Tom’s family was supportive to a fault. Example: For our
wedding present, his mother embroidered a set of sheets, with “His” and “Hers”
nested amid the beautiful flowers and curlicues on the pillowcases. Some time
after we opened her gift, she sought me out privately to say, in her quiet,
unassuming way, “I hope the ‘his’ and ‘hers’ is OK on the pillowcases. I knew
to stay away from ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.,’ but I wasn’t absolutely sure about ‘his’
and ‘hers.’ Tears filled my eyes as I hugged and reassured her. How thoughtful
to be sensitive about such a thing. How hilarious to wonder about ‘his’ and
‘hers.’
My own mother, though 10 years younger than Tom’s, was less
hip, or perhaps just less agreeable. She knew I was retaining “Wiseman,” but
after the marriage her weekly letters, formerly just to me, now came to both of
us, with the envelope addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. Tom Goode.” The kind
interpretation is that in 1974 Mom did not know how to address an envelope to a
married couple with different surnames, since neither Emily Post nor Ann
Landers had as yet directed the world on how to do it. That’s setting aside the
possible interpretation that Mom was being passive-aggressive.
I didn’t want to confront her about it—afraid to learn she
had disapproved of my decision, perhaps, but also, it must be said, because I
avoided confrontation of any kind. (This was before therapy, obviously.) Tom,
however, had no such misgivings and became increasingly irritated by the
incorrectly addressed letters.
The turning point came when my birthday present arrived
addressed to “Mrs. Tom Goode.” I didn’t like it but was willing to let it go
(note the “before therapy” comment, above). Not so, Tom. He said if I didn’t
talk to Mom he was going to send the present back, with a note that there was
no such person as Mrs. Tom Goode. (I was just beginning to realize, in that
alarming first-year-of-marriage way, that Tom was pretty bull-headed about some
things.) His confronting my mother, or, more likely, accosting her, was out of
the question, of course.
So, I had to tell my mother to address me by my actual name
of Marian Wiseman. She complied immediately, and it was so easy! No questions
asked, no resistance, no difficulties of any kind. If I had realized then how
effective assertive behavior was, I might have avoided those years of therapy.
I was surprised recently to find out how uncommon it is,
still, for women to keep their birth name at marriage: only 20% of women do so;
another 10% or so use a hyphenated name or some other modified version of their
birth name. But there is apparently a small trend toward maintaining one’s own
name. Some commentators believe that the rise of social media is contributing
to this trend, as women face inconveniences in changing online accounts or
realize that their Facebook or Linked-In histories and identities are lost if
they create an identity under a new name.
For me, I have never once regretted my decision to keep my
own name when I married in 1974, or when I married again in 2000, for that
matter. Ah, one name. Permanently.
I would love to hear your views on this issue, whether you are married or not, or female or not.
