It was a decision seven months in the making.

I know what some might be thinking—“Dramatic much?”

During this time, I was constantly questioning what it would mean for the rest of my life. I have been known for overthinking things like this, so bear with me for a few minutes…

As a Latina who had just moved to the United States, I wondered if I was renouncing my cultural heritage—and if my Mom and Dad would have a heart attack.

You see, in my country, women don’t give up their surnames. They can choose where and when they would like to be associated with their husbands—and if they do, they can decide on a case by case basis.

When a couple has kids, they grow up with both of their parent’s last names. In my case, it was both Jimenez and Rodriguez. People always joked that the length of my name is what kept me from growing any taller than five feet and one inch.

So the decision wouldn’t just affect my Dad’s lineage, it would also affect my Mom’s. Add my strong feminist sentiments to all those variables, and I had some mind-wrecking thoughts leading up to the “I do.”

Would this mean I was going to give up who I was—for a man?

What will my feminist friends say?

What does this say about me?

During our seven month engagement, I even asked my fiancé (now husband) what he would prefer for me to do. Of course, he said he’d prefer I become an “official Mrs.”—but only if I wanted to.

I know that for many women this is the most natural decision—a simple “yes” or “no” answer that doesn’t really affect their lives. Some might do it because that’s what their mother did, others do it just because it feels right, while others won’t do it because their mothers did it and they refuse to conform to the norm.

The real issue here is that most of us still believe that there is a norm to follow or challenge. Never in a million years did I think I would marry into a culture that would challenge my beliefs and set all my defenses into overdrive.

The days that led to applying for the marriage license, I was cranky, and I was the most intense social media activist my Facebook page had ever known. I was fighting for female rights. I was against politicians, in favor of politicians, it didn’t matter what it was—I was fighting it. My opinion needed to be heard, because I feared to lose my individuality.

Change can do that to us sometimes, right? It makes us feel defensive of our physical and emotional territory. We identify so much with our thoughts and experiences, that giving up anything feels like a betrayal to our identity.

I didn’t want to give an inch, not while I was facing the digital storm the night before we planned to go out and get the license. I had to make the decision right then and there. My fiancé was smart enough to never talk or ask about it, but I could have sworn I felt him secretly judging me.

When faced with a decision, I’ve always felt people judged me on my ability to make the “right” choice.

And that’s when it hit me—I was (once again) letting other people’s opinions and ideas dictate my life. It didn’t matter whether I was to do what I thought was expected of me, or if I was to give my rebel side a chance to come out and play.

This was a decision I needed to make for myself and whatever I wanted my marriage to be like. Was I going to lose my heritage? I really doubt I’ll stop speaking Spanish or rocking “The Dominican Flag” just because I have a new last name.

Would I disappoint some of my feminist friends with this decision? Maybe—but who cares?

I consider myself a feminist because I believe it’s a woman’s right to make her own decisions, whatever those might be.

My decision was to take his last name. It felt right for the family I imagined and for us.

Why was this the bravest thing I’ve ever done? I simply took my armor off and stopped fighting my own desires. I stopped trying to please others.

I knew that worrying about other people’s opinions was behind me.

I took my new last name as a chance to start a new life with a clean slate.

 

Author: Annie Woods

Volunteer Editor: Tess Estandarte / Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Pixabay