My name is not common. I still correct people in work emails when they get it wrong.

• I don't have a common name, and I would dread my first day of school.
• I thought that once I got a job, people would make more of an effort to spell my name correctly.
• Now I correct people every time they email me with the wrong name.

Growing up, I always dreaded the first day of school. I winced and braced myself as the teacher traveled down the roster. I always knew my name was next when it was introduced with an awkward chuckle and disclaimer.

"I'm really bad with names, and I know I'm going to mess this up. I-i-is it Jayce-Lee?" the teacher would say while the class snickered in the background, much to my embarrassment.

It's actually pronounced juh-sehl-lee.

Unfortunately, those awkward moments didn't disappear after school — they followed me into my career.

Whenever someone misspells my name in an email, I can still hear those snickers in my head: Jasley. Jaselyn. Joselyn. Jas. Jaselley. All loud and wrong.

I feel disrespected

In the corporate world, we are frequently told to uphold professionalism in all forms of communication. I was taught to double- and triple-check my emails for typos before sending them. I understood that misspelling someone's name was a sign of carelessness and, ultimately, disrespect.

I'd digitally dot every I and cross every T in all my emails, just to receive a response saying, with random versions of what's supposed to be my name.

My name is in my email, signature, website, LinkedIn, and bylines. It's exhausting.

To some, my request to spell my name correctly may seem dramatic. But I care. Many people from diverse backgrounds with unique names can relate.

It's not "just a name —" it's my name.

I'm named after 2 women in my family

I'm named after two fearless and confident women: my mother and grandmother. My name is a combination of the first syllables of my mother's and grandmother's names: Jacqueline and Celina, with a special twist in its spelling.

It's also a nod to my Dominican culture, where it's common for mothers to create unique names by blending parts of loved ones' names.

My name is prophetic, foreshadowing how I would navigate the world: fearlessly and confidently, just like my mother and grandmother. I wear my name, its unique pronunciation and spelling with pride.

So yes, it is deep to me. That's why I'm also intentional about extending the same care to others with names that reflect their culture, language, and proud lineage.

I resonate deeply with Netflix's "The Residence" actor Uzo Aduba's quote on her own name: "My mom taught me not to change my name for those unwilling to learn it. If they can learn to say Tchaikovsky, Dostoyevsky, and Michelangelo, they can learn to say Uzoamaka."

For a long time, I didn't fully grasp the weight of that statement. Back in school, I would shy away from correcting my teachers. I used to feel embarrassed. However, as an adult, I've learned to reclaim the beauty of my name and correct people without feeling like I was doing too much.

I correct people in professional settings

These days, when I get a "Hey, Jasley!" email, I correct the sender with a simple line like "By the way, my name is spelled Jasely" or "I noticed you spelled this way, but my name's actually spelled like this."

No one has ever gotten upset when I corrected them. In fact, they usually appreciate the clarification, apologize, and move forward with the correct spelling.

I may not be Dostoyevsky, Freud, or Arnold Schwarzenegger, but my name carries just as much weight. My identity is beautifully woven into it.

My name is in the email, put some respect on it.