I have always loved my name, the simplicity of having a short name. My name sounds calming to me, and I love the way it is spoken. To me, my name is like the ocean waves, strong but soft, calming but intense at the same time. It isn’t a very common name, having my own identity, and having my own special way to spell my name. When people call my name, I know that they need me and want to talk with me. This is comforting to me, knowing that others need my help.

The name Mya means “great one” or “mother.” These sound like big shoes to fill to me and at first it seemed intimidating. I don’t quite feel this way now. It all makes sense. I now understand “mother.” My mother is the most sweet, supportive, and selfless person I know, being my definition of the word mother. For all the years of my life, I have always loved caring for others. I love spending time caring for my younger cousins, and my neighbors I babysit for, and making sure they are the happiest they can be. Others come first to me, and that has just been the way it is. I never really understood this when I was younger, but it was natural for me to care for and ensure others were happy and content before me. 

Ever since I was little I have cared for others, and loved spending time with people younger than me. I remember when my younger cousin was born, I was only seven, yet I vividly remember going to meet her for the first time. It was a special day in late May and the outside air smelled like fresh lilies. 

“Do you want to know a fun fact about babies?” My nine year-old sister asks me right before we leave to go meet my cousin. “Babies are only able to see in black and white, isn’t that crazy!” This seemed very important to me at the time, even if I didn’t fully understand what it meant. I need to go change into only black and white clothes. In my mind I thought that this meant my baby cousin could only see me if I was wearing black and white. This seemed super significant to me at the time; wanting the best for my baby cousin, and super excited for her to be able to “fully see me”—even though it wasn’t true. I loved meeting her for the first time, being able to hold her, and seeing her soft peaceful face as she calmly slept. 

Even at the age of seven I have loved kids, and loved caring for them. Now I realize why my name means “mother.” It all makes sense to me now. I love my name and the meaning of my name because it represents me.