I Don't Want To Change My Name When I Get Married

Honestly, neither do I

Hey y’all,

I saw this quote over the weekend that said something that deeply resonated. I’ll share it here:

“I do not want to be remembered as a woman who was always stressed, always busy, always rushing, always holding herself together and pushing through. I would like to be remembered as a relaxed woman, a compassionate woman, a curious, joyful, pleasure-loving woman. A woman who works hard and rests deeply, who loves fiercely and lives peacefully. A woman who knows her worth and her power, who accepts her imperfections and her vulnerabilities, who embraces her limitations and her possibilities. A woman who laughs and cries and aches and loves and is enchanted by the mess and magic and mundaneness of this beautiful, shimmering life.” —Nicola Jane Hobbs

Then I thought of this meme:

I hope we all can find ways to trade pushing through for ease, endless hustle for peace, and moving at breakneck speeds for slow and steady. Happy Women’s History Month! 🎉

You’re staring down a budget-busting boozy brunch bill—even though you ordered an app and one mimosa. But you’re also too embarrassed to question the way the bill is divided so you throw down your card—hoping & praying the charge will clear. We’ve all been there.

But why is it so hard to talk about money? Join Aja Evans, a board-certified therapist specializing in financial therapy, and me for a financial wellness workshop on March 27th from 4pm-5:30pm PST, where we’ll talk about all the money topics you’re too ashamed to address, learn about Aja’s financial therapy practice, and heal (or unveil) some of our shame around money. We’ll be raffling off copies of her book, and it’s free to join!

This Week’s Story

Y’all might think I’m crazy for this, but if I were to ever have a baby girl, I am seriously considering giving her my first name. A little Anayo Jr., wouldn’t that be cute? In all seriousness, this week’s story by Nigerian writer Isabella Ikpe asks another question I’ve seriously considered: when I get married, should I change my name or not? I think many of us are coming to the realization that we don’t have to, and Ikpe’s essay challenges us to think about if we should even want to. Enjoy the read!

Take care,

Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Mag

P.S. If you’re reading this on Substack, the Carefree crew chat is poppin’, pull up!

My Name, My Identity: To Change Or Not To Change

by Isabella Ikpe

I love my name.

Even though I often forget its meaning, a quick Google search always reminds me—Isabella Ikpe, “devoted to God.” Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t exactly believe I live up to that name. My father gave me the name Isabella after watching a movie where a man was searching for a girl—his daughter, I think. He kept calling out, Isabella! Isabella! Isabella! That moment must have stuck with my dad because when I was born, he decided that would be my name.

As for my last name, Ikpe, it carries a story of its own. In Tiv, my language, “Ikpe” literally means bottle. It was a compliment to my great-great-grandfather, whose skin was so smooth that people compared it to the polished surface of a bottle. Over time, it became part of our identity, a name passed down through generations.

I have always cherished my name deeply. It is a reflection of my history, my family, and the identity I’ve built for myself. Yet, as I’ve grown older and started envisioning my future more, the thought of changing my name when I get married has been weighing on me.

My mother, aunties, and even my neighbors all took their husbands’ last names. Generations of women who shed who they once were to put on a new identity, one firmly tied to the men they married. This seemed inevitable because, for generations, every woman around me had done it without question. It was the standard, an expectation so deeply ingrained that it felt less like a choice and more like a natural progression of marriage. No one asked if a woman wanted to change her name—it was simply assumed that she would.

Then, I learned about women who didn’t completely abandon their maiden names but simply added their husbands’ names to theirs. This seemed like a compromise I could make, and for a while, I decided this would be my approach. Women like Joke Silva, a celebrated Nigerian actress, who chose not to take her husband's last name. At first, I saw this as unconventional—even wrong. In Nigeria, it was nearly unheard of for a married woman to keep her maiden name. A wife taking her husband's surname was seen as a given. Women who chose otherwise risked judgment, questions about their loyalty, and even professional or social obstacles. Joke Silva's decision stood out not just because she kept her name but because she did so as a public figure, defying an expectation that had been deeply ingrained for generations. But as I matured, I understood that it wasn’t wrong—it was a choice. And more importantly, it was her choice. I decided that when the time came, I would keep my maiden name too.

When I shared this decision with my sister, to say she was bewildered is an understatement. I wasn’t surprised.

“Why wouldn’t you take your husband’s last name?” she asked, as though my decision challenged an unspoken rule. Her reaction mirrored the hostility often directed at women who defy this tradition. Despite it not being a legal requirement, she pointed out the disadvantages women face for keeping their maiden names, like visa issues or professional barriers. This raises a crucial question: Why is a marriage certificate not enough to prove a union? Why does a woman’s name change serve as stronger proof than a man’s?

Before my cousin got married, I discussed the issue with his bride-to-be. I suggested adding our last name, Ikpe, to her name rather than removing her maiden name. At the time, she agreed it was a better option, but recently she shared that she had to drop her maiden name for her new job, as it was a required proof of marriage. My cousin’s wife was appointed as a judicial officer, and in the judiciary, female magistrates are usually retained or transferred to cities where their husbands reside. One of the key proofs of marriage for female lawyers is changing their last name to their husband’s. To avoid being moved to another town, she had to change her last name, despite initially wanting to keep her maiden name. Her colleague was less fortunate, and was transferred to another town for keeping her maiden name. This scenario highlights how female legal professionals are compelled to change their identities, while their male colleagues do not have such a requirement—an unfair system.

Over the decades, retaining one’s maiden name after marriage has become increasingly popular due to feminist and women's movements. While many women still adopt their husband’s last name, the origin of this convention is quite unsavory. The tradition, known as coverture, is rooted in patriarchy. Women were viewed as property to be owned by their fathers or husbands, and when she gets married she assumes the name of her new ‘owner’. Women like Lucy Stone, the first in American history to refuse her husband’s last name, and Ruth Hale, cofounder of the Lucy Stoner League, an organization founded to protest against the compulsion of women to take their husband’s last name, faced significant adversities in their fight for women to retain their identities. Stone was denied the right to vote, and Hale was refused a passport. Their resistance paved the way for modern discussions on identity and autonomy, yet the practice remains widespread. Pew Research Center shows that 80% of women in opposite sex marriages still take their husband’s last name. However, younger generations are increasingly questioning this norm, signaling a slow but significant shift in attitudes. Even today, women who choose to keep their names often face societal and bureaucratic hurdles.

Through conversations with friends and women from online communities, I found that perspectives on this issue vary widely. Some women feel deeply attached to their names and see changing them as a loss of identity. In contrast, others embrace the tradition, seeing it as an act of love or unity.

For some, like Zainab, my very close friend, maintaining their maiden names is a matter of religious adherence. “In Islam, women are commanded to keep their father’s name,” she explained. Others, like Baby, an online acquaintance, view it as a way to assert individuality. “I was someone before you, and I will continue to be someone with you,” she said.

Judith, my former classmate shared, “Once I’m married, I fully belong to my husband, so I should bear his name.” For my sister, Esther, it’s a practical decision: “It’s the norm to most people, and it simplifies things.”

The motivations vary, but what remains consistent is the personal nature of the choice. As Peace, another online acquaintance, put it, “I think it’s about tracing heritage easily and creating a sense of family unity.” Mimidoo, a former classmate, echoed this, stating, “Taking his name means you’re committed to the union and love your partner.”

Still, many women are challenging the narrative that marriage requires a woman to relinquish her identity. Oluwatoyin, my friend, argued, “If it’s so important to him that the family bears the same name, he can take my surname instead.”

Ultimately, this issue reflects broader questions about autonomy and equality. The responses I gathered illustrate a spectrum of perspectives shaped by tradition, religion, and personal values. Whether a woman decides to take her husband’s name, hyphenate, or retain her maiden name, the decision should be hers alone.

For me, my name feels like an inseparable part of who I am. It carries my history, my achievements, and my identity. I know the values I hold, especially when it comes to autonomy and individuality, and the thought of changing it feels like erasing a piece of myself. These values are ones I would want to share with my future partner. We must be aligned in our understanding of personal agency and respect for each other’s identities. Yet, I respect the choices of women who see things differently. After all, the heart of this conversation isn’t just about names, it’s about agency and the freedom to define who we are.

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My name is Isabella Ikpe. I’m a writer and journalist passionate about exploring identity, culture, and social issues. I write Thought Daughter Diary, where I share personal essays and cultural analysis. I also host Tea Crime with Isabella Ikpe, a true crime podcast where I research and discuss compelling cases. You can catch me on TikTok @isabellaikpe And on Substack @isabellaikpe🖤