What’s in a name? A story of self-acceptance

I look in the mirror and see my face, my eyes. It’s surprisingly uncomfortable. I speak the name: “Beverley.” But before I can go any further a thought pops into my head. “Why do those three syllables always sound like an order? Why does that name always make me stand to attention and assume the guilt position?”

Beverley. It looks harmless enough when written down. Say it and it makes me think: “What have I done now?” I try to say it softly, encouragingly: “Beverley, you’ve done a great job! Beverley, what an amazing person!” But I remain unconvinced.

I never wanted to be called Beverley. I don’t like the name and can’t understand why my mother likes it. Why could I not have been given a more romantic, feminine name like my Puerto Rican schoolfriend Irma? 

Beverley is such a masculine name. In fact, it’s a unisex name. Which is fine, but it actually means “beaver meadow”. What the hell is that?

I don’t feel like a Beverley. Sometimes I wonder who this Beverley person is. I see it as a label given to me by my parents which has little to do with who I really am. Beverley is a role I am playing to please them. 

Hell, what does it matter what you call me. I’d change my name if I thought there was one that represented me. But that’s impossible. I’d need at least 50 to describe the different parts of myself. So “Beverley” it remains.

I found the words above in an old notebook when I was clearing out the loft. I must have written it at least 25 years ago and it provides an insight into my mindset at the time. I oozed lack of self-acceptance, using my given name as a stick with which to beat myself. 

I was shocked at the depth of my self-rejection, but my words contained a germ of truth: we are all made up of many different subpersonalities, or selves. We can be any of these selves at any time, but none of them is who we really are. That is the true self – the self beyond ego, the wellspring of wisdom, the pearl within. 

Today I am at peace with being called Beverley. It’s just a name in which I am renting a space. Now I look in the mirror and smile. I see my face, my eyes, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.