Mady, meaning Maiden, is a shy name. Like the sweet new girl who folds when a boy asks her to do his homework. It’s only a step up from Mandy, but Mady is also a soft orange, like a summer sunset. It’s walking to your car after school on a nice day. Mady is picked sunflowers and mom jeans.

My parents took their time naming me. The nurses checked in every hour to see if they had finally picked a name. It took a village to decide, everyone contributed. The nurses, baby books, grandparents. My dad said he wanted to get to know me before he decided something so big. He said my eyes were what swayed him.

I technically picked my own name. I could have been maddie/maddy/madi. All are far more common than Mady, but then I wouldn’t be me. Through middle school I changed the spelling quite a few times when trying to figure myself out. Changing the spelling felt like changing how people viewed me, how I viewed myself.

I think I decided on Mady in 6th grade. It was different but still common. A chaotic force of good. The only issue was, it’s always followed by how do you spell that? What is it short for? It’s not a name you can say confidently. It doesn’t roll off your tongue, it rickashays.

I have many names and many personalities. Madelyn for when I’m with my extended family. They know me as the quiet, intelligent one who likes to read. Mady for when I’m at school. The social butterfly who loves cute clothes and coffee. And finally Mad for when I’m with my dad. Big t-shirts, cold pizza, and the news.

I used to hate my name. I’ve always wanted to resemble blue, like a strong ocean wave. I’ve worked really hard to love my name. If I changed it now it would feel like the struggle to accept myself, flaws and all, would have been for nothing. So Mady is my name, not like a powerful wave, but like a summer sunflower.