I didn’t mind the first time it happened. I was seven, sitting cross-legged on the worn out rug of my second-grade classroom’s floor when my teacher called me by the wrong name.
“Caitlyn, could you read the next sentence?”
It sounded like such a simple mistake, “Caitlyn.” But it wasn’t my name. It didn’t feel like me. I shrugged it off. People make mistakes, after all. But then it happened again, and I realized I couldn’t take it anymore.
It’s strange, isn’t it? Something as common as being called the wrong name can make you feel invisible. Whenever my teacher called me “Caitlyn,” it wasn’t just a harmless mistake. It felt like a denial of my individuality, a misrepresentation of who I truly was. It stung, and it made me question if I mattered enough for my teacher to remember my name.
Let me just say I’m Cailyn, not “Caitlyn,” and that’s an important difference. Names are not arbitrary labels —they’re woven into our personal identity and sense of belonging. They carry deep meanings, often linked to family, culture or aspirations, and can influence how we see ourselves and how the world perceives us. A name isn’t just a word. It’s part of our story, shaping our relationships and experiences. My name, for example, blends “Ca” from Carol and “ilyn” from Marilyn, honoring my grandmothers’ legacies and the strength they passed down to me.
Here’s the thing: the mispronunciation of my name wasn’t just an occasional slip-up. People hear Cailyn and automatically assume it’s Caitlyn. I understand that Caitlyn is a more common name, making it easy to default to, but just because a name is more widely used doesn’t mean it holds any more significance than a less common one.
It’s not just about the spelling or the pronunciation — getting names right is also a matter of respect. When people take the time to pronounce someone’s name correctly, it shows they recognize and value that person’s identity. What may seem like a small gesture can have a profound impact on how individuals feel about themselves. Pronouncing a name correctly or incorrectly either says, “I recognize you” or “I don’t care enough to make the effort.” So get it right. When people say my name wrong, especially after I’ve corrected them, it sends the message that my identity is less important to them than the convenience of fitting me into a more familiar mold.
I’m not asking the world to fall in love with my name, although that would be nice. I’m simply asking that people pay a bit more attention to detail and recognize that names matter.
The next time you meet a Cailyn or anyone with a name that’s different from what you’re used to, take a moment to learn that person’s name, pronounce it correctly and honor the identity that comes with it. It may seem like a small act, but it can make a world of difference.