What’s in a Name?

In primary school, we spoke about what our surnames would be when we were older, how our new names would sound, what names we would point-blank refuse, what names we would like to change ours to. It was a given that as girls, our names would change when we got older and got married. There was never any question at all that the boys would take one of our names.

I remember myself unquestionably accepting that someday I would have a different name. I had no opinion on this, it simply being a rite of passage for women.

Yet, as I got older, I started to question whether I really wanted to change – or lose – my surname for another that had no bearings on who I felt as a person. A surname speaks to a familial history in which I am a living artefact, a reflection on a shared identity that connects to a whole wider family history. Taking on a new name is almost like being cut away from where you belong and placed somewhere new, where you have no connection to your surroundings.

But then I started to question whether surnames really represent an identity at all. Do they matter? I say this because my surname is only reflective of my father’s family, not my mother’s. And if I were to look at my mother’s maiden name, then it is only reflective of my grandfather’s family, not my grandmother’s family. And so it goes.

As surnames are inherently male, can they ever properly reflect women? Across time women have passed through history like shadows, changing hands from man to man without making their true mark on the family tree.

That being said, how important is a name really? I speak from the privilege of having an English surname, and so am aware that my surname has never been used as currency for racial abuse against me. In my day to day life my surname is irrelevant; it is only in the realms of the official that it matters, in places such as airports, banks, and hospitals.

And it is with the world of the official that it becomes natural to start thinking ahead to the possibility of children, for with children the following sorts of questions begin to arise: wouldn’t it be better to all have the same name?; should we double barrel it?; if we do that, whose name will go first?; should I keep my own name?; but whose name would the children have? It won’t be mine, of course.

And it was with cycling through these questions that I came to realise that I didn’t want to give up my own name. I didn’t want it to change. I was happy with how it was.

Some may rightly argue that the simple answer, of course, is just to not get married. And yes, whilst marriage is not necessary like it once was, and whilst it is not integral to love or long-term relationships, it does provide a whole wealth of legal rights that co-habiting couples do not benefit from. Whether that is right is another argument to be had, but this is the society we inhabit and it’s unlikely to change anytime soon.

So I was happy with my decision to keep my own name, until that name became tainted for me. My father had an affair, and his family ostracised me for not supporting him.

My name has now become a dirty word, a source of shame, tainted. I no longer want to be associated with that line of the family, with that name. I want to break free from the shackles of it, but where will I break free to? My mother’s maiden name has never been mine and feels strange to me. I will not be getting married anytime soon, and when I do, will my partner’s name be truly mine?

It seems such a trivial issue, but it is a surprisingly engulfing one. I feel that I should reclaim ownership of my name and disassociate my father and his family from it. It is, and has always been, my name; it is my identity.

And yet, I hate being associated with it, so much so that I have now changed my mind and want to discard it at the first chance I get. Is that anti-feminist? I don’t think so. I have the power to decide what happens to my name, and that is what matters most.

Currently, I have settled on taking my partner’s name when I eventually get married, and keeping my surname as a middle name. I may change my mind, and that is fine if I do.

So to conclude: what’s in a name?

Names are nothing and everything at the same time. They shape and steal identity, they are complex and unforgiving, they hold secrets and divide families. But they know nothing of the personalities of their users. A name cannot possibly define you, but for women in the twenty-first century, a name is a problem that can never be neatly solved. Names can cause sadness and joy, privilege and discrimination, and in ways, they will always be a burden to us.