heather

For the past few weeks I have been leading my spiritual formation community in explorations of themes relating to gender & diverse people. We’ve talked about some terminology, we’ve looked at the Genderbread Person, we’ve discussed the importance of pronouns. The past two weeks and this coming week, we’re discussing names.

Names are important for trans people. A new name is a new beginning, a new way of being in the world. Using a trans youth’s chosen name is a great self-harm reduction strategy. Some people go through life without really thinking about their name: they’ve had it their whole life, they didn’t choose it, it’s on everything from bills to birth certificate. It just is. I think trans people can lead us all into an exploration of our names. Do you know what your name means? Do you know the story of how your name was chosen? Do you like your name? Do you wish you could try on a different name?

About a year ago (before I came out), I was part of several discussions about names. People had looked into the meaning of their names and were seeing them as a window into themselves. Names with meanings like “conqueror” or “gracious” gave people something to live up to or live into. Although I can’t imagine myself with another name, I have often felt frustration with it. Not only is it quite common (#3 in popularity of girls’ names in 1975), it doesn’t mean anything fancy or grand. It’s a plant. (The cover photo for this post is of heather.)I have wanted something to be inspired by. A common woody plant native in another part of the world just hasn’t stirred any great emotion in me. I expressed my feelings to some friends. I started looking into what the plant is all about.

I discovered that heather is a common plant, but a well-loved, very useful plant. Heather is used to make everything from brooms to beer. A recipe for heather-based beer was so treasured that it was a royal secret for hundreds of years. It’s also used to make healing balms and remedies. It’s beautiful, especially when it covers a large area, and it’s a go-to ingredient for many useful things. This was a new way of looking at my name.

Even before I came out as non-binary, I was not a very feminine-leaning person. I shied away from the flower aspect of my name. Heather is usually purple, but white varieties can be found. Associating myself with something flowery didn’t seem comfortable. A friend of mine shared her vision with me. She imagined a whole garden of lush plants growing and thriving. It’s a place of life and growth and refreshing. That really helped too!

This past week in my community, I told them about deadnames. A deadname is the name a trans person has left behind. Most often it’s the name given to them at birth. It carries with it memories of discomfort, dysphoria, often shame. So, when a trans person comes out – to themself or to others – and they choose a new name, all that is associated with their birth name is dead. A new life begins. Again, I see trans people leading here. We all have deadnames of some sort. Someone calls us ugly or stupid or annoying or bad. Often, we believe them enough to live by that name, live in that name. But when we recognize it’s harm to us, when we can see that it doesn’t fit our True Selves, we can decide to let it go and take on a new name. Beautiful or Intelligent or Comforting or Good. We can be brave, like many trans people, and begin life with a new name.

I have decided to keep my birth name, heather. But for many years, I have used a small letter h in some places, as an indication of my unique self. It started in college when I was in residence with 8 other Heathers. I have now started to use that everywhere. It’s my version of taking on a new name.  As a response to all this talk about names, I recently wrote a poem about my journey with my name. I wonder what you would write about your name.

 

heather

heather scratches at me,
scraping my ankles,
pricking my fingers.
it’s not the stems
or the branches.
it’s those damn purple flowers.

the heathered skirt
feels suffocating,
ill-fitting and tight.
it’s not the size
or the shape.
it’s that damn purple colour.

heather broom,
sweeping the old,
cleaning the cobwebs.
it’s not the stems
or the branches.
it’s my new heart.

hillsides of heather,
life-giving,
healing balm.
it’s not the size
or the shape.
it’s my new eyes.

 

Cover photo:  Sean Paul Kinnear on Unsplash