Storytime: Learning My Real Name As A 30-Something
What’s in a Name? Turns Out, Everything.
When I wrote Say My Name and Spell it Right, I never imagined how deeply it would resonate with readers. The piece was rooted in my lifelong exploration of identity, the stories names tell, and the importance of being seen for who you are. Little did I know, a profound twist in my own name story was waiting just around the corner.
In October 2022, as my grandmother prepared to transition, the universe orchestrated a moment that would change how I see myself. I was searching her room for my missing passport. In my heart, I knew the passport had been stolen, not misplaced, but I was retracing my steps because I was desperately trying to make international travel plans to see my situationship in Spain. My frantic hunt was interrupted by the realization that she was taking her final breaths. I could feel her spirit leaving the room. On a Sunday morning before Halloween, while she listened to gospel music, I held my grandmother the way she once held me. “You did so good, Granny Bee. Thank you for everything,” I whispered through tears, prayers, and gratitude. Granny Bee ascended to heaven.
Later, I learned that this moment was about more than saying goodbye. When my passport never turned up (surprise, surprise), I needed a copy of my birth certificate to apply for a replacement. That’s when I discovered my last name is not legally “Ellis.” It technically never was. The name “Ellis” came from my stepfather when he married my mother, a way to legitimize me as his child. My birth certificate, however, bears my biological father’s last name. It felt unfamiliar but strangely correct, as if a missing puzzle piece had been handed to me (even though I didn’t know I’d been searching for it).
As I sat with this revelation, the pieces of my past began to fit together. I remembered an argument between my mother and grandmother decades ago, where my grandmother shouted, “She deserves to know!” At the time, I didn’t understand what she meant, but now her words ring clear. “I think that was about me,” I pondered. My grandmother had been clever all her life, so holding her hand in her final moments as I embarked on the truth of my identity did not feel like an accident. It felt like her way of leaving me with clarity and connection to my roots, even if it hurt or confused me at the time.
For as long as I can remember, explaining how I came to be an “Ellis” and the tale of my two dads always felt like a task. It carried the weight of a story of half-truths I didn’t fully understand. Now, knowing my real last name, I feel more tethered to my family tree. And yet, this name (so deeply tied to my biology) still feels a little estranged, like a guest I haven’t had time to properly welcome.
Interestingly, this revelation has not shaken my preference for the name “Ellis” in my public life. I love my name; the double E initials, 10 letters of perfection, and the name I’ve worn for decades. Erika Ellis is the one people know, the one tied to my professional and creative accomplishments. According to Vital Records, I don’t need to change anything. “Ellis” is now as much mine as the name on my birth certificate. But the knowledge of my biological name feels sacred, something I share only with those who truly know me.
This revelation also explains why I let go of my namesake handles on social media last year. They no longer felt like home. After a few iterations, I landed on “Good Homegirl,” a moniker that fits not only this platform but the essence of who I am. It’s less about lineage and more about legacy, a name that speaks to the kind of person I am and aspire to be (no matter what’s written on a piece of paper).
Reflecting on this journey, I realize how much names anchor us to stories. Some stories are given; others we choose. And sometimes, as in my case, the truth of those stories arrives when we’re ready to receive it. I’m grateful to my grandmother for ensuring I’d uncover this truth and for the blessing of being there as she ascended to heaven. Her departure was a gift wrapped in clarity, love, and the whispered reminder that I am, and always will be, more than any single name.
If you’ve read Say My Name and Spell it Right, you know how much I value the power of a name. This follow-up is not just a continuation of that story; it’s an invitation to reflect on your own. What names do you carry, and what stories do they tell? And most importantly, how do you choose to define yourself beyond them?
As for me, I’ll continue to be Erika Ellis in the public eye, a name I’ve built and nurtured. But in my heart, I’ve made space for the name I was born with— a name that feels like a secret handshake between me and the universe. And through it all, I remain your Good Homegirl, sharing stories that connect us, truth by truth.
P.S. I never did go on that trip to Spain with the situationship. I had to cancel everything. But the non-refundable travel credit encouraged me to take a solo trip to Paris a few months later to expedite the passport replacement process. Divine protection works in layers, I suppose.
Editor’s Note: Happy New Year, y’all and thank you for being part of this growing space into 2025! Your love, support, and engagement have made Homegirl World the intimate community it is today and for that, I’m so grateful.
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