This post is the intellectual property of Jennifer Silverman. Posts, columns, and articles, etc. may only be reprinted with the express written consent of the author. The author’s byline, bio, and copyright notice must be retained in their entirety. Please click here to refer to blog disclaimers. Or, if you wish to reprint or feature a post, please click here to complete the contact form. A version of this piece was published in Florida's oldest weekly newspaper, The News Leader.
BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN
Until I got hitched, and later got un-hitched, I gave little thought to my name.
Like the rest of humankind, I was assigned a moniker at the time of my debut on planet earth and have pretty much accepted it during my 37 years.
Of course, I did briefly exhibit the typical childhood tendency of wishing for a different name.
In elementary school it dawned on me that there are oodles of Jennifers in the world. As a kid who fancied herself unique and quirky, a ubiquitous name like “Jennifer” did not seem to complement my adolescent essence.
In contrast, “Esmerelda” suited me to a T.
It was whimsical, distinctive, and had an air of magic about it – and I was always in pursuit of magic.
Alas, my parents were not on board with my name-swap suggestion, so “Jennifer” I remained.
On another occasion, as an adult sorting through my deceased grandparents’ possessions, I came across a receipt from the dawn of charge cards featuring my grandmother’s John Hancock.
At the dotted line she signed my grandfather’s name with the prefix of “Mrs.”
I was touched by the sentiment that a gal would be so proud of her marriage, she would forgo not just her maiden surname, but her first name when signing documents.
Thus, when I was preparing to tie the knot, I tried to embrace my name change a la the ladies who came before.
My nagging inclination was to clutch my own maiden name like a rare handbag, but I eventually acquiesced out of respect for my future husband’s wishes.
Although I made peace with my decision, the process of replacing my maiden name over and over again at boatloads of establishments did sting.
Trading in the name we associate with ourselves and the whole of our lives up to that point is a strange experience.
My given name was something that truly belonged to only me. It embodied every iteration of my past and present identity.
It seemed so peculiar that my life-long identifier would cease to exist post-wedding. Suddenly, I would be someone else.
I wonder if that’s why so many future wives anticipate some monumental shift post-marriage; Like suddenly, life itself will begin anew, and feel different, because at least for many ladies, we are different after “I do” – even if only in name alone.
Although in reality, our names do not define us, they represent our journey and our origin. On some level, our names shape how the world sees us, and how we see ourselves.
For all her twelve years, Frances Gumm was a schoolgirl. One day MGM changed her name, and she morphed into Hollywood star, Judy Garland.
Average Joe, Marion Robert Morrison disappeared into thin air when his new name personified Old West honcho, John Wayne.
What happened to Frances and Marion when their former identities were given the heave ho in favor of shiny new ones?
Although I know the discomfort of surrendering my given name for a new one, I’m just beginning to know the relief of again, legally becoming my old one.
A variety of snafus rendered me burdened with my ex’s surname post-divorce for way too long.
Just recently, a wonderful attorney triumphed over the obstacles and returned my original surname to its rightful owner. (So, my married name can finally jump in the metaphorical lake from whence it came.)
As I celebrated my return to myself by blasting the Pistol Annie’s song, “Got My Name Changed Back,” I belted out the lyric, “who I was, ain’t who I’ll be” with gusto.
Like the Annies proclaim, it’s a really good feeling to be who we are and have a matching moniker to boot. Plus, it felt extra good indeed when I “got my name changed back.”
(Give the play button below a click to enjoy the official "Got My Name Changed Back" video - it's totally brilliant and the perfect, joyful depiction of becoming ourselves again. Seeking more uplifting breakup and divorce songs? Click here to peruse The Curious Columnist's Empowering Breakup Playlist if you please.)
Wait up! It looks like you’ve reached the end of the road on this particular blog post. You might be wondering where to go from here. May I suggest some delightful destinations, conveniently located on CuriousColumist.com?
THE BLOG MECCA – You’re on a reading roll. Why stop here? More quirky commentary on all sorts of subjects is just a click away.
THE CURIOUS COLUMNIST SHOP – Retail therapy is legit, therapy. Shop all The Curious Columnist’s picks - from bargain beauty buys to luxe home décor. These curated online shopping recommendations have something for everyone.
THE SUBSCRIBE BOX – Typically, most of us avoid being boxed in like the plague. Fortunately, this box is all about broadening horizons – no confinement in this castle of curiosity. (Simply give the link a click and then scroll down - it's the scenic route.)
THE CONTACT FORM – Sometimes, we have a hankering to drop a line. Maybe you work for Oprah Daily and are looking to hire an unconventional freelance lifestyle writer – hint, hint. (Hey, a girl can dream.) Maybe a burning question is beckoning you to buzz. Maybe you have a craving to comment. Regardless, feel free to get in touch.
Thanks again for stopping by!
