My mom’s name, pronounced like the word, clean, made the number one list of things she hated. Why? She felt like it made her sound like a housewife, which she certainly is not. Her hopes and dreams of becoming a veterinarian seemed to be squashed by something as minute as the pronunciation. The one thing she wished for as a child was a different name. Danielle. My name. 

Danielle. Eight letters, two syllables. A seemingly calm name like the faint ocean breeze that fills the nostrils of whoever is standing near. Or, like the dream-inducing sound of the waves crashing against the soft, pillowy beds of sand. Nothing that shocks those who hear it. It isn’t a brand new name my parents carefully spun together to fit me like a glove. It was never a name my grandparents even considered giving my mother. 

Supposedly, there are a lot of people that I share my name with. But I’ve never ran into someone with the same name. Danielle, Dani, Daniela, or any other variation. It’s always just been me. Keeps things simple, but it allows me to be my own person. 

The name literally translates to, “God is my Judge”. I haven't gone to church in over four years. Clearly, this literal definition doesn’t apply to me. So, If God isn’t my judge, then who is? Myself? My parents? My grades? My friends? 

 During late nights, when the sun is hours away from rising, the slight dip in temperature nips at your skin and the faint sounds of crickets chirping fills your ears, I lay awake, scouring my brain for this answer. everything that surrounds is watching, and staring, and judging.  This judgement leads to listening to everyone’s opinions. Trying to change myself to fit their every want and dream. Match the perfect picture they create in their head when my name comes to their mind. 

But it isn’t always a burden. Sometimes, it may feel like Atlas holding the world on his back, but often that isn’t a true representation. People need me. They rely on me to help them, give them support and love and hopefulness. Being able to orientate myself towards others helps me to provide them with what they need. 

When people call out my name, I think of my ongoing roles as a daughter, the shoulder to lean on as a friend, and the dedicated student whose grades have become their life. I orientate myself to what other people want like two magnets placed side by side, switching until they reach their perfect positive-negative attraction.  Being able to orientate myself towards others helps me to provide them with what they need. 

Who I am to one person may not be the same for a different person. But there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that, right?