Names have always mattered to me.

As a child, when we went on vacation, I always looked for souvenirs that had my name. I never found one just waiting for me on the racks and racks of personalized keychains and trinkets. My name was unique, not common, so it just wasn’t meant to be. I felt left out.

My parents gifted me with a silver identification bracelet when I was in junior high. I still have the bracelet and even wore it to work one day recently. Engraved with my first name and embellished with a small heart charm, it still has a place of importance to me.

For a time in my tween years, I thought about going by my middle name, Fay. If I had done so, not only would I have adopted the new moniker, I would have changed its spelling to include an ‘e’ at the end. I’m not sure why I wanted to change my name then. Maybe it was because Faye was a little more common, or because I wanted to be someone different and a name change would be a way to make that happen. I obviously didn’t want to stray too far from my given name, since the change would have only been to use the second of the two given to me.

Naming traditions have always been important, recorded in sacred texts, carried out in cultural practices, and discussed around the workplace water cooler to this day. Names often open or close doors for people depending on the first impressions and stereotypes associated with the name. Names connect people with their immediate families and family histories. Names express etymological meaning, ethnicity, gender, special inside stories, and so much more, often particularly to the givers of the name.

When my first twin wrote to us about identifying as transgender, he told us he’d like to go by a different name. We didn’t seriously consider the option at that time. A few years passed before the topic came up again. This time we were made aware that he had been going by a different name at school since the fall of junior year without consulting us, and finally let us in on the change. We probably wouldn’t have been excited about the request had we been asked, so I suppose it’s not surprising we weren’t included in the decision to make the change or in the selection of the name that was ultimately chosen, which incidentally was different from the one he had mentioned the first time around.

My second twin came to us last fall, prior to his identification as transgender, and casually mentioned as we swam one afternoon, that he wanted to talk with us about something. He then proceeded to say that he assumed we knew he had never liked his given name. It was actually quite a shock, because I had never been aware of that. It hurt, too, because our first twin had already socially changed his name, and I had already lost that small connection, so I was hanging on more tightly to the connection with our second twin. This revelation cut me just a little bit deeper. My face went blank as I attempted to process the announcement without overreacting, something I had begun working on in light of the challenges to relationship we had experienced with twin number one over the years. The conversation continued amidst strain as this twin interpreted my lack of response as a negative in spite of my attempt to be calm.

I have experienced quite a bit of personal pain and loss over both of the twins’ social name changes. I love the story of choosing their given names. I have fond memories of being pregnant and having chosen both a boy’s name and a girl’s name with my husband. Then, when we found out we were having twins, who were likely both girls, we decided we should split up the first and middle names we had chosen if we had a girl, so that neither one of the twins would get both of the favored names. Rather, the first name would be paired with a new middle name for one of the twins, and the original middle name would become a first name and be paired with another new middle name for the other twin.

We didn’t give the newly created names to the babies right away after finding out about there being two of them. I lived with them for a time, feeling how each of them moved and responded while in utero, considering which name would be right for each child. On ultrasounds, the babies were labeled “Baby A” and “Baby B.” After a time of thoughtful deliberation, I expressed which name should go to each infant and ensured that my husband and our obstetrician would inform me whether Baby A or Baby B was born first, so we’d know which name to christen them. Over the years of their earlier lives, I always thought each name given had been particularly apropos to the one who had received it.

I’m feeling less pain over the change, but I still feel a deep sense of loss. I came across a post about the effects of changing names that describes a gradual replacement of traits associated with the old name to traits that accompany the new. “It is like an hourglass where the sands, or attributes, shift…from being on one side of the glass to the other. The new name integrates itself into the personality while, simultaneously, the old one’s effects are diminished.” That is where my sense of loss comes in. By changing their names, I fear my twins will lose part of who they are and have been in favor of who they are becoming and desire to be. That seems understandable, but what they are shedding includes something important to our shared journey and history which I fear will never be returned.