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My two teens and I were in Germany on our first-ever overseas adventure. The trip had been incredible — starting with a Taylor Swift concert in Munich. We then headed to Prague and Berlin.
But it hadn't been a perfect trip. I kept accidentally deadnaming my kid.
Nico came out with her new name and pronouns — she/they — just before her 11th birthday. I wasn't surprised when it happened. What surprised me was how proactive my child was in sharing her new identity. She tends to be shy and introverted.
As she journeyed through gender identities, I saw Nico grow bolder and more confident — championing not only for herself but also for other LBGTQ+ folks. It made my heart swell with pride.
It also made me extra cautious about keeping up and getting her name right. It hasn't always been easy.
Three years after my child changed her name — and with a strong record of using her chosen name — I'd been nearly powerless to prevent deadnaming her since we arrived in Berlin, where we had been staying with my friend Saundrah and her daughter.
Saundrah and I are an unlikely pair — polar opposites in personality but strikingly similar in our sensibilities. We even decided to give our kids the same name. My Annika was born nearly a year to the day after Saundrah's. Since we lived on different continents, we figured their shared name would be a nice long-distance bond and another similarity between us.
Like their moms, our two Annikas have a lot in common but are also so different. For example, mine chose the name Nico as part of a broader gender journey.
It hadn't been too complicated dealing with the name change as her mother. But somehow, getting the two kids together broke my brain.
Case in point: It was our second day in Berlin. Saundrah and Annika went to get bubble tea, so I asked my kid if she wanted to go, too.
"Do you want to go meet Saundrah for bubble tea, Annik — gah. I-mean-Nico. I'm-so-sorry," I asked, fumbling my question and apologizing, mortified.
It was easily the fifth time I deadnamed her since we arrived.
Nico barely looked up from the bracelets she was examining. "Nah, I'm OK," she answered.
It can be hard to read a teen's emotions. Was her terse response because she was annoyed with me or because she was legitimately OK? I decided to take her response at face value. The deadnaming didn't seem to have fazed her.
I was relieved. It wasn't that long ago that hearing "Annika" would've upset her.
It's a strange thing when your child changes their name. As a parent, you spend hours seeking just the right one, often a name that connects your new baby to their family of origin. Then they're born and as you say the name repeatedly, you imprint on it. That name is the phonemic representation of this human you've created. I will never hear the name "Annika" and not hear love imbued in each syllable.
But you know what else?
Parenting is about letting go. It's about realizing you've created a new person who exists independently of your unconditional love. So, when my child chose not to use her given name, I respected her choice.
And after not long at all, Nico just sounded right to me. When I look at my child, I see Nico.
When she didn't react to me deadnaming her on our trip, I realized she had made peace with the transition. Nico is her chosen name, and Annika is her legal one. It's just a matter of fact. I'd like to think this shift happened in part because she's been 100% supported in her gender journey. So now, it's not a big deal if she occasionally must recognize "Annika" on legal documents — or when her mom's mind gets boggled.
The intent is right. I believe she still feels seen, and that's what's important.
