trading it in

I never planned to change my last name. I thought it was an outdated and chauvinistic tradition, and I liked the name I already had—the one I was born with. I love the family history it holds. In a weird way, I even love that it's difficult to pronounce. I was never one of the girls doodling "Mrs. So-and-so" in my notebooks*.

But then I got married. And I traded it in. 


"Pasquariello" became "McGinnis." And to be honest, at first I felt like an impostor—or worse, a traitor.


It was a tough decision. Really tough. I cried about it, and not just a single tear but a wet-faced, steering-wheel-gripping pity party.


How come women never talk about that? I know I'm not the only one in history to have a hard time letting go of her last name. But so many women get excited about a new name, that I almost felt guilty for having the opposite emotion.


But I ended up doing it anyway. Why?


The short answer is that I decided it was the right decision for us—that tiny little word that makes such a big difference—graduating from me to us.


The long answer is... more complicated. Several conversations went around in circles. I discovered his reasons for wanting me to take his last name weren't chauvinistic—they were actually rather sweet, which only pissed me off. Because my reasons were equally justified. 


It was a complete stalemate. There was no truly feasible compromise, since hyphenating would mean a 20-letter last name. My best friend Laura suggested getting a maiden name tattoo, which I actually considered before deciding against it.

too long for a tat

a bit unwieldy 

I did a little soul-searching, and by that I mean talking to a few friends (if you're reading, thanks for listening), staying up late one night listening to Adele, drinking Pinot Noir, and writing my name out in fine point Sharpie on notebook paper in every possible combination. I'd look at it every few days, think about it, write it down, think about it some more.


On the blistering hot day we found ourselves at the Athens-Clarke County Courthouse filing paperwork, there was a blank line that demanded FUTURE LAST NAME. I wrote "McGinnis" on the form, and handed it to my future husband. He set about filling in his portion, and then he saw it. He stopped. He smiled. 


Pointing to the line, he asked, "What's that?"


I didn't answer. 


"I'd hoped we'd get there, but I didn't think we were there yet."


And that's how it happened. It might've been a decision I made for us, but it was a conclusion I had to reach on my own. 



*Disclaimer: I once owned a shirt that said "Mrs. Clooney" but I don't think that counts.