"Maybe the journey isn't so much about becoming anything. Maybe it's about un-becoming everything that isn't really you, so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place." - Paulo Coelho
I've never given much weight or thought to names, up until recently. In today's world, some people seem to view names as absolutely meaningless, holding no weight whatsoever. Others have a much different view, seeing names as a core part of our identity, so much so that some are legally changing their names to be something that they get to choose for themselves, making the name all the more sacred. In the Pagan world, many people choose a Craft Name, or a Magical Name, one that they use in certain groups, with their coven, and during rituals. I was never such a Pagan, honestly because I never found one that fit. I was always just Dominique.
People have nicknamed me for as long as I can remember. In my very early years, some people attempted "Nicki," which sent my mother's blood boiling so much that it was never to be heard again. Many have attempted "Dom" over the years, which I actively despise. One, because there is a whole other implication to that name that teenage me was most certainly not comfortable with carrying around, but also simply because I hated it. I wasn't Dom. I was Dominique.
My best friend in middle school coined "Domino" for me, which stuck throughout high school, but only for her. I was fine with that, it was our thing, not something that was adopted by the masses. Our friendship slipped through the cracks of time, as many do, and with it went Domino, fading to black and ending a chapter of my story.
It wasn't until I moved to Georgia at the ripe old age of twenty (pause for dramatic eye roll) that another nickname took the stage. And this one, let me tell you, took off like a tidal wave, crashing through every facet of my life and becoming the crown jewel of my identity. I was no longer Domino, and no longer Dominique. I was Dommie.
Much like Domino, it started off innocently enough. It was a nickname coined by a close friend, seeming to be used only by her and those around her. But somehow, and I honestly can't tell you how it happened, it started to bleed. It crept into my work life, my other friend circles, even my romantic life. I can't tell you the inward cringe I felt when men I was dating would refer to my as Dommie, though at the time I didn't understand why. It was a term of endearment, why did it leave me so unsettled? In my work life, it felt wholly unprofessional, like I was the kid sister of my coworkers, not someone to be viewed as an equal. Of course no one meant it that way, but it was how it processed for me.
Slowly but surely I morphed into the role of Dommie. She was always happy and smiling. "Dommie always makes me feel better, she's always so HAPPY," they would say. I was no longer taken seriously by anyone in my life. The best stereotype I can compare it to is the label of a "dumb blonde." I was fun, I was the life of the party, I was so cute, I was all love and light perfectly packaged in superhero t-shirts. Everything I attempted was treated as a cute hobby. "Oh that's just Dommie things," they'd say. Dommie had taken on a life of her own, and quite honestly, my inner self grew quite content hiding behind her.
Please don't misunderstand, it wasn't all bad. In fact, as a young 20 something who had just moved to a new town and lost a ton of weight, Dommie was an incredible mantle to adopt. Everyone liked me, I had a lot of friends, and as is to be expected, the men around me loved the cute, quirky, seemingly ditzy character I had become. I'd gone from a life of being one hundred pounds too heavy, sick, and sorely lacking any friends or social life, to the girl who was invited to every inner circle she stumbled upon. It was my former fat kid's Cinderella Story made manifest, but most importantly, it made life so easy. There were no serious conversations or heavily weighted topics. No conflict, no turmoil. I wasn't the villain in anyone's story, how could I be? I was Dommie.
Looking back on that chapter of my life, it's pretty easy to see I wasn't as innocent as I thought I was. In my efforts not to hurt anyone, and to stay liked (and therefore safe) by everyone, I inadvertently hurt a lot of people. My inability to say no to anyone had me saying yes to everyone, which only led to my becoming flaky and completely non-committal. But even that trait became just another cute Dommie quirk. "You know Dommie, she doesn't do commitment." Their quick and easy brush off only made it acceptable for me to embrace lack of commitment as a core part of my personality.
In addition to overpromising and under-delivering, my lack of clearly stated feelings and boundaries also set off it's own domino effect (oh, get it? Domino? It's a call back) of problems. I'd led so many people on by not expressing my actual thoughts or feelings. My fear of telling anyone anything that could possibly rock the boat had me biting my tongue to the point of eventually boiling over, which only led to cutting all the deeper with harsh words and, sometimes, even worse actions. I was no angel, as much as I liked to convince myself otherwise. I was just trying to be nice, I'd tell myself. I didn't want to hurt their feelings. And while that may have been true, the real truth was nestled in a deeply rooted fear of being disliked and cast aside. Of, God forbid, having someone see past the facade of Dommie, and into the eyes of Dominique. I'd gone to great lengths to avoid that, I should add. I'd deleted the majority of my old social media photos, anything that would reveal the less-than-perfect girl I was in the "before times"...you know, the Pre-Dommie Era. I never told anyone about who I was before, someone I'd cast such a shadow of undeserved shame over. I didn't recognize her anymore, I'd tell myself. I'd moved on. But in my unrelenting efforts to put as much distance between myself and the pain of my past as possible, I put equal distance between me and anyone in my new life. I engaged in only the unhealthiest of relationships, pushing anyone away that may have genuinely cared for me. I was becoming unrecognizable to Dominique, but I was quintessential Dommie.
I thought I'd built enough armor around myself to stay safe, but reality came crashing down in an extremely violent manner. Not even the new me was spared from misfortune, despite my naive beliefs. I locked myself in my house for two weeks after my assault, allowing the physical wounds to vanish and my emotions to fade to the background. When I emerged, I was as love and light-y as ever, and no one was any the wiser. The Prodigal Dommie had returned.
Why am I writing all of this? Because in recent years, I've felt the desire to distance myself from that name. It was a part of my life, a chapter in my story. It was deeply flawed, yet at times I believe it saved my life. Now that I'm older, and dare I say a bit wiser, I don't like hiding my true self anymore. It's exhausting, having to be palatable all of the time. Being liked by everyone is no longer the goal, because being liked does not equate to being yourself, and it doesn't necessarily make you a "good" person, whatever that actually is. I am not a love and light human. I've been through the mud, through the weeds, through the darkest of moments, and I have emerged a changed woman. We are all changed by our experiences, and there is nothing wrong with that. Ideally, it prompts growth. I am an observant, yet opinionated woman. Playing dumb for so long was exhausting for someone with the level of intelligence that was passed on to me by my father. I've spent so long acting like there wasn't a thought in my head that anxiety took me over. I have ALL of the thoughts, and I'm no longer willing to sit in silence or forced laughter to make others feel superior. I no longer desire to be nice, but I strive to be kind. I've learned there is a difference. I've made more waves in the last two months, strictly by setting boundaries for my time and energy, than I have in the last ten years. It has been eye opening, to say the least.
All of that is to say, that if they only like you when you're palatable, then they don't like you at all. But more importantly, what they think doesn't matter. At the end of the day, when you look at yourself in the mirror, do you like you? Do you respect yourself enough to take up space, express opinions, and live authentically as yourself? I wish that for you.
In conclusion, it's not Dommie anymore. It's not just Dominique, either. I'm Dominique, and I'm grateful to you for giving me the space to share my thoughts.
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