When I got married three years ago, it took me a good long time to reach the conclusion that I was going to change my name. It’s not because I felt like it was a super-antiquated tradition, or because I would now feel like The Daver’s property, not really.
Problem is, I liked my name the way it was. Becky Elizabeth Sherrick.
It had been my name for 25 years and I was rather attached to it. Plus, when I had birthed Ben, I’d given him my last name as one of his two middle names, so it was the one real link I had to my son.
Practicality won out, and once I deduced that my family would have three different last names to contend with, I decided to change my name along with my marital status. I would become Becky Elizabeth Sherrick Harks.
Despite Ben’s 4 names on his Social Security Card (and later, Alex’s), the administration refused to allow me to add a name without removing another. So, choosing between my last name and my middle name it was (unless I wanted to hyphenate, which I didn’t).
In the end, I dropped the Elizabeth and moved the Sherrick to the middle, adding the Harks to the end.
For ages, I still thought of my new last name as the rest of my in-laws names, not a name that belonged to me. Within the last two weeks, I noticed something strange: I now had begun to associate the name with me. It was now MY last name.
For ages, I didn’t understand how divorced women didn’t immediately go back to their maiden names. It made no sense to me, as I had far more pride in my maiden name than I had in my married one, so I always assumed I’d seamlessly return to who I was before I was married. Now, I’m just not so sure. Would I keep my name or change it back?
So, your turn, lovers. Dish. Did you change your name? Would you? Would you change it back? Were you as fucking conflicted as I was about changing your name?