Call Me Jenni
There have been three people in the course of my life that have ever called me "Jenni" (for the sake of consistency to my new nickname, I'll be spelling it with an "i"): my uncle, a REALLY cute guy I knew at school, and a guy very recently introduced into my life who took me by surprise in calling me Jenni.
I've been known as Jenn since first grade.
You want to know why?
My first recollection of being called by that name was while I was being bullied on the playground during recess. This boy (I was always bullied by boys; girls too, although they were meaner about it) was calling me names, and called me Jenn when, up until that point, I had only ever been known as Jennifer. Being that young, nicknames hadn't really made any sort of impact on me. I can remember so vividly going home with my carpool family that afternoon and telling the carpool mom about this boy, and that he'd called me Jenn even after I asked him not to, and told him outright that my name was Jennifer.
But somehow, the nickname stuck.
No one called me Jenn at home. I was (and still am) known as Jennifer to my family (with few exceptions when it comes to aunts and uncles). Since that day, after being teased and bullied by a rude little boy, I decided to be called Jenn.
I don't know if I can properly put words to why I kept that nickname. I never liked it. Not even once.
You may be thinking (and justifiably so), "Well why on Earth did you go by that name then?"
My friends liked it; it was easier for them to remember.
But I still never liked it.
Throughout the years, the typical question was asked: "Do you go by Jenna or Jenni?" And always, without fail, I would adamantly say, "No, absolutely not. I'm not a Jenna, and I'm definitely not a Jenni."
I've only told a handful of people this, but now, so many years later, I feel like I need to share why.
Jenni was a name for pretty girls. For delicate girls. For girls who were feminine, and beautiful, and graceful. I was none of those things.
People are horrified when they find this out about me. But honest to goodness, I truly felt this way, (and to a degree, still do). Jenni was for classical girls, girls with sophistication, girls with light behind their eyes.
God likes to bring those neglected corners to life, to flush them out and show them the truth from the lies that they've inhabited.
Until recently, being called Jenni was as foreign a name to me as being called Jessica or Jackie. I allowed it on a very limited basis, but it was still, more often than not, incredibly uncomfortable for me. Because I wasn't pretty enough, girly enough, feminine enough, to be called such a beautiful, sweet name.
And then God brought a new friend into my life. When we were introduced, he asked me what I preferred to be called, Jennifer, Jenni?
When he asked me that, something cracked--in a good way.
I liked it.
For the first time in my life, I liked being called Jenni.
And that terrified--and thrilled--me.
It was a crack in my "self-image". And what a terrible self-image it was, and is.
Why wasn't I ever called Jenni?
Why didn't I let anyone call me Jenni?
...What is the matter with me, that I can't be called Jenni?
And then I realized--there wasn't anything wrong with me. It was something wrong with what I thought was me.
The name "Jenni" held within it the kernel of the feminine life and light I so desperately longed for and seemed unable to obtain or hold onto.
And thus, with a simple addition of one letter to the end of my nickname, I realized I was not the woman I wanted to be...I was not the woman I thought I was.
I wasn't allowing myself to be feminine, to be girly, to dress up in lace and flowers and sparkles. Because that was only for pretty girls.
Just like Jenni.
I dress like a tomboy not because I want to, but because I haven't ever known otherwise. Because I didn't know I was allowed to dress girly. Or be girly.
I am a feminist; I will not deny this. But I can still dress in frills and silks and flowers and wear sparkles in my hair just because I can.
And, just because I can, I can roll down a muddy hill in those same frills and silks and flowers.
Why not?
Nothing too deep to this blog.
Maybe that's been a part of my problem, going too deep when in reality, it was right there on the surface the whole time.
I've always wanted to be called Jenni.
And now I am.
...How sweet that is.
I've been known as Jenn since first grade.
You want to know why?
My first recollection of being called by that name was while I was being bullied on the playground during recess. This boy (I was always bullied by boys; girls too, although they were meaner about it) was calling me names, and called me Jenn when, up until that point, I had only ever been known as Jennifer. Being that young, nicknames hadn't really made any sort of impact on me. I can remember so vividly going home with my carpool family that afternoon and telling the carpool mom about this boy, and that he'd called me Jenn even after I asked him not to, and told him outright that my name was Jennifer.
But somehow, the nickname stuck.
No one called me Jenn at home. I was (and still am) known as Jennifer to my family (with few exceptions when it comes to aunts and uncles). Since that day, after being teased and bullied by a rude little boy, I decided to be called Jenn.
I don't know if I can properly put words to why I kept that nickname. I never liked it. Not even once.
You may be thinking (and justifiably so), "Well why on Earth did you go by that name then?"
My friends liked it; it was easier for them to remember.
But I still never liked it.
Throughout the years, the typical question was asked: "Do you go by Jenna or Jenni?" And always, without fail, I would adamantly say, "No, absolutely not. I'm not a Jenna, and I'm definitely not a Jenni."
I've only told a handful of people this, but now, so many years later, I feel like I need to share why.
Jenni was a name for pretty girls. For delicate girls. For girls who were feminine, and beautiful, and graceful. I was none of those things.
People are horrified when they find this out about me. But honest to goodness, I truly felt this way, (and to a degree, still do). Jenni was for classical girls, girls with sophistication, girls with light behind their eyes.
God likes to bring those neglected corners to life, to flush them out and show them the truth from the lies that they've inhabited.
Until recently, being called Jenni was as foreign a name to me as being called Jessica or Jackie. I allowed it on a very limited basis, but it was still, more often than not, incredibly uncomfortable for me. Because I wasn't pretty enough, girly enough, feminine enough, to be called such a beautiful, sweet name.
And then God brought a new friend into my life. When we were introduced, he asked me what I preferred to be called, Jennifer, Jenni?
When he asked me that, something cracked--in a good way.
I liked it.
For the first time in my life, I liked being called Jenni.
And that terrified--and thrilled--me.
It was a crack in my "self-image". And what a terrible self-image it was, and is.
Why wasn't I ever called Jenni?
Why didn't I let anyone call me Jenni?
...What is the matter with me, that I can't be called Jenni?
And then I realized--there wasn't anything wrong with me. It was something wrong with what I thought was me.
The name "Jenni" held within it the kernel of the feminine life and light I so desperately longed for and seemed unable to obtain or hold onto.
And thus, with a simple addition of one letter to the end of my nickname, I realized I was not the woman I wanted to be...I was not the woman I thought I was.
I wasn't allowing myself to be feminine, to be girly, to dress up in lace and flowers and sparkles. Because that was only for pretty girls.
Just like Jenni.
I dress like a tomboy not because I want to, but because I haven't ever known otherwise. Because I didn't know I was allowed to dress girly. Or be girly.
I am a feminist; I will not deny this. But I can still dress in frills and silks and flowers and wear sparkles in my hair just because I can.
And, just because I can, I can roll down a muddy hill in those same frills and silks and flowers.
Why not?
Nothing too deep to this blog.
Maybe that's been a part of my problem, going too deep when in reality, it was right there on the surface the whole time.
I've always wanted to be called Jenni.
And now I am.
...How sweet that is.
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