My name is a matter of some controversy within my family. My mother has always written my name Zoe with no umlaut and Elizabeth as my middle name, wheras my biological father has always insisted on Zoë-Elizabeth, as that was his choice. He states categorically that my birth certificate says that.
In fact it isn’t either. It’s a mix of the two ideals of the warring factions.
Zoë Elizabeth- I asked for a copy of my birth certificate so that I knew. It seems everyone had conveniently forgotten which was true in favor of their own preference. My Mother denouncing what was my father’s idea, my father fixated on his own.
In all honesty it is odd to think that the two people who named me, do not in fact correctly call me by, or write my name. They chose it after all, and for my formative years it was as much a defining factor as age, weight, and hair colour. As I’m older I have been called many things, pet names and nicknames and endearments, but rarely, if I think about it my name.
My name is an official thing, it’s the first thing anyone knows about you when you apply for a job, or start a new school or join an organization. Teachers always call me Zoe.
Your name is what defines you. What titles do you have, what do you prefer Miss or Ms. Are you a Mrs- are you still married, or are you widowed or divorced.
You can hide behind a name, yet in other ways it is revealing. Your name is personal, yet so often im-personal.
I’ve chosen to put my name on this blog for the first time. Why? Because it’s mine. Because I want my mark on it. I want to say to the world, or the blogging world at least
‘My name is Zoë Elizabeth, and I am a mother.’
To be ashamed or afraid to put my name on this blog is to admit that anybody who would belittle or judge me on line or in real life, for having a pregnancy so young, or for anything else I may write about has power over me.
I’m saying here and now that they don’t. Not here not anywhere. To deny myself , and to be anonymous is to be ashamed to admit that I have the past that I do.
I am saying ‘NO’. I refuse to be ashamed although society would desire that I was. I refuse to be ashamed of what I love, and how I love. I refuse to be ashamed of being Emmet’s mother, and I refuse to be ashamed of my grief when the world would have me think it was for the best that they didn’t live.
I refuse to give into the stigma relating not only to miscarriage but to pregnancy at a young age.
Love and support always,
Surviving Miscarriage Together x