Joie with an "e"

My mother changed my name several times in the days after my birth.

She toiled between the traditional spelling, Joy, and whether or not to give me the name of her close friend Joy-Beth. Joya, Jamaica, Joie, all thrown in the hat and discarded.

My official birth certificate has one name scratched out and my legal name, Joi Elizabeth, written in the margin between lines. I remembered hating my name growing up. It was too short, and it was neither correctly spelled in English nor French (I was born in Canada). It was unique, but if I’m honest, it never felt like my name. The name given to me at birth held the vibrational coding of my childhood, which was far from perfect. As a kid, I knew that leaving home, and growing up would help me find who I truly was. I thought that if I had a different name, I might better embody that person I was meant to grow up to be. I think a lot of children feel this way because I hear often that people grow up disliking their name. It is almost like a rite of passage. Something you either accept and grow to love, or something you change.

Fast forward, I’m 21 and living in New York City. I loved my job, but it was grueling. My body was so overextended and malnourished that my toenails were falling off on their own accord. I was in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship. But thankfully, by this point, something in me was stirring. I was on the verge of a big change. I didn’t know it yet, but I would be making the decision to leave the relationship and move to LA, leading to the life I enjoy today. But I wasn’t quite there yet.

I started studying French, and it became an obsession. My need to control something, anything, was directed to the nuances of the French language. On the subway, I’d listen to French lessons. After work, I’d pour over my textbooks for hours. At night, I’d fall asleep to French movies. It brought me so much happiness. I felt like I was expanding my perception of the universe, which is exactly what I needed to gain the confidence that comes with perspective. I booked a flight to Paris, and lived the next 6 weeks in France, soaking up every experience of pure ‘Joie de Vivre I could. In Paris, I experienced myself as the woman I could be, and I liked her a lot. I came back from that trip dreaming in French, with a newfound zest for what life could be, and began the long journey of changing my life.

I told my boss upon my arrival back in NYC that I’d like my name to appear as “Joie” on the class schedule. He looked at me and chuckled, knowingly. I can’t remember the exact words, but he said something like “Well of course it should be spelled that way!” He knew, like I did, that the woman I found in Paris, was to become a part of my personality in a way that would mean I could truly live at a higher octave than I previously had. But it is weird how people who have known me for a long time cling to an old way of seeing my name. I feel a little jolt when people who knew me as “Joi” insist on that spelling. And I’m only asking them to make room for one tiny, little letter.

Looking back, I asked people to spell my name differently for one simple reason, I liked it better. It felt right for me. It was somehow more authentically me. But I don’t know if I would have felt that way if my name had been spelled Joie all along. I think I needed to go through the deep transformation of letting go of my old way of life, in order to show up as I do today.