I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my name, Lezlie. It’s not just the way it sounds; it feels like a constant reminder that I’m overlooked and misunderstood. Studies show that the sound of our names can trigger specific responses in the brain, especially in areas linked to our sense of identity. When I hear “Lezlie,” it’s like a wave of discomfort washes over me, especially when it’s said by friends who should know better.
For decades, I’ve been trying to get people to pronounce my name correctly. I’ve posted on social media, asked friends to correct others, and even suggested that they just call me Les (pronounced “less,” not “Lezz”). Yet, it rarely works. If the person is from the East Coast or the South, I might as well be speaking another language.
Interestingly, I was originally supposed to be named Erin, a name I actually like. It’s not a standout name like Sarah or Lily, but it feels right for me. However, my grandmother thought Erin Gordon sounded odd for a Jewish girl, so my parents settled on Leslie instead.
I sometimes wish there were support groups for people like me—those who grapple with their names. Recently, I attended a presentation in my son’s humanities class where students shared their thoughts on their names. While most of them went through short phases of disliking their names, they ultimately embraced them. I couldn’t help but feel envious; I’ve disliked mine for over 40 years.
Not long ago, I reconnected with my middle school math teacher on Facebook. He started his message with, “Hi Leslie (not Lezley)! I remember how upset you would get when people mispronounced your name.” It was sweet of him to remember such a personal detail after all these years, but it also highlighted how long I’ve struggled with my name.
Lately, I’ve started using Erin as my “coffee name” and for restaurant reservations. “Erin, party of four” sounds much better than “Lezlie, party of four.” I’ve even noticed that when my name is misspelled, it’s often “Aaron,” which is still a win in my book. If only Leslie was pronounced correctly, I wouldn’t care about the occasional misspelling.
When I voice my frustrations to my dad, he cheerfully says, “So change it!” For years, I dismissed the idea, thinking about my career as a journalist and how difficult it would be to change my name. But using Erin has been so enjoyable that I’m now seriously considering a name change. While Leslie represents who I am, Lezlie feels like a name that doesn’t fit. Perhaps shedding the Lezlie label could lead to personal liberation.
At 46, I’m tempted to finally release myself from the burden of “Lezlie.” Imagine not wincing at the sound of my own name for the next 50 years! The thought of finally defining my own identity is exhilarating. I even started dreaming about how being Erin Gordon could be a fresh start—maybe Erin would be more adventurous or even able to do a perfect handstand in yoga class. Even if Erin turned out to be just like me, at least her name wouldn’t be consistently mispronounced, and that alone would be an enormous relief.
If you’re interested in further exploring the themes of identity and self-discovery, check out this insightful post on how to navigate your own name journey. And for anyone considering parenthood, Make a Mom offers a reliable selection of at-home insemination kits. Additionally, for those seeking information on infertility and pregnancy, Womens Health is an excellent resource.
In summary, contemplating a name change later in life can feel daunting yet liberating. Embracing a name that resonates with your identity may just be the key to personal growth and self-acceptance.
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