It’s time for another edition of SE(N)O, an essay series on A+ for personal stories we wish we could tell on the accessible-to-our-employers-and-everyone-we’ve-ever-known mainsite, but can’t for personal and professional reasons.
feature image by Brooke A. AllenÂ
Last year I wrote about how I chose my name. I also wrote about how my birth name, which was my legal name at the time, still had a lot of power over me, even though I so desperately wanted to free myself from it. When I wrote that, I still had to put my birth name on all legal forms, I still had to show my legal name to bouncers and bartenders and TSA people and police officers.
In that last essay, I really struggled to write and publish my birth name. I thought a lot about whether or not I wanted to let my editors read that essay, and then I struggled some more about whether or not I should tell them not to publish it. It was hard for me to talk about my name like that with so many people. It was hard because I still had to deal with the fact that in a lot of people’s eyes, including the eyes of the government, Matthew was my real name. Now, it’s much, much easier. I definitely still don’t want very many people to know that name, and I absolutely don’t want anyone to think of that name when they think of me, but I also feel freed from it. It’s not my name any more, it’s not me anymore.
With my parents at the courthouse getting my name legally changed.
I also talked about how I wanted to change my name but keep my initials, MCR, and I was able to do that, at least enough to make me happy. Melinda Chavela Valdivia Rude is now my legal name. Melinda, the name my mother chose for me before the doctor mistakenly told her I was going to be a boy. Chavela, a variant of Isabelle, and the name of a singer I love and who has meant a lot to me both as a Latina and as a witch. Valdivia, my mother’s maiden name, a name I’m proud to now have on my legal forms. Rude, my father’s last name.
I know that the government doesn’t decide my real name, but it does feel good to have my identity affirmed by them. What’s more, is that if feels safe. I no longer have to stress and worry about being in a car that gets pulled over and having to hand the officer my ID while he looks at me like he doesn’t get why someone like me would exist, something that has happened before. I no longer have to nervously look around as a TSA agent looks at my ID and yells my birth name in confusion. I no longer have to deal with people at bars looking at my ID and having to hold back a laugh.
In November I was able to finally legally change my name. I was able to throw off my birth name and be free from it.
Changing my name wasn’t easy, and it definitely wasn’t cheap. To start with, there’s a $166 name change filing fee. Then there are all the fees for forms and certified copies. Then, there’s also the $200 it cost me to advertise in a local newspaper that I was changing my name. All together, I spent more than $400 trying to convince people to call me by my real name. For a trans woman like me who doesn’t make a lot of money and is also trying to save up for electrolysis and the ability to move to a different city, this is a huge obstacle. I’m blessed to have a boss, Riese, who gave me money and enabled me to take this step. I’m thankful to her every time I don’t have to sign my legal name or explain why my ID has a “man’s name” on it.
It also took a long time. Even after I turned in all the paperwork and payed all the fees, I had to wait two months for my court date. I had to advertise my name change for four consecutive weeks in the newspaper, and the first open court date was another three weeks after that. The reason I had to advertise in the paper, which I’ll remind you, cost $200, was in order to dissuade people from changing their name to escape debt or legal troubles.
Even as I was getting my name change signed by a judge and affirmed on my ID, people still managed to misgender me and remind me how they saw me. The clerk at the courthouse had me turn in my papers, and as she called me back to collect them, she said, “Sir, here are your papers,” followed by an “I’m sorry… ma’am,” after she took a second look at me. I was able to brush this off, she corrected herself, at least she tried to be polite and fix her mistake. When I went to the DMV it was a different story. I handed my judge-signed documents for my name change and my doctor-signed documents for my gender change over to the woman behind the counter and she started looking at me suspiciously right away.
She wasn’t sure if I was allowed to change my gender marker, she didn’t think I had the right paperwork (I did), and so she turned to her coworker and asked, “He wants to change his gender on his ID, can he do that?” The coworker said, “He needs a signed letter from his doctor,” which is what the woman was holding in her hand. “He gave me this,” she continued, “Does he have the right form?” She said all of this loud enough that other people at the DMV had turned and were now staring at me.
I was frozen, this person had power over me and I was afraid to speak up against her. I know that the law was on my side, but if she had decided to deny my gender change, that wouldn’t have been the first time a government worker denied a queer person their rights because they thought their own personal beliefs trumped the law. I was at her mercy and she had me terrified. I thought this was going to be one of my happiest days but it was quickly turning into a nightmare. She was misgendering me, loudly, telling the whole DMV that she saw me as a man. Again, I’m lucky, my mom was there with me, to celebrate this moment, and she spoke up for me, “Her. My daughter is a Her.” “Oh, I call everyone “he,'” was her weak excuse.
The back of Bitch Planet #1 with the signature I chose to base mine on.
In the months leading up to this moment I had been practicing my new signature, the one I would use when signing legal documents, the one that would show up on all my cards. In some of the early issues of Bitch Planet, the brilliantly and boldly feminist comic book by Kelly Sue DeConnick and Valentine DeLandro, there was a page in the back of the book where you could send in for items, a Non Compliant tattoo, a clear plastic mask to protect your face and look like a Bitch Planet guard, and one specific thing that caught my eye. For the low, low price of three dollars, you could send in for three new versions of your signature. They were supposed to be for the purposes of changing your personality into something that fit these new signatures, but for me it was a chance to get a helping hand as I took this step to become more like me.
When the worker at the DMV started misgendering me, I got so flustered that I forgot how to write this new signature and signed my name with just a squiggle.
Not everyone was like that, though. When I went to my bank to change my name on my account, the worker, named Nykole, was exceedingly nice, congratulating me and smiling as she told me that I was the first person she’s worked with to change their first name, not their last. She told me she was happy for me and never once misgendered me. When I went to the social security office, a woman named Casey sat across the counter from me and also congratulated me. She told me that it was ridiculous that the people at the DMV were so rude to me and as she handed me my receipt she smiled and said, “Welcome to the sisterhood.”
My library card, the first one I’ve had in years, with my new signature on it.
When I wrote that last essay, I was filled with embarrassment, dread, shame and sadness. I felt like I was trying to stay afloat in the middle of the ocean and my birth name was a giant whale circling around my feet. I honestly didn’t enjoy writing that essay. I’m glad that I did, it helped me work some things out and I want to be able to talk about my life, that’s something that’s important to me. Still though, talking about my birth name used to fill me with dread and make me feel heavy, like I was being dragged down by a history I wanted to shake off my back.
It physically hurt to write, and even hear, my birth name. Even when it was referring to Matthew Lewis or St. Matthew or Matt Fraction it would throw me off. So it’s strange to me how much better I feel about it now. I never thought that a signed form would lift so much weight off my shoulders. Again, I still don’t want anyone to think of my birth name when they think of me, but I no longer feel like that name is chained to me.
As I write about my name now, I feel strength, and contentment and comfort and home. I feel more like myself than I ever have before. I feel like a curse has been lifted, and in a lot of ways, that’s what my birth name was. I’m not saying my parents tried to curse me, I don’t blame them, but when they spoke the name Matthew Christopher over me, they cast a spell that would cause me to be misgendered and disrespected for years after I would come out.
I’m not Matthew Christopher, and I never was. I’m Melinda Chavela Valdivia Rude, the person I was always meant to be. I’ve grown, I’ve journeyed, I’ve fulfilled my destiny.
Thank you Mey for sharing this. I’m sorry you had such an awful experience with the DMV person :(. Her response was such a bullshit excuse as well.
And congratulations, I’m really happy for you :).
“Welcome to the sisterhood” — just about my favorite words ever.
This is so wonderful, Mey. I have cried every time I’ve read it (which is five times).
This was beautiful, Mey. I’m glad there were at least some good people along the legal process who were nice to you and congratulated you. You deserved a party at every office/bureaucratic window hole! I’m so happy for you!
Heart Eyes Emoji!!
ugh this is such a gorgeous essay. i’m so happy to read this! <3
Congratulations, Mey! That picture of you and your mom and dad is too sweet for words. I am so happy for you and for the rest of us who get to read your words every week! And as always, screw the DMV.
<3 tearing up at work – so happy for you Mey!
Your writing is very powerful and I like the design of your town’s library card!
This is so great to read Mey! I thought I might make it through without crying but when I got to the Bitch Planet part I lost it. Congratulations, I’m so happy for you!
I’m so so happy for you! <3
Mey, congratulations! You have a beautiful name. Thank you for sharing this journey with us.
I’m so happy for you and your mom sounds amazing!!
Beautiful. Congratulations, Mey!
Mey, this is such a beautiful piece & I’m just thrilled for you.
YES to everything about being self-named.
I named myself (under different circumstances – as a gender non-conforming person who felt SUPER WEIRD about everything gender related, which sucked and was difficult but is nowhere near what I imagine you’ve gone through)
and it took forever and isn’t legal yet and it still brings up a lot of emotions.
Like, even saying my dead name now makes me feel queasy and strange, and I hate that it’s on job applications, but at the same time I feel a weird sadness about it. Like, I’m letting go of something I never particularly liked and I guess was never truly mine, but it’s still a sort of symbolic loss. IDK.
I’ve been working on an essay about this that will probably never be seen by eyeballs other than my sisters, and it’s HARD, so I can’t imagine how hard this was for you to write
Considering how much more baggage is probably there for you as a Trans Woman.
Anyway the act of naming oneself within the context of LGBTQ identities is a topic near and dear to my heart
Thankyou so much for sharing
As a side note, some states have easier name change processes to navigate.
Like, one day I’d like to live in Burlington, Vermont, but I don’t know how or when this will happen. In Vermont, changing ones name seems to be a fairly straightforward process involving just the one form
(changing everything else once it’s legal is the obnoxious part).
But in Oregon, where I currently live, I’d need to get at least two forms notarized, one of which has to be publicly displayed for a number of weeks. The other is a thing stating that I did actually publicly display the former for a number of weeks.
And it would cost about $300.
In Virginia, where I lived previously, it would have been easier. I wish I’d gotten it over with before moving to Oregon.
So now it’s like
Do I wait? Do I just suck it up and do it now, despite the expense and confusing number of steps??
Why Isn’t This Easier
Mey!
Congratulations and thank you for sharing.
<3
You write gorgeously, Mey. I’m tearing up from reading this at work. And I really hope I get to meet you at a-camp — your column introduced me to Lumberjanes, and I have to say thank you in person.
thank you! and if you’re at camp, definetely come and say hi! I’d love to talk to you about lumberjanes or whatever!
Thanks so much for sharing. I hate that you had to deal with some serious asswipes along your journey, but I’m also glad that there were at least a few good ones who helped you celebrate along the way.
GO MEY!!! Thanks so much for sharing your story. That DMV employee deserves…to work at the DMV. So sorry you had to deal with that
I changed my name via court order for very different reasons relating to identity, but I can say that I, too, was amazed by how much validation and relief I found by completing the process. I am so, so happy for you Mey!
Congratulations!!
Thank you for sharing your writing with us.
<3
Thank you for sharing this with us. Your name and your signature (and you!) are beautiful!
@meyrude I remember your first essay and how much connection I felt to the complexities of names and all they are connected to. I am so excited for you. And while the DMV experience sounds horrible, your mother’s reaction was beautiful, and I’m glad it was followed by more government offices full of less horrible people!
Thanks so much for continuing to share such great and personal work.
Crying happy tears for you, Mey. <3 <3 <3
I love that you finally legally have the name your mom chose for you, before she was misinformed about your gender.
If it’s not too personal, does your mom feel vindicated now, that instinctively she knew who you were, before you were born?
And thank you for all you have shared…. <3 <3 <3
I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who commented here, you’re all super wonderful and make me so glad that I’m a part of the Autostraddle family
Well this is incredibly beautiful and amazing. Congratulations Mey.
(also thankyou for including your courthouse photo because it is so inspiring).
Congratulations Mey. Your courage and strength of character as well as your natural personal grace shine brightly.
No I’m not crying you’re crying. (Okay, I’m definitely crying right now.) (This was really beautiful.)
Congratulations, Mey! <3
This is so fantastic! I cried a bunch of times, especially during the DMV part (why!!!! I want to shout at that lady a lot) and then even more at the part where people were actually nice to you in other offices and said how terrible DMV lady was.
Also, you got your signature (partly) from Bitch Planet! That is the raddest thing I’ve ever heard, almost.
I wish the whole process had been like the bank/social security people, but still, yay and congrats!
Congrats to you! Boo to the insufferable jerk at the DMV!
<3