What's In a Name?
Turns out, it's a lot
In 1996, I was bursting at the seams with my the first of my four, who ended up being a 10-pound “toddler” at birth. My then-husband talked about the unknown sex of our baby at length while I was pregnant.
“I need to have a boy to carry on the family name,” he would say. “Since my brother only had girls, it’s up to me.”
My ex-husband had two sisters as well, and they both had sons, but that didn’t matter to him. In his mind, only males of males were important in family lineage. In his defense, that’s our society’s stance as well, but I wasn’t having it as I grew this baby in my belly, beloved no matter what sex my newborn emerged with.
“Why would you say that now?” I asked, catching my breath because of the extra fifty pounds I was carrying. “If this baby comes out a girl, you’d better not stand there clutching your pearls in the delivery room!”
“I just feel the pressure to have a boy,” he said. Understandable according to societal pressure, but appalling to me as a mother.
When Samuel Joseph made his way into the world after two days of induced labor and an emergency c-section, my ex husband’s relief was palpable.
“It’s Sam!” he cried.
When he and I married in 1994, I didn’t have a second thought about taking his surname. I was estranged from my biological father and disconnected from my maiden name because of it. And I was a much more traditional and obedient girl then—doing what was expected of me when it was expected of me without question or argument.
I’m a very different woman now.
I would make very different decisions today.
At this moment in my life—divorced, proudly gay, and fervently committed to women’s equality—I am in the early stages of changing my married name back to my maiden name. I thought long and hard about the possible ramifications of having a name that is different than my children’s, but my babies are grown and flown now. They will always be my children whether I share their last name or not. And I want them to see their mother reclaim her identity in a country that would prefer I stay silent and subservient.
When I first began considering a name change after my divorce, I wanted to choose a name that felt right to me. I’ve long admired Cheryl Strayed’s decision to simply pick a surname that suited her. I considered “Anderson”—my mom’s maiden name, the family name of so many who have loved and held me. I considered an amalgamation of my kids’ names (Saumage?), but nothing really worked.
Enter the SAVE Act, and the decision was made for me. I refuse to become a disenfranchised voter. I refuse to allow this corrupt government to win in any way. Yes, I have a passport. Yes, I have my original birth certificate and can present it if I need to.
No, I shouldn’t have to.
The history of patriarchal control in this country is wide and deep, and its damage is evident in so many ways: gender inequality, gender-based violence, damaging stereotypes and the objectification of women, limitations on reproductive rights and healthcare.
Patriarchy is so engrained in us that we often don’t think about its ramifications in our day-to-day life. Not long ago, during this election cycle, I was online begging someone I considered to be a friend to reconsider how he was supporting patriarchal structures—the power dynamics of white, straight men. But because he is a white, straight man, all he heard was a condemnation of himself personally, not the system. He became defensive, argumentative. “But I’m a white, straight, man,” he said. Eventually, our relationship ended because he could not—would not—understand that what I was condemning was the institution, not the individual. And individuals who cannot grow enough to understand how they are supporting the institution are not people I want in my life. Not when so much is at stake for women in this country.
Could we become the Offreds and Ofglens of our day? It’s not such a stretch. Our rights are being stripped from us, our voices silenced. I am unwilling to surround myself with people who don’t understand this and who are not willing to help right this sinking ship.
And I’m taking my name back, not because I have to, but because I want to. I’m reclaiming myself. I’m reaffirming myself. And I’m also doing it for those who do not have the means or the privilege to do it for themselves. It will cost me money and time, and I am lucky to have both of those.
When all is said and done, I will be Katrina Anne Hodge again—as I was when I entered this world. I will still write under the name in which I’ve been published—Katrina Anne Willis—but legally, I will be me again.
And I will continue using my words and my actions to stand for women everywhere. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie so succinctly and powerfully says, “We should all be feminists.”
I have had 3 name changes. It's so disconcerting. I took my first husband's last name, took my own back after we divorced, and then I took my 2nd (and last) husband's name, which is mine now. And the "family name" thing is weird. Why does it matter? It's like a shorthand for permission (like the gas company won't speak to you if you don't have the same name or the school is reluctant to release the kids). It just shouldn't be this hard. One more way women jump through hoops to make everyone else comfortable.
I have been thinking about this question for quite a while. After divorcing in 2008, I kept my ex-husband's last name because I wanted to have the same name as my children. Like yours, mine are now grown. I remarried in 2021, and the only name change I considered was one back to my maiden name. Decided it was too much trouble, etc. Really appreciate reading this and the opportunity it's giving me to think more. So glad my daughter never thought twice about changing her name. Really wish I'd kept mine.