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(Follow-up to “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” – October 2021)
Names are funny things.
I said that four years ago, and it remains true today.
Since then, I’ve given it even more thought – my name, and the idea of a name in itself.
Only this time, I made a decision – and immortalised it on paper.
The name on my birth certificate finally matches the person inside.
The envelope moment
Yesterday, someone banged on the door while I was working from home – headphones on, cats snoring, fully in work mode. Normally, I wouldn’t hear a thing (we have a big sign asking people to call instead of knock), but somehow, I did this time.
I yelled through the window, “Just a moment!” and ran downstairs.
It had been quiet all morning, so I figured I could sneak a minute to see what the ruckus was. The postman handed me an envelope from Germany – and my heart dropped.
The only thing I was waiting for was that paperwork. Either it was approval or another bureaucratic limbo.
By the time I got back upstairs, a call was already waiting, and my boss had texted. Classic timing. One of the few calls on this slow day had to come right as the universe delivered my fate in paper form – so I focused on the job at hand.
After the call, I finally looked at the envelope – addressed to Nicky Nadja Meyer.
Just a simple confirmation that I am, officially, who I’ve already been for years.
The long path in small steps
The official process started almost a year ago, in November 2024, with an email to the German Embassy in Malta.
Then came replies, delays, registered letters, mixed messages, more registered letters, and – because the universe loves comedy – a contradictory email just to keep things interesting.
If you’ve ever dealt with German bureaucracy, you’ll know: efficiency is a myth, and the processes will try to bury you under endless sheets of dead trees.
The people I dealt with were genuinely helpful and kind – just bound hand and foot by procedure, yet still expected to sprint.
Eventually, on 12 August 2025, I sat in the embassy, filled out the final declaration, paid my 91€, and walked out both nervous and relieved.
Then, after one last round of emails, half a heart attack’s worth of frustration, a lost letter, and a clarifying phone call in September, the envelope finally arrived.
It felt small – no fanfare, no fireworks, just a recycled paper envelope with a stack of forms.
But that’s how real milestones often arrive: quiet, unassuming, the kind that make you look up and realise you’ve crossed the line you’ve been crawling toward.
About the name
I kept Nadja. Not because I love it, but because it’s part of me – my roots, my family, my history. It carries the people who shaped me.
I dropped my flirtation with Nickola. I only ever introduced myself as Nick or Nicky, so that’s what I wanted on the paperwork. After four years of living as Nicky, it simply feels right.
No cringe. No explanations. No spotlight dragging out the introduction. Just me.
This way, I didn’t erase anything of my past, just reshaped the future for myself.
Nadja was the name I grew up with. Nicky is the one I grew into. Simple as that.
I wanted to keep that earlier chapter with me – but my new one belongs on the cover.
Then and now
The woman who came to Malta isn’t the same one who opened that envelope – but she isn’t gone either. She’s still here, layered with the others I’ve been.
The story changes with each chapter; the ink and handwriting might differ, but the paper it’s written on stays the same.
Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands – every version of me had different dreams, shaped by different places and experiences. Yet the same cornerstones held: curiosity, stubbornness, love, and the will to keep rebuilding.
Though, if I’m honest, that last one takes more and more effort the older I get.
We grow around our experiences like trees swallowing the old bicycles once leaned against them – not erasing them, just carrying them forward, sometimes even reinterpreting them.
I might not have found the place to call home yet, but I’ve found people to call my tribe.
Hass and I have weathered more storms than I can count, and the cats – my chaotic little furfaces – keep me grounded in ways I can’t explain.
Some friends drifted, others stayed, but each left fingerprints that changed the grain of who I am – and who I’m still becoming.
Nicky just fits – another puzzle piece in the person I’m still building.
The world reacts (as it does)
When I posted online about filing for a name and gender change, most people were kind and supportive – as I expected from my carefully curated friend list.
And then one wasn’t.
“Really don’t want to be associated with this BS. If you’re that confused about your gender, seek help. I’m out. Bye.”
At first, it stung. Then I realised the comment said more about him than it ever could about me.
I replied:
“Because I’m not confused, I made an informed choice.
I’d have hoped someone would ask about my motivations and feelings before making that kind of comment, but that’s fine.
My ‘live and let live’ attitude is what I want reflected in my friends. Thank you for making it clear you don’t share it.”
And just like that – lighter.
Sometimes clearing out the narrow-minded makes room for those who actually see you.
Boxes, labels, and other storage problems
The gender part began as a means to an end – a way to make the name change possible.
But along the way, it became something else. Something that fits.
I did a lot of soul-searching during that stage – asking myself what it really means to change your gender on paper, how it would make me feel, and how others might react when they see it.
I never felt like the typical girl, but I didn’t belong in the opposite box either. I’ve always existed somewhere in between – or outside the boxes entirely. And honestly, I’m tired of boxes. Mental ones, moving ones, and the doom piles all over the house.
It’s funny how people crave categories, as if life works better in neat drawers. I’ve fallen into that trap myself. For a long time, I didn’t see that diverse – the legal marker I chose – actually describes me best.
I like what I like. I’m not confused; I’m just done pretending everything needs a label to be valid.
And if you ever want to talk about why ‘diverse’ feels like a breath of fresh air to me, I’m happy to have that conversation.
For me, this journey was mostly about aligning my name and my sense of self – quietly, privately. Nothing on the outside has changed for others, but inside, something finally clicked into place.
Meanwhile, I’ve watched friends and family go through real transition – the kind that takes courage, patience, and persistence. Seeing their strength gave me perspective.
What I did was paperwork and persistence. What they do is survival.
That’s why I want to be an ally. To stand beside them. To make sure the world they walk into has one more person willing to listen and defend.
And that’s why comments like the one from the guy who didn’t want to be “part of my bullshit” hit me. For a split second, they gave me a glimpse of what my friends experience – not once, but over and over, every day.
It shocked me. Why so much hate for a label? One of the other reactions to my post captured it best:
“It doesn’t change the memories I have of meeting you back in Cologne when we met Matt Granger. You do what you need to do to be happy – that’s all that counts.”
Exactly. Why would a label change how someone feels about a trans person – or anyone, for that matter?
I value a person for their mind and their deeds, rarely for their body.
When a name becomes real
Seeing Nicky Nadja Meyer printed officially went through me in waves.
First came the relief – the process was finally over. Then a simple matter of fact, because I’ve been Nicky for more than four years now.
And finally, that deeper calm – like a door clicking shut after years of drafts blowing through.
Contentment, quiet and steady.
Why it matters and what could be better
I’m grateful that Germany now allows Selbstbestimmung – self-determination – under law.
But it should be open to everyone: those whose bodies don’t fit, those whose parents made choices their grown child wouldn’t, and those, like me, who simply needed to shed a skin to feel more whole.
If something in your life isn’t right – and you can change it without murdering anyone – do it.
End the mediocre relationship.
Change your name.
Move country.
Try the thing that scares you.
The only regrets that linger are for the things I didn’t do.
Everything I did – no matter how painful or messy – brought me closer to who I’m meant to be.
Even if I’m still figuring out exactly who that is along the way.
✧ This isn’t a Rebel Daughters story – I’m not as brave or brilliant as the women in that series.
But claiming something that’s yours, even when people refuse to accept it, is absolutely in their spirit.
If quiet – or not-so-quiet – rebellion interests you, pop over there and let me know what you think.
✧ [Read Rebel Daughters on Substack or filter the articles here] ✧