“When I would ask him, ‘Why is your family more important than mine?’
he would shrug and say: ‘I dont know.'”
In March, I took part in an artist residency at Vermont Studio Center.
I lost count of how many times a contestant squealed, I cant wait to be Mrs. So-and-So!
Obviously, this tradition isnt new to me.
Up to around age 9, I resisted the sexism around me.
I was outgoing and confident.
My second grade teacher consistently criticized me as too bossy and unladylike.
I once overheard my mother saying she was worried that I was going to be a lesbian.
But my father was angry often, and my mother struggled with her mental health.
Somewhere along the way, I opted to stop making waves and became silent and cooperative.
I didnt go away to college like I had dreamed of doing when I was younger.
Instead, I married when I was 21; my husband was 24.
While on our honeymoon, we had several arguments about changing my last name to his.
When I would ask him, Why is your family more important than mine?
he would shrug and say: I dont know.
I just want you and me and our kids to all have the same name.
If thats the case, then change your name to mine.
Im not going to do that.
Im not giving up my family name.
But its OK if I do?
Eventually, I caved and changed my name.
I was disappointed in myself.
Again I had given in to another persons expectations rather than staying true to myself.
A few years into my marriage, I began working at an elementary school.
As I read through it, I wondered if I too could go to college and pursue an education.
Not long after graduating with an undergraduate degree, I discovered that I was pregnant with my first child.
I left the religion I was raised in.
As I began to build a life on my terms, I started writing.
I didnt feel as if those accomplishments were mine.
Eventually, I decided to use a pen name and settled on the last name Holliday.
I considered using my birth name, but there was a lot of trauma in my past.
I thought that a fresh start better represented where I was in my life.
This was an excuse, but one I felt he could understand.
Like how I built my self-confidence with small steps, his change was gradual, too.
When I broke away from my religion, he was confused and angry.
Though he didnt share my faith, a lot of our marriage was spent being active in our church.
I could understand some of his frustration.
Before, I had kept them in a drawer.
I wrote my signature clearly and boldly.
Before, it had been illegible.
I hadnt expected that choosing my last name would lead to my oldest child doing the same.
Legally changing their name was a more arduous process than what I went through because they were a minor.
Naming something is a form of ownership.
When I chose my name, I began owning myself.
And that has made a difference.
This article originally appeared onHuffPost.
