Reclaiming My Name

A little over a year ago, I made the decision to reclaim my name.

Since I started kindergarten, I’ve been called "Mah-lee"—but it had not been the I was given at birth.

As the firstborn (and the first grandchild), I was destined to carry the names of those who came before me. My grandfather was named Molière—there’s a vague family story that he was named after the famous French poet. Certain I would be a boy, my mother had already decided that I would carry his name. Not only that, but I would also carry the names of my grandmother and great-grandmother (hence, not one but two middle names). Imagine her surprise when I was born… a girl!

And so, my name became Mollie—pronounced "MOL-lee." It’s the name my family has always called me, and, according to my husband Andersen Cupid , apparently it was the only name that truly catches my attention in a crowd.

Yet, I recall as a kid, observing my mother's awkwardness in trying to pronounce my way the Americanized way whenever she was talking to someone at the school. If they asked whose parent she was, she would awkwardly move her mouth to say "MAH-lee," the name the school understood.

I did the same.

I, of course, did not have her same accent so it was only easy to embrace my new name. It made me fit in. It made life easy.

Then I started doing the work of decolonizing therapy. I became more critical of the ways we lose pieces of our heritage—our culture, our names—in favor of whitewashed pronunciations, appearances, and ways of life. Now that my grandfather had passed, it became even more important. I began to ask myself: Am I living in my most authentic way? I ask my clients to stretch and challenge themselves every day—why wasn’t I doing the same? Why had I chosen to shed my grandfather's namesake for the comfort of others?

Les Cole —my longtime mentor and friend—who, upon hearing the origin of my name, started enthusiastically calling me "Molière" whenever he picked up the phone. Every time he did, it brought a smile to my face. I wanted more of that.

While I was deep in thought about all of this, I met Colleen Marshall during my interview process at Two Chairs . She had no idea I was in the middle of this deep dive into decolonizing my identity. And yet, she ended up being an unexpected source of inspiration. She introduced herself as "KOL-een" (long o), the original Irish pronunciation. I had never heard anyone say it that way before, and her choice to honor the name’s roots made me curious to learn more about her heritage.

It was shortly after that I committed. I was going to reclaim my name.

I started small—some mild exposure therapy, if you will. At Starbucks and Chick-fil-A drive-thrus, I started to say my name the right way. Even these small interactions generated feelings of nervousness, anticipating the "come again?" or the furrowed brows from the person taking the order.

Then came my first day at my new job, a time for introductions. I braced myself for the awkwardness—not just from my colleagues, but even from myself as I adjusted to saying my name in a non-familial space, in a (virtual) room full of strangers.

After an initial “Wait, how do I get this right?” and a brief adjustment period, I had, for the first time, curated a professional space that honored my true name. I realize that I had been laying the groundwork for years, little by little bringing my full self into the workspace - from the time I went to an interview with my full fro, or times when I shared bits of my Haitian culture in conversation. This was just another step forward.

There were various moments during this shift that stood out:

Once, a trainer came in and used the default pronunciation of my name. Before I even had a chance to correct it, Kelli Collins effortlessly made the correction. No hesitation, and no fanfare. Another time, while walking a new city, I heard someone call out "Moh-lee." My first thought? “Do I have family here?” Imagine my joy to turn around and see Kate Grammy, Psy.D.

Albeit seemingly small. In these moments, I felt seen. I felt a sense of belonging. And for the first time, it felt like home.

What I've learned from this is: When you show up as your authentic self, the right people will adjust, embrace, and reflect that authenticity back to you.

1️⃣ Names matter. Pronouncing someone’s name correctly isn’t just about respect—it’s about belonging. It’s about workplace well-being and recognizing that identity is a core part of mental health.

2️⃣ The spaces we create—at work, in community, in leadership—send a message. When we make room for authenticity, we create an environment where people don’t just show up; they thrive.

3️⃣ You never know who you’re inspiring to show up as their full self. The moment you take up space authentically, you give someone else permission to do the same.

4️⃣ Diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging aren’t just corporate buzzwords. They’re about honoring people’s full humanity. They’re about the small, everyday moments that create a culture where people feel seen and valued. And that? That’s worth protecting.

The right people, the right workplaces, the right communities—they will honor the real you. And that makes all the difference.

#Authenticity #DEIB #Belonging #WorkplaceWellbeing #MentalHealth #ReclaimingMyName