'I wanted to become a woman - but did I really want to become Juliet?'

Having entered the NHS pathway, with its expected duration of three years, I wanted to do something immediate that would make my transition feel more concrete. I'd lived 'as a woman' for several months and the time felt right to secure my identity. Told by friends that the Gender Identity Clinic in London prefers a legal change of name before prescribing hormones, as proof of your 'real life experience', I resolved to legally alter mine as soon as possible.

Occasionally, the media run stories on people who have chosen idiosyncratic identities. The words "changed his/her name by deed poll" always feature prominently, presenting it as a dramatic and difficult step. In reality, you can swiftly and cheaply change your name in order to make a point, or just for fun, and just as quickly change it back.

Before I ordered a deed poll, though, I had to question myself. I felt sure that I wanted to become a woman - but did I really want to become 'Juliet'? I'd experimented with other names when I started publicly cross-dressing, sometimes suggesting to anyone who asked my name that they call me whatever they felt suited (a dangerous policy, on reflection, but I was never seriously insulted) but, as in my youth, Juliet just seemed to fit. And, being Shakespearian, it dodged the potential pitfall of names such as 'Kylie' or 'Britney' that wouldn't have been prevalent at the time I was born. (It was to avoid this that I eventually discounted 'Sinitta'.)

Telling friends prompted their stories about how their parents chose their names (after a magazine, in one case, but sadly not this one), or how they chose their children's, and if they, or their parents, had got it right. When asked if I was definitely happy with Juliet, I said that I'd just change it again if I got bored of it. Joking aside, I knew my name was right for me: unlike my friends and their parents, I had the advantage of knowing the personality involved before labelling it.

Although it wasn't chosen in honour of any family member or tradition, I knew my parents would find my renunciation of the name they gave me incredibly difficult. I wished I'd had a name like Alex that didn't have to change, or even something that could be easily 'feminised' - the nearest I found to my birth name was 'Greta', which was a non-starter. The best compromise I could find was to retain my initials, which meant making Juliet my middle name (causing confusion later, as nobody - not even me, initially - recognised me by my new first name), and not insisting they use it straight away, as I did my friends.

Finally decided, I signed my deed poll, with an old friend as witness. She asked how I felt: I just smiled, unaware that the fun would start when I had to change my name on every document and account. I still received incorrectly titled correspondence months after I thought I'd finally covered everyone who provided my services: they all seemed to have different policies on whether they'd accept original deed polls or photocopies, and how much evidence of my transition they demanded. I had problems, too, when I was surprised at home (by the postman, for example) before I'd dressed and done my makeup: they often responded apprehensively when I told them that I was 'Miss Juliet', despite appearing to them unimpeachably male. (The Conservative canvasser was the most bemused, but this may also have been because of my T-shirt.)

These practical irritations paled beside the social and psychological aspects. Having carried two names in my head for most of my life, switching between them at will, I'd not realised that most people find it incredibly hard to dislodge the first name they attach to someone - and that the longer they've known it, the harder it becomes. I tried to be forgiving when people used my old name, remembering that many people just aren't good with names full stop.

So my first problem was: when to start correcting people, and how? Friends were mortified if they slipped up, and hugely apologetic: I assured them that I knew the difference between a mistake and a malicious attempt to undermine my identity, allowing them time to get it right. How much time I didn't know: I judged by how often I'd seen each person since coming out, rather than by months passed. Soon enough I was almost always addressed as I wished, and felt able to gently correct people when I wasn't. (Getting people to use the right pronouns has been far harder, signifying as they do not just individuals, but deeply held beliefs about the nature of gender. I'll revisit this hornets' nest another time.) I gave my parents longer, never correcting them: consequently, the first time they called me Juliet became one of the most precious moments of my transition.

When discussing the present or the future, Juliet felt perfect. When my friends or I talked about my pre-transitional past, it didn't. Inserting my new name into anecdotes felt strangely Orwellian, and implausible when talking about my schooldays, but it seemed less right to use my old name, especially around people who'd never heard it. I dealt with this by censoring such references whenever possible, but the bittersweet sense that I'd made a break in my life really hit home. My family and friends' worst fear had been that I would no longer be the same person, and it was my change of name more than anything that prompted them to express it. Once several friends had asked if their memories of me became redundant with my old name, I questioned myself: was I still the same person? How much did I want to be?

Even when I rarely heard it, I struggled to dislodge my old name from my mind - particularly on days when I felt concerned about how well I was 'passing'. Sometimes, when I introduced myself as Juliet, the old name sat on the tip of my tongue; I'd hesitate, and sound unsure of who I was. As for my friends and family, it became easier over time. For me, transitioning was about replacing an identity imposed at birth with one that suited me better, but I didn't want to rewrite the history symbolised by my old handle. Instead, I reconciled myself with it, deciding not to regret time 'wasted' but to relax and enjoy my transition. After all, nothing would be easier to change than my name.

Juliet Jacques's column appears fortnightly. You are invited to post comments and questions for Juliet below, and are very welcome to share your own experiences.

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