I’m stifled, then stuttering, and then, finally, I answer the most seemingly simple question any person in the world is ever asked.

“What’s your name?

“Um, well,” I glance around the room and stop to think about the people I already know here. What do they call me?

It is, in fact, somewhat like rocket science, at least to me. People call me different things, and when they hear me introduce myself with an unfamiliar name it perplexes them, and then I have to explain myself. It’s annoying.

Most recently I’ve gotten so ridiculous that I introduce myself with 3 different names.

“Rebekah, Becky, Bekah… whatever you can remember, “ I usually reply as I shake the person’s hand. Awkward. And now, because of my own confusion, I am known as “Bek” to most people. I guess because it’s the one syllable all my names share.

Anyone who really knew me as a child wouldn’t dare call me Rebekah. Becky was my familiar name and Rebekah was the formal name reserved for the people who were “superior” to me; teachers, my first few employers, doctors, cops, and lawyers. These are the people whose first introduction with me was with the document on their desk instead of the person in the chair. I didn’t bother to correct these people, they didn’t matter to me.

“Oh I don’t really like that nickname, your full name is prettier”

After high school I started to meet people who expressed a strong opinion as to what I should be called. My boyfriend at the time refused to call me Becky, he felt it was too childish and since I didn’t want to be called Rebekah, he decided the only acceptable option was to call me Bek. Even customers at the restaurant where I tended bar would call me whatever they pleased despite the name I offered to them.

“Becky?” they would say, “that’s short for Rebekah right?” If I told the truth my nickname was lost on them, so after awhile I lied.

“No,” I would say, “Becky is the name on my birth certificate.”

I once had a group of friends that called me Bekah. I don’t know remember how it started… maybe one day someone asked me if they could call me that and I agreed. It was different. Up until that point only my Dad used that name for me.

Then one day one of those friends walked into the bar I worked at and overheard me introducing myself to a new customer. “Becky?” he said with his brow furrowed, “since when is that your name?”

See what I mean about all the explaining?!

I only started using the name Rebekah when I started my photography business. All those super opinionated people had convinced me that Rebekah was a big girl name, a professional name, and I thought it would probably be a good idea to use my ‘real’ name anyway – what if the bank refused to deposit a check written out to Becky Nemethy?!

My best friend laughs at me when she hears someone call me by my full name. “Re-BEK-Kah,” she says mockingly with a smug grin. And when I’ve been a bit too cynical for her tastes I’ll get a “Re-Bek-Kah NEM-ethy” in her reprimanding mom-o-tone.

So you see, my whole life I’ve been confused. I’m not really sure who I am or what my name is. Ya know, just in case you were one of those people who met me in person, and, while shaking my hand, you began to wonder if I might be suffering from mental challenges. Um, well, I might be, but I guess that’s another story.

Just call me anything that starts with a B and I’ll probably answer 😉

What about you? What’s the story behind your name? Do you have any nicknames that you love or ones that you hate? Tell me all about it below!