I can’t remember a time when I haven’t wanted, longed, to change my name. My name has never been my own, I was named for an aunt for died a few years before I was born, and of my copious cousins & siblings on that side, only two did not have that name as a middle name.
In some ways, I was as bad as Anne Shirley, coming up with new names for myself that I’m now very glad I wasn’t allowed to use (and some that I still like, but don’t feel fit me anymore).
But my pépé has passed on, and my mémé can’t remember who people are anymore, so changing my name wouldn’t hurt them. So I went ahead and started putting names I was interested in on things like my Netflix account, and on my phone, where I’d see them regularly and find out how comfortable I was with them.
It took a while before I found a name that I liked for more than a few months, and I think it was the most difficult and most important part. I couldn’t allow myself to rush it, and I had to think of how easily I’d be able to lipread it, and if I could tell the difference between the new name and the old name while lip reading. After about six months of sitting on my choice, it was time to make the next move.
I spoke with my case manager.
I’ve been effectively homeless for over a year, staying in a house that was deemed not habitable, not safe. I’m on so many housing wait lists that it takes up three folders. Being genderqueer, I am not protected by housing law. I wanted to get my name change done before I came up on any of the lists.
My then case manager balked. She would not help with paperwork. She told me I should wait to change my name until I had already moved into new housing. She could not grok why this upset me, or why I felt the idea made me upset, even when I outlined my reasons. She says she had started looking for a new case manager for me a year past, but I got one within a month of my moving forward with my name change on my own. My new case manager absolutely gets why I didn’t feel safe waiting.
To be honest, I don’t remember all the steps. It took a long time, and there was a long pause in the middle.
I needed to go to the County Probate courthouse and get the paperwork requesting a name change, and find out what documentation they needed. Birth certificate, SS card, valid picture ID, proof of residency, those basics. But also a credit report, and if it had been applicable, they would have needed a letter from parents and a spouse (I did provide other notification letters—from some people they want permission, some simply notification).
I had to release my financial information because I’m indigent (that is, I’m on SSI and have an income of about 50% below the official poverty level). I had to list where all my funds go, how I spend what little I get, so that I could afford this. It brought it down from $1-2k to $65. That $65 still stalled me for 6 extra months. An unexpected Christmas gift made the name change possible.
The fees are for background checks, a rather large ad to be run in your local papers announcing that your name is going to be changed (so that people can know and presumably either come forward with fraud issues or objections), you give medical releases, you give up a lot of privacy to get your name changed. I was told it’s easier in Maine than in New Hampshire, by the probate clerk.
The probate clerks were universally helpful and accepting. There were several in the office, and I believe I spoke with all of them at some point or another. As my then case manager wasn’t willing to help with the paperwork, the clerks helped me fill it out in the way that was best for me, asking questions and making helpful suggestions. I wouldn’t have gotten past the first step without their help, and I’m very grateful to them.
I finally got all of the paperwork filed and the steps taken, a process that took about 6 months. Every state is different. In Maine, it was fairly painless for me, thanks to the very helpful clerks. However, I didn’t have the extra $65 dollars to put my request on the docket. At this point, I socially changed my name.
A lot of people ignored that.
It took about another 6 months for me to receive an unexpected Christmas present and use most of it to pay to get my case on the docket. After that, it took less than 2 weeks to get the final name change completed. While I was very nervous, I really didn’t have to be. The judge was only interested in the provenance of my chosen name (something I was prepared for, Gaelic names aren’t common!).
I have doctor’s offices that I know have a ‘preferred name/nickname’ field in their system, because they told me. They refuse to use my new name, now through the legal system, even as a nickname, because it ‘couldn’t be used on insurance documents’. Even with the correct, legal documents in hand, they will not change or use my now legal name without a new Medicaid card (something that can take 4-6 weeks to come). Insurance is more important than a judge’s order, to the health care system.
And now I’m finding out who’s comfortable with me as I really am. I’ve always said I hated my name and wanted to change it, it’s never been a secret, nor is my fascination with the Gaelic language. But I suppose people expected me to choose a feminine name, and I didn’t.
Some people just don’t use a name or pronouns when they talk to me. I can’t tell the difference between spoken pronouns, but written... well. There are a few who are very, very clear that they are going to use my dead name no matter what. A few lovely souls who asked me how to pronounce it over the internet, since we’re too far apart to see each other often. And others who as soon as I changed my public media over, just took it in stride, as I’d said I was in the process, so no one should have been surprised.
People were surprised. People thought I’d not go through with it. I got a new case manager because of it.
My PCP’s office still won’t use my legal name.
My case manager has a copy of my name change documents so that if I get a hit for housing, before it goes to the landlord, my CM can present the paperwork with my new name (and all new housing applications are going out with the proper name). He understands that the landlord seeing the actual name change could mean I lose a chance at the apartment, and it would be legal.
My previous case manager did everything they could to keep me from changing my name, because they thought it would be too much work for them.
There are physical treatments that are agreed that I need for my mental & physical health that insurance will not pay for, that I cannot afford, and so I will not be able to get. They aren’t hormones, but because of who and what I am, they are seen as gender-affirmation treatment, even though they aren’t. (Does this seem out of place? My previous CM wanted me to change my name after I got an apartment. They didn’t see how this could possibly be dangerous for me. Scoffed at the idea.)
I’m fully disabled. I have a TBI. I’m not cis-gendered. I changed my name for my mental health, and doing so was difficult because the people assigned to help me refused. People like me fall through the cracks every single day.
Remember them.
Monday, Feb 18, 2019 · 7:27:03 PM +00:00
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LoreleiHI
I thought I should add for clarity: I changed my name in Maine. The probate clerks told me I was very lucky to not be doing so in NH, as they have apparently made such things more difficult, especially as my license has an X, not an M or an F.
My birth certificate is from NH.