I’m ceded—I’ve stopped being Theirs—

The name They dropped upon my face

With water, in the country church

Is finished using, now,

And They can put it with my Dolls,

My childhood, and the string of spools,

I’ve finished threading—too—

Baptized, before, without the choice,

But this time, consciously, of Grace—

Unto supremest name—

Called to my Full—The Crescent dropped—

Existence’s whole Arc, filled up,

With one small Diadem.

My second Rank—too small the first—

Crowned—Crowing—on my Father’s breast—

A half unconscious Queen—

But this time—Adequate—Erect,

With Will to choose, or to reject,

And I choose, just a Crown—

Emily Dickinson

I found this poem just a few weeks after I wrote about the meaning of my names. 

I took it with me when I went to Mexico City later that year. The friends I made there all know me as Eleanor: I stayed true to the name of my choosing.

Whenever I had any doubts, I returned to this poem, which in my mind encapsulated all the reasons I had for asking to be known differently.

It was this desire to “cede,” to “stop being Theirs” that made me leave behind the name with which I was baptized. That name was now “finished using,” fit now to be stored with the relics of my childhood.

Baptized, before, without the choice,

But this time, consciously, of Grace—

Unto supremest name—

My second Rank—too small the first—

I’d been given a name not of my choosing. I’d been obliged to answer not only to a name given me against my will, but also to an identity that I did not agree with. 

I had been cast in this role against my will, “a half unconscious Queen”, but now I had the opportunity to choose.

And I choose, just a Crown—