Reclaiming "Shobha": When Your Name Becomes Your Power

For years, you didn't introduce yourself as Shobha. You said "My name is Shobha, but you can call me Sophie" or "Shobha, it's hard to pronounce, so my friends call me Sam." You made the barrier to entry smaller. You made yourself easier. You watched teachers struggle with your name on the first day of school and learned to soften their discomfort by offering them an easier version before they had to ask.

In college, you considered just going by your anglicized name permanently. Lots of Indian girls did. It seemed practical. Professional. Less of a thing.

Then something shifted. Maybe you got older. Maybe you got tired. Maybe you were reading about culture and identity and you realized that in making your name easier for others, you'd been making a statement about your own worth. That your Indian identity was an inconvenience. That your given name, the name your mother chose before you were even born, was worth hiding.

The day you started introducing yourself as Shobha without apology was not a huge moment. But it changed something.

The Psychology of Names and Identity

Research on names and identity is clear: what you call yourself affects how you see yourself. When you anglicize your name, you're not just making it easier to pronounce. You're making a statement about which part of your identity matters in this space.

Girls who kept their Indian names reported higher cultural identity and self-esteem than those who anglicized. It's not that having an anglicized nickname is inherently harmful. It's that hiding your Indian name because it's "too hard" or "too different" teaches your nervous system that this part of you should be ashamed.

Your name is the first thing that's yours. It's how you're called into being. It carries history, your grandmother's name, maybe, or a virtue your parents wanted you to embody. When you hide it, you hide that lineage. You hide that intention. You make yourself smaller.

The moment you stop apologizing for your own name is the moment you stop apologizing for yourself.

Mispronunciation Fatigue: A Real Thing

Let's be honest about what you're actually dealing with. People will mispronounce your name. They'll add extra vowels. They'll butcher it. And every single time, you have a choice:

Correct them. "It's actually Shobha, like 'show-bah'" (or however your name is pronounced). You take three seconds to correct them. Most people will feel a little bad and try harder next time. Some won't. Both are okay.

Let it go. You're tired. You don't want to make it weird. Fine. You let it pass. But at what cost?

What happens when you correct is: people learn. Your name becomes less foreign. You teach people that your name matters. You teach yourself that your name matters.

What happens when you don't: people never learn. And you get tired. And something in you learns, over and over, that fitting in means fading.

The cumulative effect of choosing not to correct, over and over, across all your relationships and workplaces and casual interactions, is real fatigue. And it's more common for women with "difficult" names, especially Indian names, especially if you're in predominantly white spaces.

Women who make the switch to introducing themselves with their full, correctly pronounced Indian names report that the mispronunciation still happens. But it bothers them less. Because they've already decided: this is who I am. People can learn or they can suffer mild discomfort. Either way, my name stays mine.

Cultural Pride in Professional Settings

The fear, if we're honest, is that having a "difficult" name will hurt your career. That you won't get the job. That you'll be taken less seriously. That people will see you as less professional, less competent, less belonging.

There's some data to worry about here. Studies show that resumes with Indian names get fewer callbacks than resumes with anglicized names, all else being equal. That's real. It's not your imagination or your paranoia.

But here's what's also true: The people and companies that won't hire you because your name is "too Indian" probably aren't places you want to work. Places where you'd have to keep shrinking. Employers that value talent only when it comes in a package they're comfortable with are employers that won't value you fully, ever.

And the women who have refused to anglicize their names? Many report that they ended up in better places. Places where they could be themselves. Places where their full identity was an asset, not a liability. Did it take longer to get those jobs? Sometimes. But they got jobs that fit them better.

More importantly, they kept their dignity intact in the process.

There's also this: if you're good, your name becomes part of your brand. Women who do excellent work and keep their Indian names stop being "that Indian woman named Shobha" and become "Shobha, who did that amazing project." Your name becomes associated with your work. And then it's not a liability, it's your signature.

How Names Carry History

Your name is not just a label. It's a story. An intention. A connection to your history.

Maybe you're named Priya because your grandmother was. Maybe you're named Kavya because your mom loved that name from a poem she read as a teenager. Maybe you're named Anjali because it means "offering" and your parents wanted you to approach life with generosity.

When you anglicize that, you're not just changing how people say it. You're severing that connection. You're saying: that story doesn't matter enough to keep. That intention doesn't matter enough to carry forward. That grandmother doesn't matter enough to honor.

And maybe she wasn't a close grandmother. Maybe there's no deep story. But the fact that someone chose that name, for you, deliberately, is the story. Your parents or grandparents or whoever chose it did so intentionally. That matters.

Stories of Reclamation

Divya went through her whole career as "Diane." It was easier. She got the job, made partner, had a whole successful career as Diane. Then at 45, one of her Indian colleagues asked her real name and she said it: Divya. And that colleague introduced her that way at the next company event. And someone said "Oh, that's beautiful."

She started introducing herself as Divya at 45. Her colleagues adjusted without issue. She realized she'd lost 20 years to a discomfort that didn't actually belong to her. In her words: "I changed my name because I thought I had to. When I changed it back, I realized I'd been punishing myself for something that was never actually my fault."

Nisha never anglicized her name, and it was hard in tech. She got fewer callbacks. She had to work harder to be taken seriously. But by 35, she had built something: a reputation for excellence that transcended the barrier of her name. And in her last company, she made it a point to hire other South Asian women with their full names. She was the bridge. She made it easier for them than it had been for her. And now those women are creating the same bridge for others.

Meera dropped her anglicized nickname in her late 20s, right around the time she got married. Her mother-in-law suggested she keep the Western name, it was more professional. Meera said no. She wanted her children to know her as Meera. She wanted them to see her living her identity without apology. Her kids grew up knowing their mom's real name. And they grew up in a house where Indian identity wasn't hidden or managed, it was just normal.

A Quiet Power

There's something powerful about saying your own name without apology. About not offering an easier version before someone has to work for it. About making people learn to pronounce what's yours.

It's not about being difficult. It's about respecting yourself enough to not do the labor of making yourself smaller for other people's comfort.

Every time you say your name clearly, without diminishment, you're making a statement. You're saying: This is who I am. This is my name. These are my people. I carry history. I'm not apologizing for any of it.

And people feel that. They might not consciously register it, but they do. You become the woman who knows who she is. Who has a center. Who won't shrink.

That becomes your power.