Effects and Recovery #2: Changing My Name

One of the things I did in my recovery was to discard my last name, the surname of my abusive father.

Choosing my new last name wasn’t an easy, split second decision for me. I wanted my name to mean something. So I spent something like six months, looking into the meaning and symbolism of colors, stones, elements, first names, and last names. My closest circle of friends (who felt like family and later became so through marriage) bought and loaned me books for inspiration, like a book of angel names and one on mythology. Some friends read through the phone book with me, while I made note of those names that caught my attention.

Over the months I made a list of possible names and said my name out loud with those possiblities, scratching out the ones that just didn’t feel right.


I went through a long list of names before I found the name, Ma’at, in a book of mythology.

Ma’at is the Egyptian goddess of justice, order, balance, and truth. In fact, in the Egyptian Book of the Dead, her name is the word “truth.” Ma’at is present in the beginning and end. In the afterlife, the deceased’s heart is weighed against a red feather (Ma’at’s symbol). And to begin creation Ra set Ma’at out in the middle of chaos as a light.

As soon as I read about Ma’at and said the name out loud, it felt as comfortable as slipping into bed between freshly cleaned sheets, under blankets still warm from the dryer.


When I was standing in front of the judge on the day he said my name was legally Monica Anne Ma’at, I stood there disbelieving.

I asked, “Ma’at’s my name? Do I ever have to answer to *****? If I fill out some paperwork that asks for my maiden name do I have to put down *****?”

He smiled and said I never had to write or say that name ever again. I cried.


To this day, when I get mail with my name spelled correctly, including that apostrophe that is so foreign to so many, I smile.

When people ask me again and again to pronounce my last name, “Ma” “ought,” just so they can say it correctly, I feel pride.

And when I got married I did not replace my name with his, I added his to mine. I was not willing to give up something I had earned; a name for myself, for me as an individual, not attached to anyone else.

Monica – Latin for “advisor”
Anne – Hebrew for “gracious”
Ma’at – Egyptian for “truth,” justice, order, balance, and a light in chaos. Truth reminds me that I no longer need to keep abuse a secret. And while my life used to feel chaotic, I now have the tools and resources I need to create balance and order within my own life.
Crook – English for a sheppard’s staff or a bend, as in a river. It symbolizes the love I have for my husband and for his family.

My name is valuable to me. It is a name free from the sins of my father. It has meaning for me. It is my own.

Alcohol Does Not Make an Abuser

Ok, it's been a while since I've written but I have a good reason. On my spare days, the days I designate for writing and job hunting, I have been training as a volunteer speaker. If you know anything about me you might say, "But Monica you already are a volunteer speaker!" Yes, but I've extended my venues. I've been training to speak at public schools, colleges, the community, and other non-profit groups through CCS's Speaker's Bureau.

Which brings me to the title of my entry, "Alcohol Does Not Make an Abuser."

While talking to 8th graders about relationship violence they were asked if alcohol makes people violent.

Some said "Yes."

Me: Hum, well does everyone who drinks get mean?

Them: "No."

Me: Some people get silly, goofy, sad, etc. If alcohol is what makes people mean then everyone would get mean when they drank.

(My husband's mom gave a perfect analogy, which I gladly borrowed)...

Me: When you squeeze an orange what comes out?

Them: "Orange juice."

Me: Right! So when someone gets drunk what comes out is what is inside them. If someone is sad, sadness comes out, if someone is happy, happiness comes out. If someone is angry and hurtful, anger and hurtful actions will come out.

So this got me thinking about my father who, during my childhood, was a physically, emotionally, and sexually abusive alcoholic.

I once asked him why he abused me and he said he didn't remember, that he was an alcoholic then but if he did do such a thing he deserved to go to jail or worse.

I have thought about this statement before. I realize there is something wrong with it on so many levels but talking to those kids about squeezing orange juice got me thinking about his blame of alcohol.

Yes my father was (and may still be) an alcoholic. I will always associate the smokey-yeast smell of alcohol and cigarettes with him. But when we were out in public he didn't hit or yell at me, my mom, or my brothers. When we were around other people he didn't touch me inappropriately.

Why?

Because even when he was drunk, he still knew right from wrong. He knew there would be concequences if he were abusive to his children in front of others.

So, no. Alcohol does not MAKE people abusive. Anger and abuse were inside my father the whole time, he didn't drink it in. He just waited until we got home before he hit his wife and children. He waited until everyone was asleep before he molested me.

Why?

Because he had confidence that he could get away with it. He had been shown time and time again that we would keep the abuse secret.

And, most importantly, he was an abusive person on the inside and abuse is what came out.