loved My name is from love and chance.Amada (loved one) or Querida (dear one). Blond like my German ancestors or brown like my Mexican ancestors. Either way I was loved.My name has been chopped up like carrots going into a soup. The fear every year…correcting teachers, The fear when I meet someone new, My name is not Amanda and you can just call me Amy because it is easier.Once someone called me Amada and it rolled off his tongue. No need to correct him or explain. My heart was full. Once someone, knowing my exhaustion, corrected my supervisor’s mispronunciation for me.I felt relief. Yo soy Amada. My name is who I am. White and Brown. What I look like and how I feel. I feel loved, I am loved, yo soy Amada.

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Yo Soy Amada-I Am Loved My name is from love and chance.Amada (loved one) or Querida (dear one). Blond like my German ancestors or brown like my Mexican ancestors. Either way I was loved.My name has been chopped up like carrots going into a soup. The fear every year…correcting teachers, The fear when I meet someone new, My name is not Amanda and you can just call me Amy because it is easier.Once someone called me Amada and it rolled off his tongue. No need to correct him or explain. My heart was full. Once someone, knowing my exhaustion, corrected my supervisor’s mispronunciation for me.I felt relief. Yo soy Amada. My name is who I am. White and Brown. What I look like and how I feel. I feel loved, I am loved, yo soy Amada.

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My name is from
no one-Mom wanted a name just for me

My name means
Conqueror

Mom wanted a strong name

Strength as little sister to 3 older brothers

Strength for a harsh world

I used to hear:
”Oh! That was my great-grandmother’s/grandmother’s/great aunt’s name.”

“I haven't heard that name in years…”

“So old-fashioned...don’t hear that name anymore…”

“Are you from Wonderland?”

Ugh

I felt about my name
That I didn’t want it

I wanted to be Allison cause no one believed anyone would be Alice “in this age”

(People often just called me Allison & I’d stop correcting them)

I was the only one with my name in school

(although teachers always pronounced it correctly)

I'm grateful
Mom was stubborn & loud & strong

Her stubbornness

And loudness

And strength

Are in me

And we passed that to our daughter in naming her

Cause names matter

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But back to the Heather.

To privilege.

-th is not a combination in many tongues.

It is not easy to say Heather..

Heh-jour. Which I don’t mind.

But I’ve also found when traveling

In Guatemala and Spain

Or working on Sauvie Island

Nina works better. (and that’s a longer story for another poem)

The relief and joy on faces,

When they can call you a name

They can remember

And say

And it feels good to me.

I acknowledge this as sitting in a place of privilege

Of being in the dominate language

Of being seen in the world because I am white,

So adding a name as a gift to another is the least I can do.

I want to talk with you in my struggling Spanish,

So if a new name you can say

Bridges our gap

Let’s walk the bridge together

And I will work to pronounce your given name correctly

Knowing it may take many times.

I will keep at it.

But you can just call me Nina.

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Does it even matter what my name is
My name is Cianna
I treasure my name as if it is a title of a Grammy
The only difference is my name is the title of me
A lot of people will shorten my name for the convenience of themselves
My name has been chopped up like the girl in the red shirt or the girl with the braids
To disrespect my name is like degrading me as a human
I even go by Cici to make it convenient for you
But at the end of the day
Does it even matter that my name is Cianna to you?

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Medrano:
M as in Mary.
E.
D as in Dog.
R.
A.
N as in Nancy.
O.

I was named by my parents. They met at a Bible study and were married 6 weeks later.
They found my name in the oldest part of an ancient text. A mother and daughter-in-law so I was told.

Naomi means “pleasant” they told me, and so I always tried to be.
In New Mexico my name made sense and I never had to spell it. In South Dakota, my mother’s land and where I grew up, I think my teachers and peers dreaded saying it as much as I dreaded hearing them mess it up.

Head down and cheeks red. I wanted to disappear from there and reappear in the mountains and deserts. No need to spell my name. No dread.

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My name comes from my family, but from family no longer mine.

My name is like my father's. The challenge? To make it mine.

My name is a reflection of a time now long past.

Yet. My name is a connection to lives that now have passed.

I must use my name to challenge old behaviors, mindsets lacking of facts.

I will share my name now proudly, use my voice to redirect.

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I was named by my parents
Russ and Wendy

They waited to see me to name me,
but couldn't decide on anything

My first few days in this world I was nameless

Eventually, Eric was found in a book of baby names

I like to think it was a unique books like "Baby names for future leaders," or "Names for Guaranteed kindness and success"

It was probably just something like "Big Book of Boring Baby Names"

No matter, I like Eric
It fits just right
Like a cozy slipper in the winter

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From Katherine on my mother’s side and Kathleen on my father’s side
Irish women who embodied the name’s meaning: Pure
Pure intentions, pure thoughts, pure actions
Saintly, God-fearing, virginal
A lot to live up to
Not really me
Pure, like crystal-clear water
I often feel muddier than my name would suggest

My name has many spellings Kaitlyn, CateLynn, K8len
Written on Starbucks cups and on
Birthday cards from family members who, after 30 years, still don’t know the spelling I use
It took some time, but the “wrong” spellings do all feel like mine

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My name is Sai Ho and my baptize name is Barnabas. Most ppl call me Barnabus and Barnabee or even Barney....

My name is Lo, Sai Ho (勞世豪) and my baptize name is Barnabas. My name has been chopped up like Sai Lo because people thought Ho is my middle name. As a Chinese, I actually don't have a middle name.

My baptize name is Barnabas, it was according to tradition an early Christian, one of the prominent Christian disciples in Jerusalem. According to Acts 4:36, Barnabas was a Cypriot Jew.

I was named by my father in Hong Kong. Sai in Chinese means the world and Ho sounds like hero. My parents might have very high expectation on me but I felt embarrassing because I really not a hero in the world.

In school, most ppl call me Barnabus, Barnabee or Barney.......maybe Barney looks like a dinosaur to the little kids.

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Me Llamo Lisandra, I was named by my grandmother.

My name means so much, but I would assume she named me based on my father named which is Alejandro.

My name means so much but what I like the most that is fill with sweeteness and madness.

My name is so simple,easy and hard to forget. Everytime someone tried to  spell it or said it could be suprised how it's pronounced.

My name means to me fun,kind energetic. Mty name taught me to always be kind and try your hardest all the time.

My name is Lisandra
It means To always be yourself and to always love one another.

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I was named by my aunt. I am not sure why, but I would assume she just liked it.

My uncle would tease me by calling me luchadora. Not sure how it was close to my name. I hated luchadores.

In school, I would often have to correct my teachers. I would get called Louise or Luis. I was never surprised of having to correct my name pronunciation every year after the 2nd grade.

To top it off, my middle name was Fernanda. I felt like I was always called Luis Fernando. Umm, hello? Do you not see I’m a girl in a pink dress with a pink bow.

I don’t have a nickname. My name is pretty short as it is, not sure how I can shorten more unless I opt to go by Lu.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to love my name. A visit to Italy, I found my name on chocolate bars. A visit to Nordstrom, I found Luisa Vannini handbags. Searching for a sweater for my daughter, the Roxy sweater I found was called Luisa. My name can be found everywhere.

My name means “famous female warrior” and that is who Luisa’s are.

I love my name and the person I can become with it.

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My name is half of a whole.
My name takes many back in time to their childhood days and playful ways...

but for me, my name stops to a vivid picture frame of time.

A crisp fall morning-a little girl looking up at big black rubbery steps, as the sound of the folding door squeaking open ends.

Alone, grasping the chrome handrail with lunchbox in tow nervously climbing to the top and turning to see many faces and whispers...
Her name is Jill and she has a little brother named Jack!...and then it begins.
...as she walks down the aisle-always at least one-one voice whispering or loud and proud reciting, giggling, laughing.

The reciting of the nursery rhyme-clean and pure or another new altered version-ugly and dirty.
My name, four little letters now added with four more...

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My name is Ana Melina,
My name has being change by people to Ana Maria,
My name comes from religion and novelas. Ana was the name of God's grandmother, Melina from a Brazilian novela that my mom loved.
My name was given to me by my dad and my mother. My dad believes that his mother resembles God's abuelita.
Once someone calls me Maria I say MELINA.
My name is like a MELODY because it makes my heart dance and happy.
I love my name ANA MELINA,
I love it because it's who I'm, because it represents my whole person.
I love my name because that's who I'm, and I'm me.

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My name is Lora.
L-O-R-A.
I like to say that the o makes all the difference.
How would I be different if I were an L-A-U-R-A Laura?
In kindergarten, my best friend was an L-A-U-R-A Laura.  Our teacher would get mad if she called on one of us but the other answered, but I couldn't hear the difference between the way she pronounced Laura and Lora.
Now in Spanish, there is a distinct difference. Lora y Laura.
When I introduced myself in Ecuador, Me llamo Lora," people would correct me, "Laura" as if I didn't know my own name.  And I'd say, "No, es Lora. L-O-R-A, como un pájaro," like a bird, a parrot, the beautiful blue macaw, el loro.  And they'd say, "Ah estás un habladora." You must be a real talker, and I'd suddenly become shy because no estoy una habladora.  I'm not a talker, not in Spanish or in English.
It's not just the pronunciation of names that matters, it's the spelling too.  My own grandfather didn't always remember how to spell my name, which was especially problematic on Christmas morning, when I'd open presents for my little L-A-U-R-A cousin that I thought were mislabeled for me.
Even now, people spell my name wrong.  I get a lot of L-A-U-R-A emails at work, and sometimes L-A-R-A, too.  My predecessor was named L-A-R-A.  Many people stumble over our names, like they don't know how to talk about her or  me.  L-A-R-A Lara is very different from L-O-R-A Lora.  Remember, how I said the 'o' makes all the difference?
I wonder sometimes if people can't hear the difference between Lara and Lora, just like I couldn't hear the difference between Laura and Lora when my kindergarten teacher called our names.
Just like sometimes I can't quite hear the nuances of a student's name. To help me, I try to attach a rhyme or more familiar word. Is Naif pronounced Na-ef, like the letter ef or like Na-if, as in if I could go anywhere in the world? Is Andras pronounced Androsh like frosh or Andrash like trash? And the same with spelling and punctuation, too. Is it Katy with a y or Katie with an ie? That ñ needs to show up when I type Villaseñor, because his name is not Villasenor. I want to know my students' names, how to pronounce them, how to spell them, how to honor this part of their story. And my colleagues' names, too. And I want them to know mine, to put in the effort to say Lora not Lara, to type L-O-R-A not L-A-U-R-A. There's that 'o' again, and oh what a difference it makes.

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Hi! My name is Molly.

Not Holly, Malia, or Laurie.

No, it’s not short for anything, and that’s great that you have a dog named Molly, but it’s really not necessary to tell me with such zeal.

My last name is Walter.

Not Walters, Water, Waters, or Walker.

Such a simple last name so frequently botched.

My mom said you couldn’t say Molly without a smile when she chose it for me.

There’s a certain truth to that statement, physiologically, as your mouth is literally forced to turn up at corners when you pronounce the sound “lee.”

But she meant the smile that comes from a bright sunny day, sitting by the sea.

Walter is a German name I share with many people dear to me.

I am happy to carry the last name of my grandfather.

The last name of my dad.

Dot-matrix printers, the scrouge of my childhood, which turned that M into an H.

How I hated to correct teachers on that first day of class.

Not a great way to start our relationship.

As the year wore on, I would be bolstered by peers whenever we had a sub.

“It’s Molly, not Holly,” they say, and I would melt into gratitude for their support.

When I was little the name Molly could feel isolating.

No monogrammed keychains or novelty license plates for me.

And then the dogs, the countless dogs.

It seemed that an animal name had been given to me; like my mom messed up and grabbed the wrong naming book.

Now I like my name.

It’s uniqueness in my generation.

I’m often the only Molly people know, the only human Molly anyway.

I like my nickname.

The sound Molls feels like a happy sound, a beloved embrace.

When we’ve reached the stage where you’re calling me Molls, you’ve come to know and like me.

My mom was right...in a way.

Many people do smile when they say my name...even if it’s only because they’re thinking of a cherished pet.

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My name is Valerie,

emphasis on beginning and end,

high, then low, then high,

a song in itself,

rolling off the tongue.

Close friends call me Val,

only a third of the effort,

more casual,

more fun,

but where’s the rhythm?

In school I was reminded often

of people’s favorite songs,

Valllllllllll-er-ie,

by the Monkees,
by Amy Winehouse,

songs they play over and over again,

and tell me so.

I felt seen and heard.

My name is from my mother,

chosen with love:

Valerie means ‘strong,’

Suzanne means ‘beautiful,’

her unique vision,

how these descriptions apply,

becoming clearer as life moves forward.

When someone calls my name,

the song sounds like many others,

a familiar tune.

Whether it is mine or someone else’s,

I turn to the sound,

and cherish whoever is on the other side.

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My name is pronounced "Saline"
It is spelled Celene.
My name is from both Greek and Latin
My name means;
The Moon.
I love that my name means the moon. My father named me.
My name is often mispronounced-Chalene, Kaleen, Salina ....
I go by Celene and I have no nick name at this time.
I am simply CELENE

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"Villanueva," I'll spell it if you ask.
With a B, as in Bictory.
Four syllables, not five.
Bee. Ya. Nwe. Ba.
"-nue-" is one syllable (that's the key).
"Nueva" means new; "villa," you know.
"Villanueva," my grandfather's name,
"Villanueva," was his grandfather, too.
I won't mispronounce it,
But I'll spell it if you ask.

Get a pencil.

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My parents say I picked my name.

The last name they read in their baby book the night before I was born.

I was going to be Evelyn. But extended family said no.

I was born 12 days late, so they kept looking.

They say I picked my name.

Alyssa.

Nobel.

Kind.

Beautiful flower.

Joy.

happiness.

They say I picked my name.

But I can’t pick a nickname.

Ali? No, that’s my grandma's name.

Lisa? No, that’s my aunt's name.

They say I picked my name.

My brother calls my Lyss.

My mom calls me Lyssa.

My dad calls me Pumpkin.

They say I picked my name.

But I didn’t pick the spelling.

It’s Alyssa. A. L. Y. S. S. A.

Not

Alissa.

Alisa.

Alyyssa.

Alysa.

Allysa.

I’ve seen it all.

They say I picked my name.

But I didn’t pick the pronunciation.

After years of being “uh-LIH-suh” I suddenly became “uh-LEE-suh”.

At my college graduation.

I just rolled my eyes.

They say I picked my name.

I love that I had that power and autonomy even before I was born.

I picked my name.

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My name has been chopped up like Mary / Dith/Mari /Beth

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My name has been chopped up like Mary / Dith/Mari /Beth

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My friend gave me a new nickname Ditcha
My name is from Mariano and Ricardita
I was named after Mariano and Ricardita
Onece someone called me
Mari/Mary/Dith/Meredith
I go by my real name  Maridith
Sometimes students call me Ms. D or Ms. M
My name is like complicated to be pronounce
I cherished my name because I was born to lead the family though 2nd of 6 siblings

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Abigail Lauren
They say in English
Avigail Leah
We say in Hebrew

The second daughter of four, "father's joy"
And I felt that way too
On long, cold drives home from soccer practices, eating moon pies from the gas station in between frozen, glove-covered fingers

Rotwein
Red-wine in German
A fitting name for adult me
A name adopted by my great-grandpa
Or was it my great-great grandpa
when his own father passed

Podolski before that
Like the Polish soccer player
Like my family who went to the camps and disappeared
All that is left
Podolski
On a list of 13 million

My children
Who will be Desalu
Protectors of the Nigerian crown
Who will have many names
Combinations from across continents and across oceans

In this country
Of stolen land
They will say that my children's names are difficult
But
I refuse to compromise
Our culture
For your comfort

By Abby Rotwein

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Liwliwa is my name.
It is from a Filipino word means consolation and joy.
I was name by my parents because I'm the only girl out of 7 children.
I go with Liwa for short!
I cherish and proud of my name. I'm very lucky to be the very special daughter in my family!!!

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My name is Gloria
It is from my abuelita, who wanted to honor God.
My name is from the Spanish, who invaded and colonized.
I go by Gloria, Glo, and only my close family calls me Itzel.
I cherish my long name because it reminds me of my family and our perseverance.

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My name is Adriana.
Mi padre y madre lo escogieron.
I don't care if someone mispronounce it.
Me gusta mi nombre.
It means person from Hadia, Northern Italy.
I love my name.
Gracias Pa, Gracias Ma.