My birth name didn’t fit. I had known that for a long time.

I’d used Alice as a nickname or another name for myself for years, although people didn’t really understand what it meant to me. I considered other names, including Alyssa, but Alice kept coming back.

It had nothing to do with Lewis Carroll’s story. The name simply spoke to me on a deep level.

In September or October, I decided I was going to change it legally. It just took me time to act. In May or June of the following year, I started the process.

Making the application

I changed my name in Johnston County, North Carolina. I used an online form-filling service to generate a packet of paperwork, which I completed and printed.

At the time, I had to post a notice for ten days. Once those days were up, I took it down, submitted the remaining paperwork, and paid the fee. I don’t remember exactly how much I paid.

Then I waited.

About a week or so later, the court’s response arrived. But I was away on a work trip.

The envelope on my desk

When I got home, it was on my desk.

I knew what it was. What I didn’t know for certain was whether my application had been approved or declined. In my heart of hearts, I believed it was an approval. Everything was in order.

Still, it took my breath away.

I opened the envelope, paused, took a deep breath, and pulled out the papers.

The air left the room. That’s a recurring theme at these moments in my life.

It was the court order, along with certified copies.

I was Alice.

Well, according to the courts. I’d been Alice for a long time already.

Getting everything else to catch up

The court order was the beginning of another process. Now I needed to update Social Security, my driver’s license, my passport, my bank accounts—everything, really.

Social Security came first. I needed that record updated before I could change my driver’s license or ID. With identification in my name, I could start working through everything else.

I made an appointment and arrived at the assigned time. After a short wait, I was called to a window and handed over my court order and SS-5 form.

The woman who helped me was lovely. She updated everything and told me the change would go through overnight, so I could go to the DMV the next day.

I’d anticipated that timing and already had a DMV appointment booked.

My new license

The woman at the DMV was just as kind. She processed my name and gender change without any issues. I paid the fee, and she handed me a temporary ID.

I put my old license in a box. It’s part of my history now.

A few days later, the printed one arrived.

My name. My gender.

Euphoria.

Working through the list

For everything else, I made a list and started searching and calling.

Every organisation seemed to have a different process and different requirements. Some changes were easy. Others were hard and arduous.

I just kept going, methodically working through it all.

But there were moments of kindness and celebration along the way.

People told me I’d chosen a beautiful name. At Bank of America, one woman told me her daughter was called Alice too, and that she loved the name.

At the D in Las Vegas, the woman helping me said this was the first name change of its kind she had processed. She cried and told me she was honoured.

At the Four Queens, the staff lined up and walked past, congratulating me.

It was something else.

Among all the forms, phone calls, and requirements, there were people who were so happy for me.

There was a lot of administration, but what it meant to me was simple.

I was Alice in the eyes of the law.