Timothy Martin Jones; That was to be my name if I were born a boy. My mother said she had nightmares of me coming out of the womb wearing soccar cleats.

Good thing for her, I just came out a girl. She was thrilled and named me Amanda Marie, instead. I have to admit, I am grateful.

However, to be perfectly honest, I don’t like my name. I have never liked my name and I don’t if I ever will like my name. Not for me, anyway.

See, the other day I glanced up at my name on one of my accounts and immediately the thought I hate her popped in my head. In a few days, I will turn 43. It isn’t ok that an individual of my age still hates their own name.

I sat down and started thinking about my name and what it means to me. The idea of changing names isn’t a new subject in my household, nor is it a new topic for myself. I am a writer and the idea of a psudenym is commonplace. This time the thought struck me deeper than it had before. This time I knew I had to work through this.

With my name comes a heavy weight. The way I was treated growing up, the names I was called. A-Man-Duuuuuh was among the popular teases I received. Teasing is only part of it, too.

The more gruesome details will come when I am ready to tell my story.

I left Nebraska to learn how to be a better person, how to be a better me. In order to change, you have to change your surroundings and the people in them. Most people don’t want to you to change. They want you to stay the person they know. Even if you do change, they still treat you the same. I found this is because they, themselves, refuse to change.

Still, I left 1300 miles to be a different person. Then, I left that and then some to become another version of myself. Each place I go, I look to be something better. Each place I go, there is an old version of me still attached. I keep moving and shedding skin so I can grow.

The last layer is the thing that defines me before someone meets me; my name. Amanda M. Jones is someone that deserves deciet, humiliation, narcissistic abuse and neglect. Amanda didn’t earn it, she was born with the curse attached.

I moved away and I don’t speak to many people. Just a couple that never knew me a big chunk of my life, and my mother. I’m almost completely me.

And here we are, I have decided to change my author/poet/mentor name to Seleste Morgan. For now, it will just be for writing but when I am ready, I will officially change my name.