The Name That Was Never Mine

When I was about eight, the neighborhood kids and I were playing in the alley behind our house. A fight broke out, probably over something earth shattering like kickball rules or who owned which Barbie.

The new girl, Teresa, ran home crying. I followed and stood at her fence when her mom came out, took her hand, and shouted at me, “Tracey, you are vicious. Stay away from my daughter.”

Vicious.

That word cut deep. Decades later, I still remember it. It became a label I never asked for, one that made me believe speaking up or showing strength was wrong. So I learned to stay quiet. Growing up in a home full of tension did not help. I thought it was my job to keep everyone happy. Over time, I started believing kindness meant silence and peace meant avoiding conflict. But that came at the cost of my own voice and self-respect. The truth is, no one gets to name me except God. He calls me loved, chosen, and His. You know someone truly loves you when you can be honest, even angry, and still be safe.

“But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people… God’s very own possession.” – 1 Peter 2:9

What names have you carried that were never yours to keep?