Episode 10: Reclaiming My Name: Why It’s Important for Black Women to Define Ourselves
On my 33rd birthday, I declared to all of my family and friends that I had adopted a new name, Yaa. The reactions varied widely. Some people love my new name, others not so much. One aunty asked, “Does this make you happy?” I responded “Yes,” and that was good enough for her. Yaa is a Ghanaian name for a girl born on a Thursday. My whole life, my father would tell me stories of his visits to Ghana as a young boy, and I desired to go there myself and experience the land where my people originated. Despite the distance of time and space, I found myself identifying with the culture that colonialism had stolen from my lineage, learning everything I could about the Ashanti women whose legacy ran through my veins. Then a client who lived in Ghana told me about Queen Mother Nana Yaa Asantewaa, a queen who was equal parts mother, farmer, warrior, teacher, leader and bad ass! She embodied everything I aspire to be, a force for resistance and a flowing source of love and abundance.
The decision to adopt new name wasn’t one I came to lightly. 2024 was a tough year. It felt like it was taking forever for my dreams to manifest, and I’m not talking about professionally, although it was a slow year in career and business as well. Personally, I wanted to see better circumstances for my family, but that meant I had to grow. It was uncomfortable, but I shed that outer ego. I learned to wear my name “Rowana” like the gawdy light-up name belt I got in middle school, with pride. But it’s nice to take it off occasionally. Yaa feels right. It feels easy. And that’s how I want my life to feel. Not to mention that there are so many people who say “Rowana” wrong or call me Rowena, or Rowanda. Few actually say it like my parents do. I’m convinced that to the Caribbean tongue, a “W” is a mere suggestion. It becomes a new vowel, wrapped in understanding and love. I could probably write a novel on name trauma (That sounds fantastic, doesn’t it?) , but it took far more than mispronunciations to make me desire a new name.
I never want to get rid of the old me. I never could, I love her too much. It’s like when you see a really beautiful painting or photograph and you instinctually take a step back so that you can get a better perspective. My intention is to adore every version of myself from every angle. I summoned that ancestral power to reclaim my name and exercise agency to change. Finally, I understood that I had the ability to make my life art.
I find it strange when people laugh at my name change. There are some that scoff at me, thinking “You can’t just change your name!” To those people, I wonder what bothers them so much about a Black woman having agency over herself? Why is it normalized to just take everything we’ve been given? I know that personally, there’s a lot I want to shed. A lot I want to give back and leave with the past generation. I only have this one life to live. It’s my choice whether to live on someone else’s terms or my own. At the same time, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be upset with anyone who didn’t want to call me my new name. I would have to embrace my dual nature.
The change reminds me of a quote from Audre Lorde, “If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.” I was getting to a point in my life where I felt like I was getting eaten live by the shadow of who I was supposed to be. Perfect wife, daughter, friend, sister, and aunt. Caught in spirals of guilt and prioritizing the wants and needs of everyone else. At a certain point my name started sounding like the first item of a laundry list from the lips of certain individuals who had been invested in my people pleasing. It was like emptying your plate over and over again to people who whine and complain when you have no more to give, never questioning if you’re okay.
Postpartum depression broke me down to my essential parts. I could no longer pretend to give from an empty cup as a matter of survival. The failure of some people I loved to see that I needed more compassion and support changed the way I saw the world, making me even more determined to see other Black women in their struggles. Self-recovery is a must. Self-preservation is something we must choose, daily and fiercely.
