NAMES I'VE WORN

“They tried to rename us. We remembered who we were.”

What does it mean to be called strong when all you want is to breathe? What happens when silence becomes survival, and survival becomes worship?

In Names I’ve Worn, Deborah Adebayo delivers a revelatory memoir woven with ancestral wisdom, spiritual fire, and prose that burns with clarity. From colonial Ibadan to the birthing wards of Philadelphia, from the kitchens of Toronto to the quiet corners of Vancouver, this is a book about women who lived with grit and grace, who carried generations in silence—and who refused to disappear.

Part testimony, part tapestry, this is not a story of triumph for applause. It is a record of truth that refused to die, of faith that flourished underground, and of the holy work of becoming—even when the world forgets your name.

For readers of Jesmyn Ward, Maya Angelou, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. For women of faith who still wonder if God hears them. For daughters carrying silent legacies.

Inside these pages, you’ll meet:
– A teacher who baptized a baby with rainwater during colonial rule
– A nurse who stood against racism in 1950s America
– A wife who chose clarity over comfort
– A mother learning to rise after everything collapsed
– A woman who lost the weight but not the wound

This is not just a memoir. It is a memorial.

To the women who prayed in secret.
To the women who stayed too long or left too soon.
To the women who wore names that didn’t fit—until they made their own.

If you’ve ever doubted your worth, questioned your strength, or carried a name that cost you more than it gave—this book is your witness.

You will not leave these pages the same.
You will breathe deeper.
You will remember what was never forgotten.
Because women like us do not vanish. We document. We declare. We rise.