When I was born my parents gave me the name “Elizabeth” and I was called this until I was 8 years old. Then like most other Elizabeths, I became Liz. I think it was friends who started calling me Lizard. I liked it because it was a name no one else had. It was unique to me alone.

I suspect it was the fear of entering JR High that normalized my name back to Liz. And Liz was my name until, at age 25, I asked to be called Elizabeth from here on after. I sent an e-mail to my friends and family and even my landlord. This was met by acceptance and confusion.

Why Elizabeth? Why now? E-liz-a-beth - it consisted of four syllables. It came off the tongue with more effort, thus more distinction. It was nuanced and complicated. It was necessary to make a loophole through. I wanted to control my identity; to tell others who I was. It’s hard though, to change how others see you. So, I decided that if you had known me for at least five years, you could call me Liz.

When I turned 29, I moved to California. Here was my chance! When I said Elizabeth, it was never questioned. But within a year, it was taking a toll on me. Whereas before the multi-syllables were mysterious, now they were burdensome. They seemed ornate and unnecessary. I felt that by going by this name I was somehow betraying my true self.

So once more I started using Liz, without an official announcement. My grad school classmates made the transition easily but my professors were a little slower. Upon hearing “Liz” they would ask if this is what I went by - as if they had been mistakenly calling me Elizabeth for the past 7 months.  Then, yet again, I had to answer the seemingly endless questions. Do you go by Elizabeth or Liz? Which one do you like better?

Just call me Liz, I say. It’ll make it easier for everyone.

by Liz Bacon Jones
Oakland, CA