When I was a little kid, I was painfully shy.

I never wanted to be the center of attention, so I’d cry every time friends and family sang “Happy Birthday” to me. I was afraid to speak aloud in class, so my kindergarten teacher would let me whisper my answers in her ear. And my name? Oh, my name. It was different than everyone else’s.

When I started going to school, though, people began to get it wrong. Of course, my family got it right, but everyone else said it wrong. I was thrilled. Finally, I had a normal name that other girls had. I became one of the Ashleys and Megans, normal girls with normal names.

When my parents called me my given name, I’d correct them. I did not want to be that girl with the weirdly pronounced name. My mom would argue with me and explain that she gave me my name for a reason. I disregarded my mother’s words and continued introducing myself by what I wanted to be called.

But, when I began my junior year of high school, I began to realize something. I did not want to be like everyone else – I wanted to be different. I know, I know. Most high school kids come to this realization sooner or later. Nevertheless, it took me two years in which I forfeited my unique name pronunciation to understand that I no longer wanted to fit in.

How would I rename myself in the middle of high school? The truth is, I couldn’t.

I could not go back and tell all my friends that my name was not really what I had said it was. So I waited.

Finally, college came. I wanted things to be different. I wanted to stand out, in a good way. I decided to be myself, name pronunciation and all.

So I went for it during Welcome Week with interesting results. People stopped me when I introduced myself, asked me to repeat my name and then questioned me about it.

“So it’s Hännah, not Hannah?” people would ask.

“Yes, Haaaannah,” I’d reply. “It rhymes with Donna.”

“I’ve never heard it said that way before,” they’d say.

Then, I’d smile and take it as a compliment. I am proud to have a name that others have not heard before. After years of denying it, I finally came to my senses and realized my mom truly did have a reason for giving me my name.

Because this is my first column, I’d like to tell you a little story about myself.

When I was a little kid, I was painfully shy. I did not want to be the center of attention, so I’d cry every time “Happy Birthday” was sung to me. I did not want to speak aloud in class, so my kindergarten teacher would let me whisper my answers in her ear. And my name? Oh, my name. It was different than everyone else’s.

When I started going to school though, people started to get it wrong. Of course, my family got it right, but everyone else said it wrong. I was thrilled! Finally, I had a normal name that other girls had. I became one of the Ashleys and Megans, normal girls with normal names.

When my parents called me my true name, I’d correct them. I did NOT want to be that girl with the weirdly pronounced name. My mom would argue with me and explain that she gave me my name for a reason. I disregarded my mother’s words, and continued introducing myself as what I wanted to be called.

When I began my junior year of high school, I began to realize something. I did not want to be like everyone else – I wanted to be different. I know, I know. Most high school kids come to this realization sooner or later. But I had given up my unique name pronunciation in order to fit in – but I no longer wanted to fit in. I wanted to just be myself. How would I rename myself in the middle of high school?

The truth is, I couldn’t. I could not go back and tell all my friends that my name was not really what I said it was. So I waited.

Finally, college came. I wanted things to be different. I wanted to stand out, in a good way. I decided to be myself, name pronunciation and all.

So I went for it. Welcome Week was interesting. I’d have to introduce myself, and when I did I was stopped, asked to repeat my name and then questioned about it.

“So it’s Hannah, not Hannah?” people would ask.

“Yes, Haaaannah,” I’d reply. “It rhymes with Donna.”

“I’ve never heard it said that way before,” they’d say.

Then, I’d smile and take it as a compliment. I am proud to have a name that others have not heard before. After years of denying it, I finally came to my senses and realized my mom truly did have a reason for giving me my name.