The Me Book, Part One: All My Names
A series: 5-year-old Becky's interpretation of self, with commentary by 38-year-old Becky.
Warning
This post contains a mention of rape (with no details).
Behold: the first book I’ve ever written. The first cover art I’ve ever created. The first record of expressing my feelings. The Me Book.
I’m not sure if I was exactly five years old when I wrote this, but I do know I was less than seven years old, so we’ll go with it.
This book came from a treasure trove of memories kept in a cedar chest, owned by my mom. She’s carried that aromatic, cedarwood box around ever since I can remember. She calls it a “hope chest.” According to Wikipedia, the same sort of chest has been around since the 15th century, and also goes by the names “dowry box” or “glory box.” Apparently, this was where a girl coming of age (and her family) would store handmade items, clothing, and trinkets, keeping them safe and preserved in anticipation for married life. I’m not sure when my mom started collecting memories, crafts, photos, and other things in this chest, but I doubt it had anything to do with a dowry or marriage. Learning things like this about women of past generations makes me feel grateful to be a woman living in this generation. Well, for the most part. My generation still has a lot of work to do.
Note the name: Rebecca Smith. Maybe that’s a great place to start — all my names.
To date, I’ve been Rebecca Smith, Rebecca Bean, Rebecca Mann, and now, Rebecca Steele. The breakdown of who I was for each name is as follows:
Rebecca Smith: family name, inherited from my mom, inherited through a series of men who get to keep their names and women who were required to inherit their names. We’ll call her RS.a (since my current self is RS.b). RS.a was born in Oil City, Venango County, Pennsylvania, to a 14-year-old mother who was “taken advantage of” by a much older man. RS.a lived in the same house as her grandparents, and at times, her uncles and her mother. She was my favorite version of myself, and she was the girl who most resembles my inner child. More on her in the next post.
Rebecca Bean: Sometime between the ages of 8-11, RS.a became RB, having inherited a new name from a new man, my stepfather, the man my mother chose to marry. This was part of a formal adoption process. It was the first time any version of myself had ever been to court. The much older man who “took advantage of” my teenage mother was there. For a reason that is completely unfathomable and twisted and unforgivable to me, my mom’s rapist had his name on my birth certificate in spite of the means by which he became a “father,” and RB required this vile human’s agreement to “release” her from being “his.” RB was the version of myself who navigated the unsteady and (mostly) unguided path from girlhood to womanhood. More on her in a subsequent post.
Rebecca Mann: At age 21, RB became RM, inheriting yet another name from another man: the man she chose to marry (well, the first man she chose to marry). RM was my least favorite version of myself. She spent many years deviating from who RS.a and RB had been, and I’m still working to forgive her. More on her in a subsequent post.
Rebecca Steele: finally, at age 24, RM became RS.b, inheriting the last name she will ever inherit from any man. This man is a good man, the man: my life partner Shawn. RS.b is my favorite version of myself, and I’m so proud of who she has become. More on her in a subsequent post.
Let’s come back to The Me Book. I think I read this for the first time 3-4 years ago, just when I was getting deep into therapy and the work of healing my inner child. At first, I set out to heal my inner child, but what I’ve discovered is that each one of the girls/women who held each name above requires some serious therapy and healing, for very different reasons.
RS.a was succinct, and she did not hold back. I cannot wait to share what she wrote with you in these pages, transposed into this series of posts and prompted by the memories they conjure up and the stories they have to tell. These posts will contain funny stories, difficult stories, and encouraging stories. My aim is to help each version of my inner self heal by writing and ongoing therapy. Maybe you can draw some healing from this too.
Thank you for your love and support as I go down this road. Buckle up.