When I was born, my parents named me after my grandmother—Betty Malady. “Betty” is a sweet name, one that makes you think of donuts and strawberry shortcake. And Nanny lived up to her name in every way. But for a little girl surrounded by classmates named Karen, Penny, and Stephanie, “Betty” felt old-fashioned, like something out of a time capsule. Worse, people rarely left my name at just Betty. I was Betty Sue, Betty Lu, Betty Boop, Betty Crocker. In high school, a friend sang Bette Davis Eyes to me. I was horrified when I looked up Bette Davis and saw her giant, cupcake-sized eyes.

As I grew older, the teasing faded. But the significance of my name stuck with me. My parents had chosen “Betty” with purpose—to honor my grandmother, to connect me to my family’s history, to give me a name that carried legacy.

Names matter. In Scripture, names signify identity, destiny, and calling. Sometimes, God changed a person’s name because their old one no longer fit. Abram became Abraham. Sarai became Sarah. Their new names reflected the greater story God was writing in their lives.

But not every name we carry comes from our heavenly Father. Some are placed upon us by others. Some are whispered in secrecy, shaped by fear. And some are the result of deep pain, forming an identity we never chose.

One of the names I took on after my abuse was Shame.

I was a little girl when an older man—someone I trusted, someone who felt like a grandfather—invited me into his apartment to watch a movie he’d made of us kids running and laughing outside. I sat in the dark kitchen, smiling at the screen, unaware his actions would change my life forever.

Then, his hand was on my leg. My pants were unbuttoned. My body froze.

I stared at the screen, watching the sweet little girl. I knew, in that moment, Little Betty would never be the same.

When the abuse was over, he whispered, “This is our secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

And I did what I was told. I kept his secret—and the name he gave me.

On the outside, I was still Betty—the girl with the big family who lived at Lake View, who loved to run. But on the inside, I felt Dirty. Unclean. Worthless.

The Name That Changed Everything

Years later, when I began to study the Bible, I met the bleeding woman in Scripture.

Her story changed my life.

She suffered for twelve years—bleeding physically and emotionally. The law said she was unclean, untouchable, rejected. Yet, she believed Jesus would heal her. She reached for the hem of His robe as He passed by. And in an instant, the blood stopped flowing.

Jesus stopped. He turned. And He asked who had touched Him.

Trembling, she came forward.

Then Jesus spoke a new name—one that unraveled years of shame.

Daughter.

No more outcast. No more unclean. No more living separated from everyone.

Her life was never the same.

Her moment gave me courage. If Jesus healed her, would He heal me?

For the first time, I reached out.

I told Jesus the truth. Through ugly cries and shaking breaths, I spoke about what happened in that dark kitchen. I told Him everything.

And He didn’t look away.

He said, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”(Mark 5:34)

He gave me a new name: Victory.

What’s Your Name Now?

If you’ve been carrying a name that was never yours to carry—Shame, Unworthy, Broken, Dirty—I want you to know something:

Jesus still renames people.

He still says, “Daughter.” He still says, “Son.” He still says, “Beloved.” He still heals. “You’ll get a brand-new name straight from the mouth of God… No more will anyone call you Rejected.” (Isaiah 62:2-4 MSG)

So let me ask again—

What was your name, little girl?  What’s your name now?

A Prayer for Stepping Into My True Name

Father God, You see the names I’ve carried. You know the lies I have believed, the weight of shame that has clung to me for so long. But today, I come to Jesus, reaching for the hem of Your robe. I ask You to call me by the name You have given me—speak healing, redemption, and belonging to me. No longer will I hold onto Shame, Guilt, or Fear. Jesus, You call me Daughter. You call me Victory. You call me Whole. Settle Your truth deep into my soul. Let Your voice drown out the whispers of the past. I am Yours. I am free. I am named by You. Lead me, Lord, into the fullness of my identity. Amen.

Reflection Questions

Take some time to journal through these questions this week:

1. What names—spoken or unspoken—have you carried that were never meant for you?  (Think of labels, lies, or identities you may have internalized from painful experiences.)
2. What does it mean to you that Jesus called the bleeding woman “Daughter”?  (How would your life change if you truly believed God calls you by that name?)
3. Have you ever begun to tell Jesus the whole truth—your whole story?  (If not, what holds you back? If yes, what did you experience in His presence?)
4. Take a moment to sit quietly with the Father and ask Him what new name He’s giving you.  (Write it down. Pray into it. Let it become part of your healing journey.)