So, I have been going on a gender journey for a long time. Technically, I started questioning things in my early 20s, and by 2011 I had begun asking people to use a different variation of my dead name. I socially transitioned fully by around 2014 and that is also when I had begun traveling solo. I was going to various states on my own, and even to the UK to spend time with my best bro. I had never been happier in my life than when I was living that way.
Then money ran out and I had to go back to my parents' home. The moment I stepped out of the vehicle I was met with two of my family members reacting in complete disgust over the fact that I looked different. They never noticed the beaming smile. They only noticed what was missing.
"Where did your boobs go?" This was the first thing I was asked, accompanied by a grimace of disdain, after I had been away for months. This swiftly devolved into the two of them ganging up on me and questioning why I would want to look like that, and how weird it was that they couldn't see boobs anymore. Why the hell had they been that aware of them beforehand? Don't ask me! Cis het people worry about what's under my shirt and in my pants way more often than I do.
To say it took the wind out of my sails is a massive understatement though. Less taking the wind out and more bombing and sinking my entire ship whilst watching me reach out for help while drowning.
I went into fear and began attempting to be almost hyper feminine for a long time after this. It wasn't the only time my sexuality or gender was questioned, and with my health failing at the time, I could not afford to lose my lodgings. I also had nobody else to stay with during this time in my life. Many have had it worse than I did, but it still hurts bad knowing your family is okay with their friends being trans, but the support stops once it is a direct family member. It is so confusing.
My deadname has always been painful and awkward for me. Even as a small child, way before I was made aware of what being trans is, I was always uncomfortable saying it. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me. Other kids could so easily just say, "Hi! My name is Sarah. Wanna be my friend?" I just couldn't bring myself to say any variation of my name. It caused me physical pain to even begin to say it. Someone else usually had to tell the person for me, and for this I was given the Shy label. I wasn't shy. I just couldn't say that name. Not even when it belonged to someone else.
I managed to get away again for a little while and I met some friends in another state. I explained the name issue and went on to also express that I can't even talk to my mother about using another name, because the instant that topic comes up she deflects and guilt trips me about the fact that I am named after her mother, "the strongest person" she has ever known.
My maternal grandmother died when my mother was 11. She has admitted multiple times that she doesn't even have many memories of her, and as a result she has set her on the highest pedestal possible. She never acknowledges anything the woman could have done wrong. No. She was absolutely perfect from birth until death, and never even considered doing anything wrong. Since she doesn't have many memories of her she tends to just apply these ideas and character traits she finds appealing onto her. And every time I didn't align with those traits I had to hear all about how she hoped that by naming me after her mother I could be more like her. If I even wanted an innocent nickname she would go on and on about why it had been so important to her that her firstborn be named after her.
I grew to hate that name.
I hate it when I hear it on anyone else. I can't even be around people who have that name because I know I can't even bring myself to say it.
For years I have known I want to legally change my name. I need to legally change my name. I cannot be tied to this fictitious version of me others want me to be. I cannot be socially transitioned and then hand someone an ID with an obviously female name in today's political climate. It is downright dangerous for me.
I don't hate my grandmother. I never met her. I have no opinion of her. From what my relatives say I am sure she was lovely, but I have no tie to that name and I never asked to be assigned it.
In an effort to appease my family I had considered using some variation of that birth name in my new name, but the other day I finally made a breakthrough. Why should I be made uncomfortable to make someone happy when they won't even listen to the reasons I want to change it?
So, my new name won't have any part of my deadname in it anymore.
My name is Brennan Feidhelm (omitted surname for safety). For anyone curious it is pronounced Brehn-an Fay-lim . It translates to Beautiful Little Raven, or Sorrowful Beauty.
If you have known me as Mads for a long time, I promise it is okay if it is easier for you to say it still. A friend of mine who is no longer here gave me that name, so it doesn't bother me. I just feel right as Brennan Feidhelm.
I know who I am and I am finished allowing anyone else to choose for me.
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