What's In A Name?
“In a world where women are almost always defined by their relationships (daughter, sister, lover, wife, mother, grandmother) it strikes me as important to shed a light on the woman herself.” ”
My name was stolen from me at birth. My parents had chosen a name for me, but wanted to keep it secret until my birth. My aunt, due a month later, announced halfway through her pregnancy that if she had a girl, she was going to name her Helena, after my paternal grandmother, Lena (pronounced Layna) for short. Yes, the same name my parents had coveted. My parents did name me Helena, but only on official documents. My name was shortened to Hilde while we lived in the Netherlands, and I quickly changed it to Helen when we moved to Canada, as Hilde was the brunt of too many jokes. At the time, I never even thought of calling myself Lena, that name belonged to my aunt, even though she had a boy.
I have thought about changing my name to Lena over the years. It has always felt like my true name. And I adored Lena, my paternal grandmother, who laughed easily, gave great hugs and welcomed everyone into her home. I broached a name change once during my teen years, my parents looked at me with confusion, saying, but that is not your name. I have also brought it up with friends and family over the years. The usual reaction I receive was that for them, I am Helen. Recently I have thought about changing it again. There is a harshness to the name Helen that I would like to shed. Lena suits the older woman I have become. Lena speaks to me of kindness and a soft body grandchildren can snuggle into. I have friends who have changed their names later in life, but will I change my name? I’m not sure.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the words we use to describe ourselves as I step into retirement and cope with the death of my mother. A friend asked me the other day what it felt like to be an orphan, to no longer be a daughter. The question stopped me in my tracks because I still consider myself a daughter. I realized though that while I introduce myself as a wife or mother, I never introduce myself as a daughter. I suppose that is because while we may not all be wives and mothers, every woman is a daughter.
I have been feeling a bit lost when people ask what I am doing these days, as for so many years I identified with my career. My friend Ann, who teaches at the UBC Sauder School of Business, shared that many of her students now define themselves by their passions and overarching areas of focus rather than by a job title. She mentioned a former co-worker of hers who calls himself an innovator, collaborator, and thought leader, and Ann noted he can be that now and at 93, if he so chooses. She suggests asking yourself the question, what do you do? And then begin compiling a list of who you are based on what you love to do.
Names define us but do not always give a complete picture of who we are or what we do. For most of my consulting career, I proudly described myself as an early years community developer. I worked with government, municipalities, and government to create healthy environments for child development. But this title did not do justice to the work. My colleague and friend, Tracy and I wrote a book several years ago honouring the contribution our early years community development colleagues have made to support young children in the province of British Columbia. We asked people in our networks to describe this work. Job titles did emerge but the more powerful descriptors exemplified passions and talents – vision keeper, relationship builder, sounding board, listener, convener, information broker, advocate, systems thinker, and energizer bunny! Doesn’t that give you a much clearer picture of the work my colleagues and I performed?
And now I have another name dilemma that I am pondering. I am expecting my first grandchild late in November. As you can expect, I am beyond delighted and have begun counting down the days. But what to call myself? Now, I know this decision may be taken out of my hands as this baby will likely create a name for me, but I also want to find a name for myself that personifies this new role.
I don’t want to be a grandma, nana, or granny. I want to stay true to my Dutch roots. Oma is the traditional Dutch name for grandmother. We called my paternal grandmother, Oma Shanka (the name of her dog), and my maternal grandmother was called Oma Peter (my uncle’s name). I’m not sure who thought that up – I suspect, as oldest grandchild on both sides of the family, that I did! My mother had an oma and an omi. Her oma - from all the stories I have heard and vague childhood memories I recall - was a stern, harsh woman. I never met my omi. My mother spoke of her often and clearly adored her. I always felt they shared a strong female bond. And so I decided that I would like to be an omi. The name feels right, and then there is that generational pull.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I decided to see if I could find definitions for the Dutch variations of grandmother. Every Dutch definition basically stated a common name for grandmother. And then I found another definition. There it was, a definition of omi in the urban dictionary, an older person of Dutch heritage who is a mean-spirited troublemaker. This has given my family quite a few chuckles. My brother says that does partly describe me – I am spirited!
So what am I going to do, do I embrace this name, or not? I’m not sure yet. I suspect I will stick with omi because after all, what’s in a name?
Do you have grandchildren? If so, what do your grandchildren call you? Did you choose the name, did your grandchildren, or is your name inherited? I’d love to hear the stories behind your grandmother moniker.