Why You Should Treat A Name Like an Invisible Limb

How about a little elbow room for your name?

We wear our names everywhere we go. Not lightly like clothing, which we can take off, wash, and switch easily, but much more like body parts – solidly affixed, integrated into every moment, our waking and our dreams, unescapable. Like all body parts, we can like or doubt them, feel proud or insecure about them, arrange nicknames or initials or conversational flow to highlight or obscure them the same way we choose flattering clothing or apply makeup to cover perceived flaws—but they are always with us, just like our eyes and thighs.

And much like body parts, they are connected with our nerves, brains, and hearts – not just in some intangible way, but in validated neurological and physiological studies. That’s why when our names get scratched and burned and bruised, we hurt. When they are overworked, we ache. When they are under constant pressure, we get tired and listless, often without necessarily knowing why. We ask a lot of our names—like the feet we too often expect to carry us everywhere, in every condition, through easy turf and the toughest terrain—without ever asking if they need better support.

Consider how much names do. They serve and shape us as dual wells of identity and connection. They are storehouses of emotion and information, of relationship and possibility, of history and hope. We constantly process them being praised, panned, petted, prattled about, or passed over. They are our legal imprimatur and our legacy. Is it any wonder they may get overtaxed?

So what might happen if we cared for names—our own and others’—as deliberately as we care for bodies? What if we nourished them by deliberately noticing and capturing all the times they were spoken with love and regard, and minimized their exposure to negative inputs? What if we protected them from careless bumps and bruises? What if we exercised them with care?

Moreover, what if we did this not only for ourselves, but for others? What if we made as much effort not to jostle someone’s name as we make not to elbow someone on a crowded bus? What if respecting someone’s personal space extended as far as respecting their name?

What might that look like? It might look like taking care to pronounce someone’s name correctly—not just once, but every time, even when rushed. It might mean resisting the urge to nickname or abbreviate someone else’s name without their invitation. It might sound like speaking as though the names of everyone around you were special and sacred things. It might feel like knowing that when someone signs a document or answers a roll call, they are giving you a little part of themselves, like a hand, and receiving it as such.

It might also look like checking in with ourselves from time to time, asking: How is my name doing? Has it been stretched too thin, dismissed too often, misrepresented, or misunderstood? And if so, what might help? Just like a sore limb or a tired voice, our names deserve compassion – from us and on our behalf.

This isn’t about wrapping a name in a parka to shield it from bad weather, or in plaster to fix it in place. It’s about recognizing that names are integral to you and every human. That some people choose or are forced to change theirs – perhaps a sort of surgery, though blood-free – does not negate that the name we inhabit at any given moment is fundamentally wired to our body, mind and soul. When we care for names, make space for them, and treat them like the invisible limbs that they are, we do a much better job of giving others and ourselves room to breathe.