My full name is Katherine. But Katherine does not feel like me. My whole life, I’ve been referred to by my nickname. Not even when my parents are frustrated do they call me by my full name. It is unnecessary. It does not describe me.

Katherine feels like sandpaper. Or like a stuffy room on a hot summer day. Claustrophobic. It's like the endeavor to try to wake up on a Monday morning. It takes effort and thought to say. I'm more easygoing than that.

At home, my family likes to call me Kate. I like Kate. Kate is short. Simple. Smooth. Kate easily rolls off the tongue like it takes so breath to say. It isn’t all me though. I like it—but my friends don't call me Kate. And my friends are important to me.

Katie is me. Katie smells like vanilla. It feels soft, silky, and warm like bundling up next to a fire on a winter evening. Katie moves like water. It is the ocean on a calm, beautiful day. Katie reminds me of happiness. It's worry less. Safe. 

Katie originated in Britain. It served as a nickname. In a family setting, Katie shows that her family loves and honors her.  Katie means beauty and purity in german. My background is rooted in Germany. A vast religious background applies to the name Katie as well. I come from a strongly religious family on both sides so I can relate to this description.

I like my name. All of them are special to me in some way. They make sense to me. Katherine is a more complex name. It shines light beneath the cover. All the pages in between. And Kate is cute and sweet. Katie describes me the most. The definition, the feeling, and the fact that I'm used to it and so is everyone else.