My name... I was once ashamed of my name, the weight of a childhood of hidden pain wrapped tightly in its grip. So ashamed that I allowed a stranger to strip me of it. Laid naked and vulnerable, I allowed him to take me away. He controlled who I was, he set me on the path that almost killed me. Yet death was not ready for me. And I escaped. Years would pass as I tried to wrestle with who that girl of another name was until one day I met one that I loved more than myself. That’s how I knew falling in love. Loss of self. He asked me to marry him after some time and when I said yes, this time a small voice said...claim your name. Without knowing why yet I did just that. Claimed my name. It was long and seemingly cumbersome, or so many would say. But it was mine and it felt like silky satin, flowing into my soul. A bond, not an ownership. It was all the names that were mine even if I did not know how they were supposed to be mine. Until I did. That day would not come for some 11 years.