I finally decided to start the ball rolling and go back to using my maiden name.
This isn’t actually a huge change for me. All my documents have been stamped with a mix of both maiden and married monikers. It’s just the way I roll.
My professional work for the most part was always under my maiden name. My banking was always my own. But this blog and my Twitter account—both of which focused on telling the stories of a mom and a wife—used both names. It seemed fitting. It felt right. For a time, it was our story after all. Not just mine.
After Hubs and I separated, I remember a friend of mine asking me when I was going to take the plunge and change back and I completely freaked out.
I liked my married name. It was pretty and gentle and somehow made me seem more...tame. I liked that everyone could pronounce it. I liked that I belonged to a new tribe. That it seemed easy and rolled off the tongue — that I wasn’t constantly explaining origin and spelling.
I didn’t have to try to fit in. I was part of something.
When I was pregnant with Baby Girl, I used to love resting my hand on my belly feeling her adamant kicks. I’d practice saying her full name in a loving whisper, and beam inwardly. How beautiful it sounded. A poised legato compared to my own flat sounding staccato.
I will always have a loving pride for that family name.
The people who made it what it is are amazing and kind. They are loving and sweet. I was privileged to share it with them. I think it’s wonderful that my daughter still does.
But it’s time.
I don’t want to hide behind soft, melodic, consonants no matter how endearing their namesakes. No matter how precious their history.
I miss my name. I miss my own history. My own legacy.
And that staccato is a sound I want my daughter to be infinitely proud of.
It’s time to call an Inokai an Inokai.
It feels good to be back.