After a decade of marriage, I was ready to reclaim a part of myself I had surrendered long ago. The decision came swiftly, but the process was a slow burn, and it was far from over.
I typed my name into a form, and out popped a small slip with a number, reminiscent of waiting at a deli counter. Instead of a sandwich, though, I was about to receive a new identity along with Social Security benefits.
I probably should have grabbed lunch.
Typically, I struggle with waiting—whether it’s for a light to change, a text message, or the holidays. But this time, I found the wait surprisingly peaceful. The ink was dry, and my marriage was officially over. My married name felt increasingly out of place, like a snug sweater that never quite fit, leaving me uncomfortable rather than cozy.
Taking my husband’s last name was something I had accepted as inevitable. Like many girls, I daydreamed about names paired with my childhood crushes, doodling “Mrs. Dreamy-Boy-in-Second-Grade” in my notebooks. My friends’ mothers had their husbands’ surnames, and during Sunday gatherings, conversations often revolved around who used to be “a Smith” before marriage.
But then, they changed their names and identities.
We planned our wedding when “Future Mrs. Married Name” merchandise was trendy. My sister even gifted me a blue sweatshirt emblazoned with “Future Mrs. R.” Trying it on hit differently; it made me pause and consider what adopting a new name truly meant.
The name Emily Hartman had been with me through every pivotal moment—dance recitals, graduations, and milestones. She had grown, taking on new roles as a professor and a mother.
I tucked that sweatshirt away, uncertain of why I hadn’t given more thought to my name change before marrying. It was 2007, not some bygone era. Women were no longer defined solely by their husbands. Some of my friends were hyphenating or retaining their maiden names, yet I still felt drawn to a traditional family name, or so I thought.
After our wedding, it took me a month to visit the Social Security office to make the change. When asked to sign my new name, I hesitated, suddenly aware of each letter I was forming.
I bet many experience that moment of newness. It takes time to adjust.
Yet, by the time I left the building, doubts faded into the background. I envisioned a bright future filled with children and a home.
Ten years later, I found myself back at that same Social Security office, clutching the papers that would restore my name—the one that felt right, like a cherished sweater.
As I began sharing my decision with others, one question consistently arose: “Don’t you want to share the same last name as your kids?”
Honestly, not sharing a last name with my children didn’t concern me as it once did. Initially, I longed for a unified family name, but I’d grown and my life had shifted. I recognized that sharing a surname didn’t define our family bond. I am always their mom, and their dad remains their dad—married or not, living together or apart.
In fact, many of my children’s friends now come from families with different last names, reflecting a broader understanding of what family looks like today.
Finally, the flickering digital display announced my number, and I approached the counter.
“Raise your right hand,” the clerk instructed.
I felt tears of joy trickling down my cheeks—not sadness, but a sense of coming home. I had changed over the years, with more kids and life experiences, yet my old name fit like a glove. Signing my last name felt effortless this time, despite a decade of signing another.
I’ve pondered what would happen if I marry again; one lesson I’ve learned is that I can’t predict the future. But I know I won’t change my name again. Will it bother me if someone sends a Christmas card addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. New Married Name”? Not at all. And if my kids’ friends call me “Mrs. New Married Name”? I won’t mind. Sometimes, that feels right.
But Emily Hartman is the name that resonates with me, regardless of circumstances or relationships. It’s a name that embodies my journey and identity, evolving alongside me.
It feels wonderful to be back.
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Summary:
In this piece, Emily Hartman shares her experience of changing her name after divorce, reflecting on the identity tied to names and the evolving nature of family. She addresses societal expectations and the personal significance of reclaiming her original name. The article emphasizes that family bonds are not defined by shared last names but by love and connection.
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