My mom hated my nickname. It took me going by it when I went to college for her to accept it.
My mom didn't like my nickname — Jackie — and yelled at other people who called me that.
She thought it was trashy and didn't want anyone using it.
When I moved to college I went exclusively by my nickname.
On her porch in Pittsburgh, my hometown friend Annabel asked, "Remember when your mom yelled at my mom for calling you Jackie?" She chuckled, but I could only cringe.
Six years later, I still couldn't escape the embarrassment of my eighth-grade choir concert when my mom overheard Annabel's parents using my nickname, lectured them about how Jackie was "trashy," and commanded that they stop calling me that. I was mortified.
My mom didn't like my nickname
For a decade, my mom and I fought over my nickname. My soccer teammates started calling me Jackie after I moved to Pittsburgh in third grade. To me, it represented intimacy and acceptance in a new city, but my mom despised it.
I wondered if her Catholic upbringing led her to see Jackie as untraditional, and I knew she disliked names ending in -ie. Still, these reasons didn't warrant repeated altercations with children and adults who called me Jackie. Several times a year, someone approached me wide-eyed after my mom confronted them. I never knew what to do. Saying, "She's crazy, ignore her," felt unfair, yet I couldn't justify my mom's strong aversion to the name.
This tension strained our relationship. I didn't understand why my mom wouldn't respect my preferences. When asked, she would tensely reply, "Jacqueline is a beautiful French name. Jackie is not."
I went by Jackie only in certain settings away from my mom
To avoid fighting, I only went by Jackie in certain settings. At school, friends and some teachers called me Jackie, but I never used the nickname at my dance studio, which my mom visited twice a week. When she attended a school event, I warned friends not to call me Jackie in front of her. I still felt extreme anxiety anytime my mom interacted with them. One slip-up and I knew we'd be in a yelling match later. Or worse, she would chastise them in front of me.
Things also got confusing when people who knew me as Jacqueline met people who knew me as Jackie. Trying to explain my mom's feelings and my decision to be two different people was exhausting.
I escaped this turmoil by attending college out of state. Seven hours away from my mom and my past, I used my nickname with friends, professors, and supervisors. On the phone with my mom one day, I fleetingly mentioned how even the kids I taught called me Jackie to feel her response. And shockingly, she was silent. Apparently, time, distance, and my entry into adulthood prompted her to start respecting my choice. Or maybe she just got tired of fighting — I've never directly asked her.
I appreciate my name and her acceptance of my nickname
Regardless, I was elated. When I visited home, I didn't feel like I was keeping secrets from her anymore. I became more comfortable inviting her into my life. During my senior year, my parents attended my honors presentation and met my longtime mentor and professor. I held my breath when she said, "Jackie was wonderful to work with the past four years."
But my mom smiled and said, "We've heard lots about you." The encounter was the most direct test of her acceptance yet. After years of tiptoeing around my mom and awkward social situations, her recognizing my wishes meant so much.
Now, I introduce myself as Jacqueline when I meet new people. My mom's openness to Jackie helps me appreciate the elegance of Jacqueline and the fact that my mom chose it for me. But it's a relief to know people can transition to calling me Jackie without me hiding it from her or bearing her disappointment. Her acceptance has allowed me to be honest with her, and I'm grateful.
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