What’s in a Name?

I was still a teenager in my second year of university when I entered an arranged marriage to my cousin. In the whirlwind that followed, I did what was expected—I changed my last name. It felt like a rite of passage, a sign that I was stepping into adulthood, into a new life. No one questioned it, and neither did I. Because that’s just what you do, right? You get married, and you take his name.

But what no one tells you is how that name—so casually adopted—can slowly wrap itself around your identity. How it can become a quiet erasure of who you were before the world told you who to become.

Twenty-seven years later, as I stood in the ruins of a marriage that had long unraveled, I kept seeing that name—on documents, in my email signature, etched into parts of a life I no longer recognized. And with each glance, I felt a quiet ache. I wasn’t just grieving the end of a relationship. I was mourning the parts of myself I had given away too easily.

Reclaiming my maiden name wasn’t just about returning to who I was—it was about stepping fully into the woman I had become. Friends warned me: "It’s a hassle," "So much paperwork," "Is it really worth it?" And yes, it was all of those things. But the first time I signed my maiden name again—the name my parents gave me, the name that held my heritage, my voice, my strength—I felt something shift. It was like exhaling after years of holding my breath.

When my new passport arrived with my original name printed on it, I held it like it was sacred. Not because it was perfect, but because it was mine. And in that moment, I felt whole.

Now, I speak to my three daughters from a place of hard-earned truth: Your name is not just a formality. It is your identity. Your story. Your right. You don’t need to give it up to be loved, to belong, or to build a future. You don’t have to disappear to be worthy.

Tradition may still whisper otherwise. But we’re not here to live quietly. We’re here to live boldly. Authentically.

So whether you keep your name, take another, or choose a new one altogether—let it be your choice. Not made out of pressure. Not for approval. But because it feels true to who you are.

For me, reclaiming my name wasn’t just paperwork. It was a radical act of self-love. A reminder that my story, my strength, and my identity belong to me.

And if you ever find yourself questioning whether you should hold onto yours—pause. Breathe. Remember this: Your name is a reflection of everything you are, everything you’ve survived, and everything you’re still becoming.

Own it. Honor it. Let it carry you forward.

No one gets to take that from you.

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Kept Identity

"My name is my declaration of freedom, my autonomy, and the bold symbol of a life I am choosing to live unapologetically." – Faiza Chaudhary