Daily Writing Prompt: What’s the story behind your nickname?
Honestly? I don’t really have one.
Not in the classic sense. No catchy label that followed me through school halls or popped up in glittery text messages. No “Peanut,” no “Red,” no “Shorty.” I never had a proper nickname, just a variety of soft-edged versions of my actual name that seemed to show up depending on the day, the decade, or the person addressing me.
There’s May, the sweet and sensible one. The one who showed up to school with plaits and scraped knees, trying her best not to stand out (which never quite worked, if I’m honest).
Then there’s Mae, she’s more the rebel. She’s the one who writes posts like this, peels back layers, and doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable truths. Mae is the soul-searcher, the storyteller, the one still asking big questions when everyone else has gone to bed.
Moll came out of nowhere. It’s been used by only a handful of people over the years, but every time I hear it, I feel like I should be wearing red lipstick, running an underground speakeasy, and plotting a quiet revolution. Moll is definitely the one you want beside you in a pinch; she knows where the secrets are buried (some of them literally).
So no, I never had one nickname.
But maybe I didn’t need one.
Over time, I’ve come to realize that being called different names by different people doesn’t mean I’m lacking a nickname; it means I’ve been many things to many people. Friend, daughter, rebel, black sheep, soft place to land, storm on a calm sea.
Sometimes the names people call us reflect who they are. Sometimes they reflect who we were at the time. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, they hint at who we’re still becoming.
But if I had to choose my own nickname?
I’d probably go with something commanding, like Boss. Or The One Who Must Not Be Interrupted. Or Her Royal Highness of Caffeine and Chaos.
Too late now, though. I’m stuck with Mae.
Which, when I think about it, suits me just fine.
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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