I’ve never met another Micayla. I’ve met plenty of Mikaylas, Michaelas, MaKaylas, Mikaelas, but never another Micayla. 

I’m not calling my name unique—on the contrary, it’s anything but. Last year, I was in a club with three Micaylas—well, to be more exact, one Mikaela, one Michaela, and me, Micayla. 

Having a uniquely spelled name used to really bother me. I never found my name on any souvenirs in the boardwalk shops in Seaport Village, and while In-n-Out workers always call my name out properly when my order is up, the label upon closer inspection is never spelled right (one time Starbucks spelled my name with a ‘j’). My own uncle calls me “Macala” instead of my actual name, which has become a joke my brothers have spun out and tortured me with for the last decade. 

While I grew up complaining about the difficult spelling of my relatively simple name, I’ve also come to understand how I identify with my own name’s spelling. I don’t resonate with other spellings and don’t recognize them as my own name despite the same pronunciation. If a teacher writes my name down as “Mikayla,” it takes me a minute to realize they mean me. I find it profound how my name’s spelling makes the distinguishing nuance of how I understand my identity. It’s how I know myself, and is a facet only other people with multiple spellings to their name will identify with. 

I’ve realized that I’ve grown up with and grown into my name. My parents chose my name intentionally and out of love, and it helps connect me to my family. My dad wanted to name me Micayla after coming across the name on his travels. My mom agreed because she wanted my name to fit into the pattern of all the girls in my family having names starting with “m” and the boys starting with “b.” Both my brothers, Brayden and Bryce, also have “y”s in their names. My parents picked a “c” for my name to make the spelling softer, and I sign the “c” as a wave to imitate Bryce and our shared love of the beach. 

Everything happens for a reason. My name’s spelling has shaped me. Instead of being a face to a well-recognized name, I have the space to be my own original individual in a category of just my name and face. I’ve never had to make a name for myself; my name is my own.

If I have kids, I want to award them carefully composed and curated names. I want their names to sound melodic, and as tailored to them as my name is for me. 

Now, I find humor in people misspelling my name instead of resentment. Every time I confidently spell my name out is a chance to take pride in my name, family, and identity. I love the letters that make me, me.