From a young age, I collected a list of names – all for boys, or at least gender-neutral. I said they’d be for my posse of sons. It started out on my mum’s computer before being transferred to my phone and buried at the bottom of my notes app. When I decided that transition was right for me, I went back to this list. This is because when I had made peace with being trans, I also accepted that this list had, in part, actually been for me.
Before realising I was trans, much less knowing it was OK, I thought talking or thinking about my gender issues was narcissistic and sexist. Part of coming out was accepting that my internal dissonance was rare but real, and that I could work on it; it could be resolved without the threat of being shamed and written off.
Even so, asking everyone to call me by a different name was daunting. At first, I decided I could deflect some responsibility by asking my mum to rename me. It also felt like a logical and authentic solution. That is, until we remembered that, had she known I was a boy, I’d have been Daniel or Rupert. Sorry, Daniels and Ruperts – but instant veto.
I eventually decided that I wanted a name with family history that I also liked; preference alone seemed risky. At least if I came to regret my choice, I could blame my male forebears with a kind of grudging affection.
Some years earlier, my second cousin once removed had sent my dad an extensive family tree. It was only my paternal grandfather’s line, but that seemed appropriate. Among with multiple Sidneys, Kenneths, Alexanders and Charleses (one of whom was a tobacco magnate), I found two names that had also been on my own list: Fred and Reuben.
I chose a new name to signal my transition and my gender to the outside world; to make the change easier for others and me. But I also like knowing these things: that my first name comes from my great-great uncle, Frederic William McConnell, born in Liverpool in 1872; and my middle name comes from my great-great-great uncle, Reuben Poland, born in Worthing in 1841. He was a sailor who married Jane McConnell and had seven children. He died in a workhouse in Liverpool, in 1900.