My Name Is Shaemekia: Reclaiming Identity, Respect, and Self-Determination

Phonetics: Shah Mee Kah

My Name Is Shaemekia. Say It Right.

My name is Shaemekia.
Not shortened unless I say so.
Not softened for convenience.
Not edited to make someone else more comfortable.

My name carries cadence. History. Intention.
It carries my mother’s choice.
It carries my people’s creativity.
It carries the reminder that I do not need to fit neatly into anyone else’s mouth to be worthy of being spoken.

How My Name Came to Be

My mother gave my eldest aunt the honor of naming me.
She trusted her big sister. A college graduate. A full-fledged educator. A woman who understood the power of words and the doors they can open.

That choice mattered.

I grew up in a small town where Shaemekia wasn’t foreign. No one stumbled over it. No one questioned it. I had a Shamika in my class and another one a year older than me. My name existed in community. It wasn’t exotic. It wasn’t “too much.” It was just… mine.

That matters too.

When I Realized My Name Was “Different”

It wasn’t until college that I realized there weren’t many Shaemekias walking around. And even then, once I shared how to pronounce it, people respected it. They called me Shaemekia or they called me Burnt Corn, because I was never afraid to say where I was from or who I was.

I didn’t shrink. I didn’t explain. I didn’t apologize.

But then… corporate America.

When Convenience Became Disrespect

It was on the campus of Lockheed Martin Aeronautics in Fort Worth, Texas that I met people who either couldn’t or wouldn’t pronounce Shaemekia. The same folks who struggled with my name also seemed to struggle with Tuskegee. Interesting.

That’s when frustration turned into something heavier.

I shortened my name to Shae.
Not out of embarrassment.
Out of fear.

Fear that I’d be labeled the “angry Black woman” if I insisted on being addressed correctly. Fear that advocating for something so basic would cost me professionally.

And for more than 15 years, I allowed it.

Here’s the kicker.
They still misspelled and mispronounced Shae.

So what was I really gaining?

The Moment Everything Shifted

One day, a Black woman colleague with a beautifully unique name noticed my email signature:

Shaemekia “Shae” Jamison

Instead of replying, she called me.

She asked one simple question:
“How would you like me to address you?”

I laughed nervously and said, “My name is Shaemekia, but people have trouble saying it, so I just go by Shae.”

She paused.
Then she asked me again.

“How would you like me to address you?”

For the first time, I said it clearly.
“My name is Shaemekia.”

She responded without hesitation:
“Shaemekia, it’s nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you.”

And then she said something that changed everything:

They will address you by Shaemekia if you give them no other choice.
They pronounce all these other names just fine.

Whew.

I don’t even remember her name, but I do remember writing her a recognition award for that moment. Because in a matter of minutes, my sister handed me back something I had slowly given away.

My name.

Standing on Business

Baby, my email signature was updated immediately.

Shaemekia Jamison
(with the phonetic spelling right underneath, because I’m helpful, not hostile)

And from that moment on, I stood on business.

If you knew me as Shae before, I gently redirected you.
If you ignored every cue, every correction, every courtesy?
I matched energy.

Michael became Miphca in my replies.
Because my name is not Shamecka, and my signature gave you everything you needed.

And let me be clear.
This energy was for everyone:

Leadership.
Peers.
White. Black. Brown. Tan. Orange. Green.
B.E.C., HOLA, PAAN, PRIDE… all of them.

Respect is not selective.

This Is Kujichagulia

The second principle of Kwanzaa is Kujichagulia.
Self-Determination.

To define ourselves.
To name ourselves.
To speak for ourselves.

Reclaiming my name was an act of self-determination.
Keeping it intact is still an act of self-determination.
Teaching my children to love their names will be legacy work.

My name doesn’t need correcting.
It needs honoring.

Say It With Respect

So yes, my name is Shaemekia.
Say it slowly.
Say it correctly.
Say it with respect.

And if you’ve ever been told to make your name smaller, easier, or more palatable, hear me clearly:

You do not owe anyone an edited version of yourself.

Addressing someone by their name is basic respect. I will always help you pronounce it with grace and no judgment. But when convenience turns into dismissal, don’t be surprised if I ignore you completely.

Because if you’re not calling me Shaemekia, you’re not talking to me.