In the car on the return journey (him driving, me merrily reflecting on aforementioned wines), Mr Missus abruptly blurted out in a rather defensive tone, “What’s wrong with taking my name?” As I began to jokingly defend my decision, knowing full well I was planning on taking the new surname, I surprised myself as I warmed to my new-found cause. This resulted in a rip roaring argument about the logistics of changing a name, what it means in society to change it, how hard I have worked in my career to establish my name and how strange it is to suddenly - a third of the way through my life - become a different person.
Really, I was just a bit pissed from the wine and a bit taken aback by his assumption that I would just simply, unquestionably, bend to tradition. But over the weeks that followed, I started to find the “name change thing” the most daunting part of the upcoming nuptials. I would think of my new name and feel overwhelmed. I would fleetingly, nervously, wonder if this in fact, did mean I would become a different person. I pondered how much a name defined someone and how whether I had unconsciously grown mettle over the years, piping up and correcting the pronunciation of my name. Whether said pronunciation made me more memorable and whether the new simple version would make me bland.
Finally, after the “I dos”, when we were pronounced Mr and Mrs Missus, I blinked a little at the realisation that was me.
My fears are perhaps silly. After all, a rose by any other name etc etc… but I find myself now looking at my married name and wondering who this person is. My first name looks completely different perched next to its shiny new surname. My hand feels strange making the unfamiliar loops and curves. My father, ironically the first to greet me by my new surname, jokingly and happily booms, “Hello there Mrs Missus!” when he sees me. It feels like some sort of betrayal and I can’t explain why. Why doesn’t HE care that I’ve discarded his namesake legacy? And… actually… do I?
The name feels like a pair of new shoes that aren’t yet comfy and I still hesitate when I give it to a home delivery man taking my order or when making a booking at a restaurant. Worse of all are the tiny scales of mourning that fall from me each time I change it over – email, my Pinterest login, Instagram, Medicare. I'm erasing my past, slowly but surely. My IT department sulked that it was hard work to swap my surname across servers, various forms of hardware and login passcodes. I was asked if I really needed to change it. (Did I?) “Well… yes,” I said falteringly. “It’s my name now.” (Was it?)
At the bank, the too-loud and too-young teller said, “I wouldn’t even bother. Sooooo many women don’t even deal with the hassle. Just leave it as it is.” But the idea of living in a split name limbo is even worse. One foot in the past, the other in the future, with me wavering, confused, in-between. A friend told me she and her fiancĂ© plan to make up a new name they can both have ownership of, which to me, seems to defeat the purpose altogether.
What is the purpose? I wondered again, taking me right back to that boozy night and the silly argument. And it occurred to me that each time I change it over, each time I meet a little hurdle of resistance, or an unexpected battle to change it from people who shouldn’t care more than I do, that perhaps I am going through some sort of transitional grieving phase. Maybe the reason you change your name is greater than starting a new branch on the family tree and “joining” your husband’s family. Maybe it’s more symbolic than that: because my name, with the Mrs in front and the sparkling new surname at rear, has really made me think about the fact I am a married lady. (Concerned Priests and celebrants everywhere, never fear – of course the heartfelt vows etc did that but bear with me here…)
The magnitude of the wedding naturally sweeps you up in its romantic bosom and nothing is more blissful than looking about at your most loved, loved ones and letting them all know how happy and committed you are. But after, when the presents are unwrapped, you’ve exhaled and spent half your life savings on dry cleaning the wedding dress you will never wear again. After, when your delicious hubby is curled up next to you on the couch, when you’ve already argued about cleaning the toilet and taking out the recycling. After, each and every time you place a home delivery order for Prawn Red Curry (extra rice), and book it under your new name… then you get the chance to remember you have embarked on a big adventure with a Very Big Commitment involved. So big you get a whole new identity to go with it.
Who will I be and how will I change as a married lady? My surname says it all. My life isn’t just mine anymore: I share it with someone else. What a beautiful thing that is. I look forward to getting used to it.
