Call Me by My Name: Shedding Dani

For most of my life, I loved being called Dani. It was a name that felt warm, familiar, soft—wrapped in the voices of family, childhood, and those fleeting moments when I felt seen. I held onto it tightly, maybe because in some ways, it felt like a tether to love, to belonging, to the idea of being part of something or someone. My family called me Dani. My friends did too. And for a long time, that felt good. It felt safe.

But I have changed.

I am no longer that version of myself who needed to be chosen, called, or softened by a nickname. I am no longer that girl who waited for her American papers with the hope that love would come attached to approval or assimilation. I used to crave community so badly that I let almost anyone call me Dani, whether they saw me or not.

Today, I no longer want to be called Dani by just anyone.

That name is now reserved. A privilege. A whisper only allowed in the mouths of people who truly see me—who have walked with me through pain, healing, and truth. People who love without condition, who do not just glance but witness.

I am protecting my spirit the way a country guards its borders. I am in a season of becoming—of retreat and regeneration. Like the U.S. closing its borders, I too am closing access to parts of myself until the new me is ready. Not hidden. Just sacred. Quietly preparing to rise.

This is not rejection. This is reclamation.

And until then, please call me Daniela. 

An Open Letter to My Future Husband

To the man I have not yet met—but somehow already love,

Thank you.

Thank you for being patient with me—truly patient, not just in the easy moments, but in the messy ones too. For standing beside me when life gets heavy, when the weight of the world feels like too much. Thank you for taking up arms with me—not against me, not to rescue me, but to stand with me as an equal, a partner, a witness, and a fighter.

You saved me in ways no one else could—by seeing me, calming me, not trying to fix me, but holding me through the storm. When I feel like I might fall apart, thank you for being the calm in the chaos. The steady voice, the quiet touch, the reminder that I am safe.

I want you to know how much I admire you—not just for who you are, but for all the work you have done to become him. I see the discipline, the self-awareness, the growth. I know it has not been easy. I know you have fought your own battles in silence, healed in places no one applauded, and still chose to show up with your heart open. That is no small thing.

I cannot wait to meet you—to laugh with you, build with you, dream with you. To share not just the highlights but the ordinary moments: my lemon honey water in the morning, grocery store runs, road trips with the windows down, prayers whispered in the dark.

Until then, I will keep growing into the woman you deserve. I will keep making space in my life and my heart for you. Because even if I do not know your name yet, I know the kind of love we will create. And it will be worth every second of the wait.

With love,

Your future wife