Why I'm Legally Changing My First Name

I don’t necessarily expect anyone to understand this.

And if you don’t, I understand why.

Seriously, who, aside from victims trying to hide from assailants, legally changes their first name as an adult?

Apparently, I do.

I’m twenty-four years old.

I just submitted my petition for legal name change.

And it feels so freeing.

For as long as I can remember, I haven’t liked my name.

Not because it’s a bad name; it’s really not.

I’ve just never felt it suited me.

And the older I’ve gotten, the more my heart has felt it.

I felt weird introducing myself with a name which felt so different from who I was.

Right after high school, I moved to Texas for two years.

I thought about changing my name when I got there, but I chickened out.

I wasn’t sure what I would change it to, anyway.

But when I came back, I knew it was time to make a change.

In my freshman English comp class, I introduced myself as “Bri” for the first time.

I needed a place to test the waters, and that seemed like as good as any.

Guess what?

They didn’t think I was a fraud.

And it felt really good to go by a name I actually didn’t cringe at when I said it.

When I transferred into nursing school, I knew some faculty members, and it was a very small school.

I got nervous about how they would respond; so, I didn’t fully embrace the change while in school.

But I did in other places, like my gym, church, and [eventually] work communities.

And I got to a point where more people I regularly interacted with didn’t know my “real” first name than those who did.

But that’s all just surface stuff.

The real, raw, deep reason I’m changing my name is I feel like God has called me out of the deepest darkness and has taken me through an incredible metamorphosis.

I’m so very different from who I was ten years ago, five years ago.

Even from who I was six months ago.

And I feel it’s time to take that transformation and reflect it with a properly renovated name.

It’s like when God changed the character of Saul, the killer of Christians, and gave him a new name and identity in the name of Paul, which means small or humble.

It’s like when God made a promise to Abram, thus changing his name to Abraham, meaning the father of all nations.

It’s like when God called Simon, which means God has heard, to Peter, which means rock or stone.

God changed their names, and the names of many others, to reflect their true identities.

And I feel like he’s done the same for me.

It just took me a few years to really admit it.

And I feel like I need to embrace this gift by shrugging off the old skin of the dead man whom I used to live in and embracing the new life that I now live.

By making the change legal.

So, pending the approval of my petition, my name will now legally be “Brielle.”

Brielle is shorthand for Gabrielle.

It means “woman of God” in Hebrew.

I’m not going to make anyone who’s known me for a long time feel bad for not referring to me as Bri or Brielle.

But do know that, regardless of how stupid or crazy you may or may not think I am, this is name that I’ve chosen to embrace.

Please let me introduce myself as such.

Yours truly,

Brielle

Ceremonials.

The time is here.

I'm finally graduating from nursing school.

It seems like it's been such a long time, but in reality, it's been just the right amount.

I never used to understand why graduation ceremonies were a big deal. 

Truly, I'm still not sure I totally get it.

But this morning as I was driving, I think I finally get it.

It's not so much a celebration of accomplishment, though that is also true, it's closure.

In high school, I didn't really get that.

I actually didn't see the point in going to my high school graduation and opted out of the ceremony.

I think I was simply over the whole thing, and it really wasn't a challenge for me. 

One day I was there, the next I was moving on. 

No big deal.

However, this week, after I took my last finals, I didn't know what to do.

I really didn't have to do anything.

I've spent the last nearly three years on a very rigorous schedule, namely the last two, and all the sudden, it's just over.

It doesn't seem real.

But I think after graduation tomorrow evening, it will.

And I actually want to go to this ceremony.

Partially because there's a total of 17 of us graduating. 

These are women I've sweat and cried with, who've poured out their souls for this, who possess true compassion and seek to provide excellent care for their patients. 

I respect these women, and it really is a big deal we've all completed this.

I can't tell you the amount of times I contemplated quitting or thought I would fail out.

I know the same is true for them.

So, I find myself incredibly more thankful for this seemingly silly ceremony than I ever thought I would.

Because I, along with these 16 other beautifully crafted women, completed a task worthy of recognition and worthy of proper closure. 

I expect the full wave of relief to wash over us tomorrow as we grace that very mundane stage to do what millions of other former students will be doing in the next few weeks.

Though, however mundane the actually act may be, we will make it special, if only to us. 

The only feeling that will trump this is passing the NCLEX, but that will come soon enough. 

New Beginnings.

As I was walking to get coffee this morning in a brand new city, I was thinking about how exciting new places can be. 

This place is beautiful.

It's saturated with historical milestones.

The buildings are beautiful.

And the roads are slightly haphazard due to being constructed during the pre-city planning era.

I pulled up maps on my phone, looked at reviews, and chose a place which looked relatively close and decent. My friend told me a shortcut, which I used with the map, and I made it there without hitches, got my coffee, and proceeded to walk back to my friend's apartment. 

On the way back, I didn't use the map.

As I approached near where I was going, I started down the final path I thought would lead me to the large parking lot surrounded by apartment buildings. 

But there was a moment I paused.

Something didn't seem right.

Was this really the same path I walked down at the beginning? 

I was so sure it was right at first. It was just west of the old cottage. 

I remembered the fence that cut through the buildings.

 It had to be right.

I nearly turned around.

But for some reason, I didn't.

Now, I realize, so far, this is just a mundane story about my walk.

But hang with me.

I didn't turn around, and a moment later, I took a turn on the path I recognized.

I was on the right path. 

Had I turned around, it would've been just before I found the place I needed to be.

And I think this speaks so much to our lives.

We are certain we need to do something.

We start doing it.

It's exhilarating.

New.

Beautiful.

Fulfilling.

Then we come to a point where the path looks unfamiliar.

We wonder if we were actually supposed to do this thing in the first place, the one we were certain about to the core of who we are.

And I wonder... 

How many of us are actually frightened enough by that uncertainty to turn away? 

What if that uncertainty was really just the moment before something big was about to happen?

What if it was the moment right before you found your niche? 

What if you turned away just before you made it?

Now, clearly, there are times when we all make the wrong decision, and we really should turn around.

But this morning was a good reminder to check myself.

To remember, sometimes, new paths, though exhilarating, are scary. 

They require gull, poise, and going just a little further. 

Don't give up, just yet.

Whirlwinds.

Loneliness.

Oh, how you’ve been a friend to me.

Thankfully, one I’ve seen less and less these last few years.

But you’ve got me perplexed.

How is it we are so far from each other one moment, yet so close another?

I think I’ve found the reason:

We want to be close.

It may be difficult to believe, but I’m truly beginning to think the root of isolation begins within.

 Clearly, we don’t sit around thinking about how much we can’t wait to feel lonely.

We don’t sit around dreaming of feeling isolated and unloved.

However, we certainly tend to believe we’re screw-ups.

That we’re hard to love.

That if we mess up just one more time….

Which is why I’m suggesting, maybe that old adage, “It’s not you, it’s me,” one thousand percent applies to this.

Recently, I’ve been privy to experience love in a new way.

Dozens expressed their love to me through phone calls, messages, comments, and texts when I finally admitted how I felt about my family situation.

It made me realize, though they may also have some fault in the situation, I was the one who kept running so quick, I totally missed what they were trying to offer.

Maybe they weren't offering it the "best" way possible or how I needed it, but at the end of the day, the views I thought they had of me and the views they hold of me are largely different.

Just because someone isn’t always up in your business or checking in on you, doesn’t mean they don’t care.

It also doesn’t mean they do care.

But it’s better to check than simply assume they don’t.

Because sometimes, we get so caught in our own whirlwinds, we forget to stop, and breathe, and remember those who’ve blessed our lives so very much.

Black Sheep.

I'm going to do something I really don't ever do.

I'm going to be very raw about my current condition.

I've just spent the last hour crying.

A small part of it was probably self-loathing, as is nearly all crying. 

But a very, very large part of it was grieving. 

For most of my life, I've just assumed no one liked me, and I wasn't worth the time.

I constantly worked to be loved.

As a child, I was told to be a quiet, good little girl. 

I was called "fat ass" by my mother's boyfriend and often snuck food when he went to sleep because I felt so much shame from his judgement.

I was told to leave him and my mother alone because they were busy, and I would ruin it.

I was trained on snaps to bring beers, and I watched my mom starve herself and attempt to make things perfect for her man, in her own attempt to earn love.

Because of my parents' (and their significant other's) drug issues, they became the black sheep of the family. And because I was their child, I got looped into the category. 

Maybe that part wasn't intentional, the part where I fell into that category, but the truth of the matter is, it's the category I was placed in. 

I flash forward to today where so many things are different...

I've escaped a life of addiction.

I've come out of a dark depression.

I've learned to love myself (most days) and to love others.

I've cut the web of lies associated with the physical, sexual, and emotional abuse I've experienced.

I'm finishing my last semester of college, and I'll be the first person in my family to finish a post-secondary education program.

When I'm not crazy busy with 18 credit hours and a job (like this semester), I do my best to see and help the ones I love.

But somehow, I still feel like I'm sort of the black sheep of the family.
Like nothing ever really changed.

Now, I realize performance should have little to do with status in the context of familial relations. 

But it does.

And I'm left to wonder how, despite everything I've done to get to today, why is it I'm still the one serving time for my mother's crimes?
Is it not enough I lived through years of abuse and neglect?

I don't say all of this to play the "victim card."
In fact, those who know me know how little I talk about my past and how much I detest people living in victim land.
I say all of this in serious consideration of the question, "when is it enough?"

My mom and my grandma tell me no one tells me anything or invites me to family events because they just assume I'm busy...

Well, yes. I'm busy.
But so is everyone.
We make time for the things we care about.
So not including me in family gatherings, not informing me of important information because I'm "busy" just tells me I'm not worth telling, and I'm not valued enough to be considered or wanted somewhere.
All this cycle reinforces is the lie I've worked so hard to destroy.
The one that tells me, "No one wants you. No one loves you. No one wants to be around you."

Yes.
My mom has sucked; she'll be the first to admit that.
And up until very recently, I wouldn't have confided in her, even a little bit.
But you know what?
This afternoon when I called her crying because I made a mistake by unknowingly making an incredibly heartless statement to my cousin because I wasn't aware her baby had passed in utero, she was the one listening to me sob, and she was the one who understood what it felt like to be the black sheep.

I still don't know when enough is enough, when we give up.
I'm thinking the answer is never because Jesus never gives up on us.
But in this moment, I am hurt.
I'm sad that I hurt someone else because of my ignorance.
I'm sad I'm left questioning my own self-worth.
And I'm sad that all around the world, there are so many people in broken relationships with the ones they were meant to love the most.

Heat.

I used to think when someone said something in the "heat of the moment" they actually meant it at some subconscious level but were just never able to say it under normal circumstances.

But I'm not sure I believe that anymore.

I think those moments bring to light our greatest insecurities and illuminate the struggles we've worked so hard to get past.

In the "moment," whatever that moment may be, our guards are down.

A small bit of us is back to being that kid that struggled to make friends or that guy who just missed the cut.

Briefly, we're thrown back into all our old battles. 

And sometimes, we let our feet sit there and sink in.

We may even wiggle our toes a little.

But after we get a good slap in the face and shake our heads, we realize that those words came from the fleeting moment of insecurity we had.

They don't actually mean we've relapsed.

They just mean that, for a moment, we forgot that we decided to trust in something more than our insecurities, something bigger than our smallest selves.

And I think that's okay.

So long as we continue to fall forward, not letting our feet sink into the muck, not letting it get up to our necks.

It's hard to be human.

It's hard to be strong in every single moment.

So stand back up.

Brush off the sand.

And remember the truth.

You are loved.

You are wanted.

You are insanely valuable beyond all compare.

And nothing you've done yesterday or today or will do tomorrow can separate you from the awing love of the One who created you.

Absolutely nothing.

Happiness is the Wrong Goal

It's still the first month of the year, and every year I hear one resolution that I just can't get down with:

Happiness.

Now, before you go calling me a cynic, let me explain...

I'm all about being happy.

Happiness is a good thing and a very legitimate desire.

Some days, I deeply desire to be happy.

But happiness is never my ultimate goal.

Why?

Because it's a feeling.

Quite bluntly, there are moments when life just sucks.

At least once a week I wonder what the heck I'm doing.

In those moments, I generally have no control.

And in those moments, I do not expect happiness to be rampant.

What I do expect is to stand on my principles.

I expect to remain positive while still being realistic.

I expect to think critically and act on fact rather than emotion.

Because acting on facts will ultimately lead to greater satisfaction.

And greater satisfaction will beget more moments of happiness.

All I'm saying here is that if my goal were simply to be happy, I would go around making decisions in this moment about things that I think would make me happy.

But at the end of the day, being with someone or having my dream career will not make me happy if I can't stand firm on my principles now. 

Choosing to seek happiness by doing whatever makes me feel good now will surely lead to ruin later.

This isn't me saying don't do things that make you feel good.

You should absolutely take time out for those things.

But when you're upset with someone, choose to love them anyway.

Don't go running to someone you shouldn't for happiness and affection.

And when the day doesn't go your way, choose to see the good in it.

Don't go running around saying that all you want is to be happy and nothing ever goes your way.

Because happiness simply does not work like that.

It's sadly often not a free gift.

It's something that must be cultivated, wrought from pain, wielded from the darkest of nights, and harnessed to shine from within, not gathered from the world around us.