My name carries a complex legacy, deeply rooted in the tumultuous relationship between my narcissistic mother and her family. Named after her sister, Debbie, and her mother, Kathryn, my name reflects a connection that feels more like a burden than a blessing. Ironically, my mother has always had a fraught love-hate relationship with both women, often oscillating between deep resentment and fleeting affection.

Growing up, I experienced the impact of this dynamic firsthand. My brother and I found ourselves caught in a tug-of-war between our mother and her sister, enduring long stretches of silence where they pretended the other didn’t exist. Just when we thought the rift was permanent, family gatherings would suddenly reappear, filled with celebrations of Aunt Debbie’s children and grandchildren—while my birthday went unacknowledged. This pattern created a confusing and conflicting environment for us, leaving me with feelings of resentment.

The name I bear is also a reminder of my grandmother, who died young from lung cancer, described by my mother as a terrible mother and a raging alcoholic. This complicated legacy has led me to question my identity and the meaning behind my name, which feels intertwined with unresolved family tensions.