My name is a question. A “Ms.Petersen?” instead of my first name, when attendance is called. A “Oh, how did your parents come up with that?” A “How do you say your name?” One silent letter is all it took to create a lifelong questionnaire about my name.

It was a hockey players name. A name meant for a boy, but reshaped to fit the girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. Both of us yet to find our name on the fancy keychains in a souvenir shop. Or on Coke bottle.

My name, like other things, I tried to change. The first day of 7th grade I became Shay. Something simple. Easy. Concise. No questions asked. A name anyone could pronounce. Less like a rollercoaster and more like one of those straight yellow slides you see at a playground.

It’s sort of like waking up on a cold spring morning and there’s a dusting of white snow on the pavement—beautiful yet confusing. It’s also like 70 degree weather in the middle of October. Surprising, even for Wisconsin. It’s a new routine that takes time to get used to like the first day of school. It’s the name always underlined in bright red when typed into a document.

I’m not sure why my parents didn’t come up with a simpler name for me like Sarah or Morgan. Maybe my name was foreshadowing of who I’d become. Someone outgoing. Unique. The “J” in my name is confident. It’s not scared to be mispronounced. So, I’ll choose to be confident with it.

My name isn’t Sonya. My name isn’t Shayona. My name isn’t Sha-Jonna. My name isn’t Shay. It’s Shonna, but with a silent ‘j’. Shjonna. A name I’ve grown to love and will continue to grow with.