• Growing up in Staten Island, my last name made me stand out.
• I thought I'd change my name once I got married, but that didn't happen.
• My husband and I eventually decided to hyphenate our last names when it came to our kids.

In my predominantly Italian hometown of Staten Island, New York, you were Irish if your last name didn't end in a vowel. And if you weren't Irish, you were other. I fell squarely into that category. Couple that with the fact that my last name, though short, was hard to pronounce and easy to make fun of (butt kiss, body gas, so many options), and marriage seemed like my only salvation — a socially acceptable path to a more socially acceptable last name.

I even found my husband early in middle school. I liked him for many reasons, not least of all his possession of a lyrical Italian last name with an equal amount of vowels and consonants. It's welcome in Staten Island and elsewhere and seemingly impossible to mock everywhere.

I never expected to keep my name and give it to our kids.

I didn't think my husband's name was an option for me

Fast-forward 12 years, when we were finally getting hitched. A long courtship gave me lots of time to think about how only a handful of people in the world have my last name. Of that handful, I was the only one of the youngest generation planning to have children. Letting this last name die felt worse than my children potentially being on the receiving end of body gas taunts.

Separately, my husband's last name lost some of its appeal. One night during our engagement, we were paying for our meal at our neighborhood Italian joint. When our server returned to our table with my husband's credit card, the server muttered my husband's last name with disgust and then pretended to spit on our receipt. We figured he was joking, but we didn't get the joke. Eventually, we learned my husband's last name meant he likely descended from Pontius Pilate, aka the Roman who demanded Jesus be crucified. Not the greatest branch of a family tree, nor a name I could continue to believe was categorically better than mine.

On the other hand, my last name came from the German word for "bathhouse." Whether this meant my ancestors owned one, just frequented one, or used it to get clean or engage in more scandalous activities, this felt like a hilarious part of my identity I couldn't lose.

Our wedding came and went. My name stayed the same.

I had a harder time with last names than first names when it came to our kids

Five years later, I was expecting our first child. It was tougher to choose his last name than his first. Around this time, we were also trying to sell our apartment and buy a house. Then we got some bad news from our real estate attorney: There was a lien on our apartment.

We were flummoxed when our lawyer gave us the unfamiliar name of the person who placed the lien. What was more confusing: The person lived nowhere near us. The one thing we knew was that until we removed the lien, no one was going to buy our apartment.

It turned out the lien was intended for some ne'er-do-well with my husband's exact same name, a guy who owed a lot of people a lot of money. A couple of affidavits later, the lien problem was resolved. But then I got a threatening social media message from a different creditor in upstate New York, convinced they'd found a way to get a note to the apparently hard-to-reach ne'er-do-well. I told the messenger they had the wrong guy. He didn't apologize, but he never contacted me again. With my almost-unique last name, my kids would never be the wrong guy. That felt like a nice gift to pass down.

After much back-and-forth, my husband and I decided to hyphenate our kids' last names. This ensured they would each be the one and only, impossible to confuse with any other individual. It also guaranteed rude comments: "How are they going to be able to spell all that?" "Did you name them that on purpose?" and the especially astute, "Wow, that's a long name."

Despite those real rude comments and some relatives who refuse to acknowledge both parts of their names, we're happy with our decision. Our kids, now 7 and 10, have fewer issues with their long name than I did with my short one. We live in a much more diverse area than my husband and I grew up in, so there are all kinds of names here, even other hyphenated ones. We talk all the time about how cool it is that there's no one else out there with their name, and they seem to appreciate that. I only wish I had done the same sooner.

• Growing up in Egypt, no one could pronounce my name correctly.
• Then, when I moved to Canada, people questioned whether it was my real name.
• Complaining about a name feels like a first-world problem, but I've never gotten a break.

My name is Karen. For years, I always had a love-hate relationship with my name.

Growing up in Egypt, my name was very unique. My mom named me after her friend, a strong woman she admired. As a child, she was the only person I met with that name. Back home in Egypt, some people struggled to pronounce it correctly.

Years later, being a Karen became a thing.

My name is a conversation starter.

Secretly, I always wanted to change my name to something common. So, I opted for a nickname instead. My nickname, Karkoura, helped me blend in instead of standing out.

As a teen, I actually started to like it. I began to appreciate the uniqueness it brought to my identity. My name became a conversation starter, and I found that sharing the story of my name often led to deeper connections with others.

When I met my now-husband, he never called me by my nickname. He always told me how much he loved my name, and I think this small gesture helped my confidence.

After I moved to Canada in 2012, people asked me shocking questions about my name. Some were curious whether it was my birth name, and some asked me if I picked this name after immigrating to Canada. It felt condescending and very uncomfortable.

The comments I received, even from professionals such as doctors, about my English being too good for an Egyptian or the stereotypical questions like, "Did you ride a camel?" or "Are there a lot of deserts where you lived?" just showed how little people understand about Africa in general and Egypt in particular.

They still think we aren't well educated and have nothing but the desert. It felt like I always needed to prove to others something, just because of how some people view my country.

My name has negative connotations.

Then, the whole "Karen" trend happened in 2018, and my name became the bane of my existence.

People started calling a person "a Karen," which is often used to refer to people who act entitled, rude, and racist toward others.

It got even worse on social media. At first, I was annoyed. If I commented on a post about anything, people would tell me, "You're such a Karen," even if my comment was about something as trivial as not liking oat milk.

Navigating a space where discussions often devolved into personal attacks rather than constructive dialogue was exhausting.

I also noticed my kids' embarrassment when someone asked my name, as they are very aware of its negative connotation.

At school, students would use it to mock other kids. My younger kids' teacher told the class that a name should never be used as an insult. Some parents might have that name, but some students, too, and this will hurt other people's feelings.

My teen daughter wanted her own Starbucks account, so my name won't be called when her order is ready. During lunch break, everyone goes to the Starbucks next to her school, so when the barista shouts Karen, she says everyone looks to see who has that name.

Knowing the stereotype attached to the name, why would she want to be associated with it logically?

I feel like I never get a break on my name

Secretly, I was sad but joked about it.

Complaining about my name might sound like a first-world problem. But because I always had issues with it — even back home — it felt like I never got a break.

It's amazing how a simple thing like a name can cause us to have preconceived notions about a person, even without knowing them.

So, if you can't beat them, join them in the fun. Now, when I introduce myself, I start by making a joke: "Don't worry; I'm a nice Karen."

• I'm a Gen X woman with a name beloved by baby boomers, but often misunderstood by my peers.
• Today the name Linda is often associated with a frumpy archetype, as seen in TV shows and memes.
• The unique "y" in the spelling of my name helps me stand out from the Lindas of the world.

"Linda? That's my aunt's name!"

I probably wasn't even out of my teens before I'd lost count of the number of times a cute boy said this to me. "You have an old name because you had old parents," my older sister flatly told me once. My friends more tactfully insisted that "No, the 'y' makes it a totally different name!"

But my sister wasn't wrong: I'm a Gen X Lynda with a name beloved by the parents of baby boomers and even the silent generation. These days, the name has been reduced to a frumpy archetype. How did a name that was the equivalent of a TikTok sensation of its day become so relentlessly uncool?

Lindas are getting a bad rap

The "y" is the only thing standing between me and the Lindas of the world. As a Linda, I'm an episode-long joke on "The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt" in which everyone is confounded by a baby named Linda because Lindas are adult women who work in HR. There's also the bossy busybody of the "Listen Linda" meme (there but for the grace of Karen go I), which originated with a Linda recording her three-year-old son repeatedly insisting "Listen, Linda" with all of the exasperated patience he can muster faced with the implacable bureaucracy that a Linda embodies. As a Lynda, I have plausible deniability.

The comedic success of both the TV show and the meme relies on the confidence that we've all noticed certain things about people named Linda and that we'll all get the joke, and we do.

"Who's Linda? Your mom's friend?" Linda is the type of person who carries SlimFast in her purse and gets mad when she can't find her keys. Linda says things like "Mondays," with that little rueful head shake, you know the one. Of course she does. And Linda's meddling opinions likely need to be shut down: Listen, Linda.

We all know this Linda, but why? How did this extraordinarily popular name become this frumpy archetype?

The name isn't poised for a comeback — yet

One thing all the characters in the Kimmy Schmidt episode agree on — including the five middle-aged Lindas who all work in HR at the same company — Linda definitely can't be a baby.

These days, they aren't wrong. In the US, the name Linda began its sharp rise in popularity in the late 1930s, peaked in the late 1940s, and declined dramatically throughout the 1960s and 1970s to become one of the unlikeliest names given to babies today.

This is my name, and I'm keeping it

Of course, we Lyndas with a "y" were always somewhat rare, which is why I've always side-eyed HR departments, try not to make everything my business, and can solemnly swear not a sip of SlimFast has ever passed my lips. I do get mad when I can't find my keys though.

I try not to think much about the fact that I was almost an Elizabeth as I'm convinced my life would have taken a completely different trajectory. Elizabeth surely would have been several inches taller than my five-foot-one-inch frame and would probably have had a decent sense of direction. She'd have published a novel in her twenties and probably landed on one of those "30 Under 30" lists.

However unenamoured I have always been of my name, I've also never considered changing it. Wouldn't that just leave me with another name I'd also get tired of, only I'd have no one but myself to blame?

There's another reason I'm kind of attached to Lynda though. My father loved the name and had always wanted a daughter named Linda. My mother suggested the "y" addition just so it would be a little different. The name meant something to them even if it seems slightly ridiculous to me. Now that they're both gone, it feels like a lasting thread of connection with them both.

That and the fact that it's Lynda with a "y." I'm not one of those Lindas other people talk about — at least not as long as I can find my keys.

• My parents spelled my name as phonetically as possible, but people still get it wrong.
• They named me after a character in a Brazilian movie.
• I traveled to my namesake's home and there I met a Brazilian named John Lennon.

My parents spelled my first name as phonetically as possible, but pronouncing it still seems to cause most people trouble. The most common mispronunciations are when people add extra syllables and letters to my name, so Sheeka becomes Sheneka, Shereka, or Shakeeya.

I do my best to let it roll off my back, repeatedly correcting it to the way it's intended to sound: SHEE-kuh. I love my name, even if it's always mispronounced. That's because I know the origin of my name and that it would take me on an adventure to another part of the world.

When my mom was pregnant with me, my parents watched a foreign film in their small indie movie theater in Tucson, Arizona. The movie, originally from Brazil, was a historical comedic drama called Xica da Silva. My parents loved Zezé Motta's portrayal of the lead character so much that they decided they would give me her character's name.

My parents Americanized the spelling to help people pronounce it correctly — if only they had known back then that it would be futile!

Researching my name brought wild revelations

As an adult, I grew more curious about the origin of my name. As I researched the film, I learned that a popular telenovela by the same name had been made in the 1990s and syndicated across Latin America. Then, I learned that Xica da Silva's filmography was inspired by a real woman named Chica (same pronunciation) who lived in 18th-century Brazil.

That sent me deeper down the rabbit hole. According to her biography, the original Chica da Silva was born enslaved in the early 18th century in Milho Verde, Brazil. As a young adult, a Portuguese diamond contractor bought her, then manumitted her within a matter of weeks or months, which was highly unusual for Brazilian colonial times. Chica da Silva went on to have several children with the diamond contractor. Chica accessed power, wealth, and high society for the rest of her life through her connection to her manumitter.

When I discovered that her 18th-century home in Diamantina, Brazil, had been turned into a museum interpreting her life, I knew I needed to see it in person.

Visiting my namesake's home

It was a journey just to get to Chica da Silva's hometown of Diamantina, Brazil. I flew from Atlanta to Belo Horizonte, Brazil, and then drove a rental car for four hours into the Chapada Diamantina mountains. The road trip took my son and me through some magnificent highland landscapes, but by the time we made it to Diamantina, I was exhausted from driving a manual car in a foreign country for hours.

Chica's museum was due to close for the weekend in an hour, and since we would only be in Diamantina for a couple of days, this was my only opportunity to go before it closed. We scurried along the stone-paved street to the museum entrance. I greeted the staff and told everyone who would listen that I was named after the woman who lived in the house nearly 300 years ago.

I met a man named John Lennon

After walking through the first and second floors of the museum, taking my time to study exhibits on the town's history of diamond mining and Chica da Silva's folkloric impact on Brazil, I walked outside to the back courtyard. I was overjoyed that I'd made it to my namesake's home. That's when I met a staff gardener who offered to show me something off the typical tour: Chica da Silva's garden.

My son and I followed him along a stone path, stopping to try an orange, mint leaf, and sugar cane cut fresh from the stalk. As an avid plant lover, this spontaneous garden tour felt like a dream, as though my namesake was personally rewarding me for making the journey in homage to her.

The gardener told me his name is John Lennon — his mom was a huge fan of The Beatles. My jaw dropped in shock. Here I was, four thousand miles away from home, to learn about the Brazilian woman whom I'm named after, and the person showing me around is also named after an international luminary, in fact, one of the most famous British musicians in history.

As I stood in Chica's garden, in disbelief of my good fortune, I couldn't help wish the same fate for my new friend. Hopefully, one day, the Brazilian John Lennon will be able to visit Liverpool and walk in the footsteps of the artist who inspired his name. I know from experience it'll be a life-changing journey.

• I'm getting married in six months, but I'm unsure if I want to change my last name.
• I feel no connection to my last name and my partner feels none to his.
• We both don't want to take each other's, so we wonder if we should create a new one.

My great-grandfather, whose surname was Olynyk, came to the US via Ukraine sometime in his '20s. He was a man who could tell a story with fantastical exaggeration, so much so that he claimed that he changed our family surname from "Olynyk" to "Lane" due to his run from the law in Ukraine.

We never did find out what the crime was. The truth is probably closer to his desire to blend into American culture. He might have read it on a street sign and decided it was simple and easy to pronounce, but the former is better lore.

Not only is my last name entirely made up, plucked from the imagination of a man fleeing from a former life, but it feels disconnected from any ancestry. My father never had a relationship with his dad, my grandfather, and we come from a small estranged family in general.

So here I am, stuck with "Lane," a name that holds no real meaning to me or my family. With my wedding soon approaching, I must decide if I will give that last name up entirely.

My wedding is a chance for change

In six months, I'll be married. I always imagined this could be my excuse to discard my last name. I daydreamed of something romantic, something that could fit into my journalism career and make me stand out. Something where I could slough off "Lane" and adopt a new name and beginning.

Unfortunately, Miles, my lovely fiancé's surname, has a similar broken lineage. With descendants from Syria and Turkey, how did he end up with a surname like "MacClure?"

Through a string of events, his dad was given the last name by a stepfather, who passed this name on to Miles. In a similar vein to mine, it's sort of made up. It has no family heritage and no resemblance to where his family comes from.

Neither of us is interested in taking each other's names. He hates his last name, and I find mine painfully boring, so what now?

By getting married, we have some options

We floated the idea of taking his mom's surname — Alwan — from her Turkish father. My mom is from Austria, but her maiden name — Windisch — is a mouthful and easily mispronounced.

We could make up our own name. In fact, if you Google "endangered last names," there's an entire list of last names with fewer than 20 bearers.

Of course, we could dig further into family history and find something exciting, making it our own.

We could also just stick with what we have. We both have careers, bank accounts, memberships, paperwork, etc., tied to our names. Is all of this worth the hassle? Miles says, "No," but I can't help but think this is finally my chance.

It feels strange for me to bring a future child into the world and attach a hyphenated surname of not just one but two names that don't hold any symbolism. Why should "MacClure" and "Lane" be the ball and chain our nonexistent children have to carry around for the rest of their lives?

With busy lives, who knows what the outcome will be

Friends have told me that keeping our names could be a way to reclaim them. We are starting our own future together, and it could be special to breathe new life into them. Others have said I'm thinking about it too much. It's just a name.

But names are who we are. In his book "How to Win Friends and Influence People," Dale Carnegie wrote, "Remember that a person's name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language."

They should bring us pride — and remind us of our bloodline and the future that follows.

For now, our surname hangs in limbo. With the panic of planning a wedding alone, I'll probably let this slip by. Suddenly, it'll be six months from now, and I'll shrug and surrender to keeping "Lane." A name that's like a thorn in my side, a millstone around my neck, a cold I can't shake, but hey, at least it's mine.

• I got married in 2004 when I was 22 and changed my last name to match my husband's.
• I was raised very conservatively and was told that was what I needed to do.
• Now I want to change my last name, but it's expensive and time-consuming.

When I was younger, I did a bunch of things that some might call dumb. I also did one thing that I was told was just a part of the life everyone was supposed to live: When I got married, I changed my last name to match my husband's.

That decision has cost me a lot emotionally and financially.

Sixteen years later, I'm finally on the path to changing my name again since I can no longer bear to carry my ex's name. That said, the process has been more expensive and bureaucratic than I expected, making me wish I had stuck to my original name from the beginning.

My family conditioned me to get married

Getting married to the person I did was a mistake in itself. I did it because my conservative upbringing told me this was what I was supposed to do. I was told my life path was getting married and having kids. I had already had a baby outside marriage, so when I met my ex-husband at work, I confided in him as a friend; later, that turned into a romantic relationship.

When we talked about getting married my soon-to-be-husband suggested that we should have the same last name because we planned to have kids together. He said that all of our names needed to match. Everything happened really fast, and I made a quick decision because I felt pressured to do so. I changed my name begrudgingly. Thankfully, I made sure that I gave our kids hyphenated last names with my original name so that they could have both names.

Our relationship ended in 2009.

I took the divorce as a step to get a fresh start

I did what I could to take the divorce as a welcome opportunity to step away from everything and attempt to start fresh in whatever ways I could. Unfortunately, changing my name after the divorce was harder than I expected.

While it might sound minor to some, it is actually expensive and complicated. I was not automatically given a name change when my divorce was finalized. I didn't know this was the case. I've had to stick with the last name on the paperwork for decades despite not being together anymore.

I have to go to multiple agencies, each with their own costs, to be able to make the request and finalize things. I would need to get copies of divorce paperwork from a clerk, file a form requesting the change, and pay between $150 to $435, depending on the state it's being filed in.

After things are finalized, I will also have to change all of my IDs. There is a cost to getting a new license and passport, for example. And there's the added nonmonetary cost of time because it's not super straightforward to get all the paperwork needed for each of these steps. Ultimately, name changes are not the quickest or easiest process for someone to do, yet it was so easy for them to make the change when I got married in the first place.

While I haven't taken the steps to legally change my name again, I've decided to go by my original name. But not everyone respects that. My mother has insisted that she list me by my formerly married name instead of my chosen one in family obits, for example, saying that this was about "legality."

I have come to learn how something as simple as a name change can be complex. With HR 22's — also known as the SAVE Act — passing in the House, I regret changing my last name even more than I did before since it might make me ineligible to vote. People like me, whose birth certificate doesn't match their legal name, could face difficulties registering to vote and updating their voter registration. A way around it would be getting a passport, but that comes with a price tag of $130.

There's a lot of power in a name. That's why I decided to take mine back.

• My grandfather gave me a unique name that now carries much meaning for me.
• My name has been mispronounced and shortened since childhood and I didn't always correct people.
• Now, when introducing myself, I make sure people have my name right.

My grandfather named me Nishtha, a Sanskrit word that means loyalty and commitment. It's not a name you're likely to hear in passing. Even in India, it's not very popular. The only time I hear it is when leaders take an oath to serve the nation 'with nishtha' (unwavering loyalty).

That rarity always made me feel special, like my name carried a quiet kind of power. But it also meant a lifetime of hesitation before introductions, of watching my name be reshaped, mispronounced, and whittled down until it was unrecognizable.

The first of many mispronunciations

The first time I heard my name pronounced wrong, I was too young to know I could push back.

It was my first day at a new school. I was a shy, anxious kid, gripping the edge of my desk, counting the seconds until I'd have to introduce myself. But the teacher skipped right past that opportunity, straight to roll call.

And then she paused.

"Nis… Nees… Nista… How do you say this?" She asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

I could feel the other kids looking at me. "It's Nishtha," I said quietly. "'Ni, like the first sound in nickel, sh like the soft but clear sound in shoe, and tha, with a sharp burst of air."

She tried again, still wrong, then shrugged and moved on. She didn't even bother to keep trying to get it right. Almost every teacher did the same. Some asked if they were saying it right. Some didn't. And after a while, I just stopped correcting them.

I moved around a lot, seven schools, four cities over ten years, so I heard every possible version of my name. In one place, I became Nishka. In another, Nishitha. Sometimes kids called me Nashtha, which means breakfast in Hindi, and laughed as if it was the most original thing they'd ever come up with.

Each mispronunciation chipped away at me, but I told myself it didn't matter. Until it did.

Moving abroad brought a new level of erasure

When I moved to Ireland for my master's, my name wasn't just mispronounced, it was erased.

People called me Nish, Niz, or whatever was easiest for them. At first, I corrected them. I smiled, repeated it slowly, and gave them a chance. I knew how hard some names were to pronounce. Irish names were tricky for me too, but I always asked for clarification, and I kept asking until I got them right — it was important to me

Some people made the effort, and it felt like a small victory. But most didn't.

I then started introducing myself with a version I knew they could say. Nisha was simple enough, so I used it at work. When ordering takeout, I became Nessa, because I was tired of repeating myself over the phone. It was easier that way, right? Less awkward pauses, fewer forced smiles.

One time, at a party, I introduced myself as Nesta. It was a character's name from a book I was obsessed with at the time. If I was going to change my name for their convenience, I figured I might as well pick one I actually liked. But every time I did that, I felt like I was making myself smaller.

"I'll just call you N"

During one holiday season, I was working a retail job when a colleague turned to me and said, "I'm terrible with names, so I'll just call you N. The store is busy, and it's quicker for me that way."

It wasn't a question. She didn't stumble over my name. She didn't try and fail. She just decided it was too much effort and cut it down to a single letter. Like my name, my identity, who I was — it all just took up too much space for her.

I should've corrected her. I should've said something. Instead, I let it happen.

That night, lying in bed replaying the moment, I felt angry. Not just at her. At myself. Why did I let people shrink my name? Why did I make myself smaller for their convenience?

My name is meaningful

What's in a name? More than you think.

My name is my history. It carries the weight of generations. It's my grandfather's gift to me. It's my roots. It's not too long. Not too hard. Not yours to cut down, twist, or erase.

If I can show you respect by learning your name, you can do the same for me.

It's just three syllables. Not Nish. Not N. Nishtha. And now I will correct you until you get it right.

• I share my name with a popular Disney character, but I wasn't named after the mermaid.
• My parents said they chose it from a list of baby names, unaware of its pop culture ties.
• Ariel is also a popular laundry detergent brand, adding a humorous new twist to my name.

I was born a little more than a year after the world's favorite human-loving sea creature made a splash in movie theaters throughout the US. Yes, my name is Ariel, but I was not named after the Disney character.

My mom frequently says she and my dad "missed the 80s" as they were both completely overwhelmed with their studies, so you can safely assume that they were disconnected from any form of popular culture. The true story of how they picked my name is pretty run-of-the-mill: they saw it in a list of baby names and thought it was pretty and just a little different, and now here I am.

The singing siren of the sea and I don't have much in common; we both have blue eyes, and I love karaoke, so we both sing, in a way. But that's about it. However, that doesn't stop the comparison from coming up regularly when I meet new people.

I get that a lot

Whenever I meet someone new, I'm asked more often than not, "Ariel, like the mermaid?" Externally I smile, while internally rolling my eyes. "Yes, exactly," I kindly reply.

But, if I'm being honest, there are so many distinctions between me and the mermaid. Difference number one, and it's a big one, I don't like swimming. I like going in the water, but actually swimming isn't for me. I'm just thankful that I didn't have to go to a power-hungry sea witch to get my legs and live on land. Luck of the lottery, I suppose.

Difference number two: I'm allergic to fish. Try not to laugh at the irony. Or laugh, it is kind of funny. When I was little, I didn't like fish, but when I was a teenager, I decided to give it another whirl. My mom, who loves sardines, salmon, and seemingly everything that swims, was only too happy to excitedly prepare something with cod or salmon or the like, blissfully unaware of the chaos that would ensue. Soon after my first bite, everything above my neck itched. My eyes, nose, ears, mouth, throat — all of it. My lips and tongue swelled, too. We scheduled an allergen test, and that was that. I officially had an allergy. So unfortunately, good old Flounder is basically a biohazard for me to be around.

If it's not one thing, it's another

My name is associated with more than just a fictional sea creature. One of the moons of Uranus is named Ariel, as is the spirit in Shakespeare's "The Tempest." There's even an archangel named Ariel. However, I'm not going to talk about any of those. That would be too glorious to be associated with such etherealism.

Since moving to France eight years ago, my name has taken on a special new connotation: laundry detergent. Ariel laundry detergent, the international soapy cousin of the likes of Tide and Gain, is a popular brand sold in many countries outside the US.

In case you're wondering if I'm selling myself short, and that it would indeed be more appropriate to associate myself with the otherworldly Ariels above, just know that one day a former partner came home carrying a bottle of Ariel laundry detergent and happily announced, "You were on sale!"

I do actually like my name

That all said, I like my name, and don't believe I belong in the sale section. Like my parents, I think my name is pretty, and just different enough without being too weird, which feels suitable for me.

As my parents opted for names that share an initial with their grandparents for my sister and me, my name is also a wink to my familial past, which preserves a meaningful connection. And if I take an "aerial" view (sorry, couldn't help it), or a step back, being associated with cleanliness and a princess isn't the worst thing that could happen.

• I was surprised when people started calling me Mom when I was pregnant.
• I quickly began to hate it.
• It was all part of my identity crisis while transitioning to motherhood.

During pregnancy, people started referring to me as Mom. While some other pregnant women seemed to find this cute or sweet, I didn't. In fact, as my daughter (and my belly) grew larger and it was more and more obvious that I was pregnant, so did my annoyance with being called Mom or Mommy. It felt like the person I was, who had a name and a life separate from the life growing inside her, was starting to disappear.

The first place I was called Mom was at my prenatal appointments

It probably all started in the doctor's office. One of the (many) little failures of the prenatal and postpartum care period for me was being referred to as Mom at my birth center. It was not endearing to me — it felt lazy.

I wanted them to look at my chart and call me by my first name. It seemed like just another thing about the experience that was centered on the baby rather than the person who was growing the baby. I wanted to feel like they were looking at me as an individual, not just another of the hundreds of moms who visited their office every month.

My daughter is now 6, and I still dislike being called Mom, Mommy, or Mama in place of my name by other adults. This is especially true in medical settings, like my daughter's pediatrician's office; it feels like they're not taking my concerns seriously. It also feels infantilizing, distancing, and dismissive.

Motherhood caused an identity crisis

After my daughter was born, I was suddenly no longer a writer, a reader, a wife, a chocolate lover, an anglophile, a person who pooped in private. I was a mom, and my responsibility was to care for the well-being of my daughter. It felt like everything else just fell by the wayside. I felt like my identity as a person — a dynamic, well-rounded person — had been snatched away from me. And being called Mom instead of my name by people who weren't my actual child just seemed to reinforce that.

I am sure that being a stay-at-home mom also contributed to this feeling of no longer having a purpose beyond new parenthood, though I know working parents also experience this.

When my daughter was around 18 months old, I spent a weekend away from her for the first time. I spent much of the train ride to my destination feeling guilty for leaving her. I wondered: Will she be confused? Will she think I've abandoned her? I felt unspoken judgment from others when they asked me who was watching my daughter while I was away. Like I didn't deserve time to myself or to explore my own interests apart from her.

I've rediscovered my identity since my daughter was a baby

The only person I love to hear call me Mom is my daughter. In fact, now that she's 6, I miss her calling me Mama like when she was a baby. It's just another reminder that my daughter is growing up.

Since those earlier days of motherhood, I've been able to rediscover who I am apart from my daughter, and being called Mom doesn't irk me the way it used to. The older my daughter gets, the more time I've been able to spend doing the things I love: writing, traveling, reading, crafting. And I've been able to share them with her as well.

• I was adopted at age 5 from Bulgaria by an American family.
• My parents Americanized my name, and I've been trying for the past 18 years to correct them.
• I've come to understand the importance and significance of a name.

My brother sat across from me at a family dinner, sounding out the first syllable of my name. "It's a hard 'I'," I reminded him, "not an 'A,' a hard 'I' like 'mirror,' as in, Mir-ella." He laughed a little. A few people from around the table also laughed, including my father. I smiled. "I'm going to get it," my brother said. "Please just know that I want to say it right."

I am 36 years old and this year, it occurred to me that we have been having this same conversation, the one where I help various members of my family pronounce my name correctly, for more than half of my life.

I was adopted as a kid

I was adopted into my family at age 5 from Bulgaria, and though mine was an open adoption, this didn't keep my name from becoming Americanized. From the beginning, my name was pronounced the way my parents preferred — Ma-rilla, like the character from the popular children's book and eighties movie "Anne of Green Gables." The rest of my family — brothers, aunts, and cousins — all followed their lead.

I took my family's pronunciation for granted for much of my childhood, at times forgetting that I was ever called anything else. Then, the summer before high school, I visited my Bulgarian godmother in Chicago and realized I preferred to be called by my name as it was intended.

It took a few years before I was able to approach my family with a request. In high school, I began to put an accent over the "I" — a meager change that didn't last for long, but I was sick of hearing my name mispronounced by classmates and teachers, and thought the new punctuation might eliminate the need to correct them.

My parents balked when I brought home a name tag from the first week of school with the accentuated letter, though they never commented to me directly about how they felt.

College was a fresh start

By my first year of college, I made a fresh start with a new set of friends and dropped the accent. On visits home, I worked up the courage to offer a friendly correction to my three older brothers, their wives, and my parents. I waited to see whether it would stick. Sadly, it did not.

For the first 10 years, my brother and other family members joked as they made exaggerated attempts at enunciating my name as I had asked. A too-long "I", a hard "I" misplaced in the second syllable rather than the first, entirely other vowels, replacing the first and oftentimes the second and third vowel sounds in my name — always in jest.

There was never any ill will intended, but as the years wore on, it became harder to ignore the persistent way my family labored to say my name right, that is, if they even labored at all. A few family members continued to mispronounce my name even after multiple attempts to correct them. They dismissed my request as if I was simply going through some kind of phase that would pass if they ignored it — or me — for long enough.

I understand the importance of names

Eighteen years later, I'm a therapist. With my clients and others, I speak often about the role of identity, how knowing who we are helps us recognize where we end and where another person begins and thus, form healthy boundaries and relationships with others.

I know this intimately. I grew up, half-Iraqi, half-Bulgarian, in a white home and community, reaching adolescence in the months after 9/11, and in an effort to fit in spent much of my upbringing smoothing away the contours of anything that made me different.

I have come to understand the importance of a name as an extension of identity as I've reclaimed various parts of who I am. After I got married a few years ago and took my husband's name, I also legally changed my name to include a surname I had prior to my adoption — Stoyanova.

I do not harbor any resentment toward my brother, who I trust is doing his best to pronounce my name, or anyone else in my family. But their reactions highlight the way we sometimes overlook the subtle harm we do to others who come from different backgrounds when we do not take the time to understand who they are.

My nieces and nephews are older now and I am especially sensitive to the message this sends them, as well as my toddler son. In the meantime, all I can do is continue to model to the next generation what it looks like to honor my identity as I hold out hope my family will come to eventually do the same.

• Colleen Slagen is a mom of three and a name consultant.
• She said social media has increased the emphasis on sibling sets.
• Themes and styles can guide name selection, but going too similar can be cheesy, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Colleen Slagen, author of "Naming Bebe: An interactive guide to choosing a baby name you love." It has been edited for length and clarity.

The idea of giving siblings matching names isn't anything new, but social media has helped the idea spread far and wide. As a name consultant who's active on Instagram and TikTok, I hear from lots of parents who are concerned about creating a perfect sibling set of names. Parents believe names can create family cohesion and unity.

Creating a sibling set can be fun but can also create stress for parents. Here's what to think of when you're creating a sibling set, and how to know when to change course — which is something I had to do while naming my own three children.

Remember that sibling sets aren't the end-all

I worked with a mother who intensely regretted one of her children's names. It wasn't that she didn't like the name — she just didn't think it matched with the names of her other children. She was even considering changing her child's name.

I reminded her that a sibling set of names isn't the end-all-be-all. Our children are going to spend most of their lives existing independent of their sibling set. I never want parents to get too caught up in how cohesive their children's names are.

Decide what unites your sibling set

The easiest way to create a sibling set of names is to think about a style category of names that you like. If you're into classic names like John, they'll always go well with other classics, like Dorothy.

Or, you can focus on name meanings. Nature-inspired names like Sky and Juniper can make good sibling sets, for example.

Another option is to think about length. I find that four-letter names often go well together. At the same time, it's OK to put together short and long names if they have a similar style. I love the sibling set Ada and Bernadette, for example.

Subtlety goes a long way

When I worked with baby company JoJo Maman Bébé on the do's and don'ts of sibling sets, I reminded parents that subtlety goes a long way. If your theme is too niche, it can come across as cheesy.

I would never name sisters Goldie, Violet, and Scarlett, or brothers Bear and Fox — that's a little too on the nose for me. The same can happen with names that sound too similar, like Banks and Brooks, or Adeline and Caroline. If there are multiple letters shared between the names, they may be too close.

Don't be afraid to change course

I named my oldest child Rory, envisioning a sibling set of traditional Irish names. But as I got to know more kids and families in my hometown outside Boston, I realized that the Irish names I liked were too common for my taste. So, I pivoted to more traditional English names and now have Rory, Janie, and George.

I see that parents are very concerned about equality in naming and worry about a child feeling left out. That thinking can box parents into a specific naming pattern. If you start with two J names, you might find yourself following in the Duggar's footsteps and giving all your children J monikers. But remember, you're not obligated to continue any patterns, and personally I don't think your children will mind.

Don't fight true love

Thinking about a sibling set can help guide you as you pick a name for your second, third, or sixth child. Yet occasionally, you'll discover a name that's just right for your new addition — even if it doesn't match their siblings.

I see this a lot with celebrities. Actor Ashley Tinsdale, for example, has two daughters named Jupiter (which feels hyper-modern, majestic, and rare) and Emerson (which is much more mainstream). Sometimes, you can't fight the name that feels right.

• My three oldest boys hate their names, saying each one is boring.
• They don't understand that I had a lot to consider, including family legacy and popularity.
• It hurts when they complain about their names, but I know they're exploring their identities.

"Hey Maverick, Ja'Maar, Grayson — come eat!!"

It's a common refrain in my house around dinner time. Except I don't have a son named Maverick — nor do I have a Ja'Maar or a Grayson.

Instead, these are the names my three older sons — ages 10, 8, and 6 — wish I had chosen for them all those years ago when I so obviously failed them in their first days of life.

These days, I act like it's no big deal when my oldest, Graham, decides his name is fodder for bullying (apparently, the "graham cracker" thing is still a battle). My next son, James, is so bored by his name he could "fall asleep." Luckily, my third son, Ford, is only bored enough by his first name to swap it with his second (Grayson).

But what they don't know is the immense amount of time, thought, obsession, consideration, and research that went into choosing baby names. So when it so clearly misses the mark in their minds, I can't help but get a bit sad.

I was under a lot of pressure to find the perfect names

Their grievances have led me to reexamine the naming process. When my kids ask, "Mom, why did you pick such a weird name?" I'm forced to think back to my nine months of pondering and worrying about choosing just the right name. I took a lot into consideration.

Graham was named after his dad's middle name. James was named after a relative, while his middle name, John, was for my grandfather, who got to meet him for a few short months before passing. And then, there was Ford — after two days of birthing, it just seemed like a fun random name.

But kids don't care about legacy or family names, so they insist on changing their name to that of their favorite NFL player (Ja'Maar Chase).

I also felt obligated to pick a name that screams leadership in the boardroom but fits them at each stage — from cute squishy babyhood to a first date to wise old men.

I also had to ensure the names were common enough that they wouldn't be too unusual but not so common that they just blended in with the pack.

I wish my kids understood all that pressure I was under.

I remind myself that their complaints are not personal

When my kids see a YouTuber with a "sweet" name and a sweet life to go with it, they revert to their complaints.

As a younger parent, I have been pretty emotional about it. After all, I considered so many things to help pick the perfect name for them without knowing them yet — an impossible job.

As a more experienced parent, bracing for my fourth and fifth kids to come at me with the same vengeance, I'm prepared. I've realized that not only is it not personal, but it's totally normal as they explore their identities.

Now, when they say they hate their names, I just ask what they want to be called instead. Typically, after Ja'Maar has done the dishes and Maverick gets his homework done, they forget it ever happened and wake up the next morning as themselves again.

• Two future Ford-class aircraft carriers will be named for Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush.
• It's the US Navy convention to name nuclear-powered flattops after presidents, with some exceptions.
• USS Doris Miller and Enterprise are the only two Ford-class vessels not named after presidents.

President Joe Biden announced Monday that two future Gerald R. Ford-class aircraft carriers will be named after former US presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush.

"Each knows firsthand the weight of the responsibilities that come with being Commander-in-Chief," Biden said in the White House announcement. "And both know well our duty to support the families and loved ones who wait and worry for the safe return of their servicemember."

US Navy Secretary Carlos Del Toro said the future Ford-class carriers "will serve as lasting tributes to each leader's legacy in service of the United States."

The newly named flattops follow the sea service's tradition of naming the nuclear-powered carriers after US presidents. The trend has many exceptions, including first-in-class USS Nimitz, USS Carl Vinson, USS John C. Stennis, and future Ford-class ships USS Doris Miller and USS Enterprise.

Here are the names of the first six supercarriers in the Ford class, poised to become the backbone of America's naval power for the rest of the 21st Century.

USS Gerald R. Ford

The first-in-class USS Gerald R. Ford is named after the 38th US president who office after then-President Richard Nixon resigned in the wake of the Watergate Scandal.

Ford granted Nixon a controversial pardon saying it was in the country's best interest to put an end to the "American tragedy in which we all — all have played a part," he said at the time.

The USS Gerald R. Ford, the world's largest and most advanced aircraft carrier, completed its first full deployment last January, which the Pentagon extended in response to the October 7 Hamas attacks in Israel.

The Ford and the other warships in its strike group served in part as a deterrence message for its 239-day deployment to the Mediterranean in 2023.

USS John F. Kennedy

The second-in-class USS John F. Kennedy was named after the 35th US president, sharing its namesake with the last conventional aircraft carrier built for the Navy before the introduction of the nuclear-powered Nimitz class.

The future carrier was initially set to deliver in June 2024 but was delayed a year to July 2025 so the Navy could perform more work to prepare it for deployment in the Indo-Pacific.

The Navy said the Kennedy would be equipped with "new technology and warfighting capabilities," making the future aircraft carrier the "most agile and lethal combat platform globally."

USS Enterprise

The future USS Enterprise is one of two Ford-class carriers that wasn't named after a US president. It carries on a storied name whose heritage includes the world's first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, a decorated World War II carrier, and a brig from the Barbary War over 200 years ago.

Still under construction at Huntington Ingalls Industries' Newport News — the US's only aircraft carrier shipyard — the Enterprise was initially scheduled to deliver by March 2028, but the Navy's shipbuilding review found that it will now deliver by May 2030 at the latest.

In November, the Enterprise was moved for the first time at the shipyard to accommodate the construction of USS Doris Miller on the same dry dock.

USS Doris Miller

The other Ford-class carrier without a US president's name is the future USS Doris Miller.

The future supercarrier, named after US Navy sailor Doris "Dorie" Miller, is expected to be delivered a year and a half later than scheduled in early 2032.

Miller was a World War II hero of the surprise Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The mess attendant fired at Japanese aircraft with a .50 caliber machine gun on the battleship USS West Virginia and was the first Black person to be awarded the Navy Cross, the service's second-highest award for valor.

"Naming CVN 81 for Dorie Miller casts long overdue recognition to a true American hero and icon," then-Master Chief Petty Officer Russell Smith said during the ship's naming ceremony. "It also honors the contributions of African Americans and enlisted sailors for the first time in the history of American aircraft carriers."

One controversy has been that the Nimitz-class carrier John C. Stennis honors a key lawmaker behind the funding of nuclear-powered aircraft carriers, who was also a longtime segregationist and opponent of the US Navy's racial integration.

USS William J. Clinton

Bill Clinton served as the 42nd president of the US, becoming the second president in US history to be impeached after Andrew Johnson in 1868. He faced charges of lying under oath and obstruction of justice in the wake of his infamous affair with then-White House intern Monica Lewinsky.

In his time as commander-in-chief, Clinton ordered cruise missile strikes against Iraq in retaliation for the assassination attempt on former President George H.W. Bush. He also played a key role in promoting peace in the Middle East and Northern Ireland through the Oslo Accords and the Good Friday Agreement.

The name of the future CVN 82 was announced in a private ceremony shortly after the new year, during which former President Clinton's daughter, Chelsea Clinton, was announced as the carrier's sponsor.

"It's never far from my mind that the precious freedoms Americans enjoy are safeguarded by our armed forces, anchored by a strong, modern, and agile Navy," Clinton said in a statement. "I'm honored that future servicemembers carrying on that proud tradition will serve on a carrier bearing my name."

USS George W. Bush

The sixth Ford-class carrier will bear the name of former President George W. Bush, whose presidency was defined by the 9/11 attacks and the launching of the Afghanistan and Iraq wars.

He implemented domestic counterterrorism measures and built a worldwide coalition to dismantle terrorist groups globally.

"I am honored that my name will be associated with the United States Navy and a symbol of our Nation's might," Bush said in a statement. "I have a special admiration for the men and women of our Navy — including my dad — and ask God to watch over this ship and those who sail aboard her."

The 10th and final Nimitz-class carrier was named after Bush's father, George H.W. Bush, who served as the 41st president of the US. The elder Bush was honored for his service as one of the youngest naval aviators serving in World War II, receiving military decorations like the Distinguished Flying Cross, three Air Medals, and the Presidential Unit Citation.

CVN 82 and CVN 83 will be the fifth and sixth carriers to join the Navy's fleet in the coming decade, but they are not yet under construction, nor have contracts been issued to HII's Newport News.

In a briefing last week, Christopher Kastner, CEO and president of HII, urged the US Navy to follow its shipbuilding timeline to procure USS William J. Clinton by 2028 as planned to avoid supply chain and workforce issues.

• An analysis of the top 500 billionaires across the globe revealed the most popular names.
• John and David are the most common billionaire names, while Marks have the most wealth.
• Wang and Zhang also made a top-ten list that's otherwise Western male names.

There's a lot to consider if you want to name your baby for a successful future. But when it comes to the top names of billionaires, it turns out tradition reigns.

"Western names still dominated the top spots, which might reflect historical economic advantages rather than any real connection between these names and success," said Julian Goldie, who conducted an analysis to find the most popular names among Bloomberg's top 500 billionaires

John and David top the list, while billionaires named Mark are the most wealthy, on average. Most of the top-10 billionaire names are traditional western male names, but the Chinese names Wang and Zhang also made the list.

"The real story here isn't just about names—it's about how wealth creation has evolved," said Goldie. "Today's billionaires come from diverse backgrounds and industries, from tech innovators to traditional business leaders."

The top 10 names for billionaires

According to Goldie, the most popular names for billionaires, in descending order are:

• John
• David
• Thomas
• Michael
• Wang
• Mark
• Charles
• Zhang
• Richard
• Jim

Of those, billionaires named Mark had the greatest wealth, with an average net worth of $41.2 billion. That's influenced by Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, whose wealth recently topped $200 billion, making him the world's second-richest person.

The world's richest person, Elon Musk (worth a reported $340 billion), didn't make the list since his name is relatively uncommon. However, his name is creeping up in popularity, appearing on the top 1,000 most popular baby names in America in 2018 and 2021.

Billionaire names for baby girls

At least one group was missing from the list of most popular billionaire baby names.

"I was really struck by the stark gender disparity reflected in the names, with traditionally male names sweeping all the top spots," Goldie said.

While the women didn't stack up in pure popularity, there are billionaire names for baby girls too, according to the Bloomberg list of the world's richest 500 people. These include:

• Alice. Alice Walton, heir to the Walmart fortune, is the world's richest woman, worth a reported $106 billion.
• Julia. Julia Flesher Koch, who inherited a large stake in Koch Industries, is worth a reported $76 billion, and is the world's second richest woman.
• Francoise. Francoise Bettencourt Meyers, granddaughter of the founder of L'Oreal, is worth a reported $72 billion according to Bloomberg, though many other sources list her as the richest woman in the world.
• Jacqueline. Jacqueline Badger Mars, heiress to the Mars candy fortune, is worth a reported $44 billion.
• Abigail. Abigail Johnson, CEO of Fidelity Investments, has a worth of $42 billion.
• MacKenzie. MacKenzie Scott, former wife of Amazon founder Jeff Bezos, is worth $38 billion.
• Miriam. Miriam Adelson made her $36 billion fortune in casinos.

Of course, there are newer girl's names on the billionaire baby list too. Taylor Swift became a billionaire this year, and more recently Selena Gomez did too. Rihanna is also a younger billionaire with roots in pop music.

More than a name

Of course, a person's success is about much more than a name.

"The real determinants of success are factors like opportunity, innovation, and good old-fashioned hard work," Goldie said. "The name on your birth certificate matters far less than access to education, resources, and having the drive to succeed."

• Sophie Kihm is the editor in chief at Nameberry.
• She says parents choose names they like, without worrying about what others think.
• Chappell Roan and Beyoncé are impacting trendy names for 2025, too.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Sophie Kihm, the editor in chief at Nameberry. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Working at a baby naming site, I see how much thought parents put into naming their kids. In the past, there's been a lot of pressure to consider what other people, and society as a whole, will think about a name. But for 2025, parents are confidently choosing names that they like without worrying about others' opinions.

Here are the top six trends I'm seeing and 58 baby names that will be right at home in the new year.

New and unique names

These new and unique names are really trend-driven. They synthesize different elements of historic names that parents find interesting and put their own unique spin on them.

These names aren't just invented, and they're no less legitimate than well-established names. They're putting a fresh spin on names rooted in history, giving parents and their babies the best of both worlds.

Names for boys include:

• Luxton
• Jakai
• Kyaire
• Aven
• Ryett, pronounced like "riot," but spelled with a softer touch

Names for girls include:

• Evani
• Hollyn
• Mayli
• Scottlynn
• Novalie

Names for world travelers

For a long time, American names were those steeped in English or Germanic tradition. But now, we're seeing a rise in distinctly American names that also reflect a family's specific cultural or ethnic background. These are also names that "travel lightly" and can be easily pronounced and understood in multiple languages.

Names for boys include:

• Elio
• Kenzo
• Luca
• Hassan
• Soren

Names for girl include:

• Adalia
• Leilani
• Oona
• Eleni
• Akira

Cutesy names

For a few years, we saw parents gravitating toward names that felt a bit mature for a baby. Lots of parents were reminded they were naming an eventual adult, not just a baby. But in 2025, parents are taking the opposite tact: they're embracing cutesy baby names, and they're not worried that a lighthearted name will hold their kid back.

Cutesy names for boys include:

• Bash
• Sonny
• Cub
• Koda
• Albie

Cutesy names for girls include:

• Blossom
• Echo
• Dolly
• Georgie
• Aqua

Vintage names coming back

These classic names will eventually become beautiful and beloved. Think of the vintage names that haven't quite been revived yet. Parents in 2025 are ready to lean into those names, even if they're not quite ripe for revival.

Names for boys include:

• Howard
• Murry
• Morris
• Oswald
• Virgil

Names for girls include:

• Ethel
• Enid
• Rita
• Sybil
• Louis

Country rebrands

Modern parents love country-inspired names, but they're taking a more inclusive look at what it means to be country. This is inspired in no small part by Beyoncé's foray into country music this year. There's also a new spin on classics, like the all-in-one name Jessejames, after the infamous outlaw.

Country rebrand names for boys include:

• Santos
• Abner
• Enoch
• Hatcher
• Lyle

For girls, they include:

• Dottie
• Opal
• Susannah
• Lou
• Polly

Femininomenal Names

Another artist who's shaping naming trends is Chappell Roan. I haven't (yet) seen a surge in little girls named Chappell or Roan, but I'm seeing more parents leaning into feminine names that are witchy, gritty, and powerful, just like Chappell Roan's music. These are also names that reimagine the stories of women in history or lore, like Circe and Guinevere.

Other femininomenal names include:

• Amaryllis
• Cosette
• Freyja
• Lilith
• Salome

Parents naming babies in 2025 are questioning what they've been told and embracing the fact that they can choose a name that they love. It's ok to them that there are complexities to names — which matches the complexities of the people who wear them.

• When I married, changing my last name to my husband's felt like too much work.
• Three years later, I still haven't changed my name and realize I don't want to.
• The tradition feels antiquated, and I don't want to erase who I am.

Before our wedding, my husband asked me if I would change my last name to his, and I said I would. I wasn't lying. I had every intention to do so.

But before I walked down the aisle, I began to think about the hassle of going down to the Social Security office, changing my name at the bank, and updating my ID on every credit card. It seemed like a lot of work I didn't want to deal with — especially after planning a wedding.

At my bachelorette lunch, I discussed with my closest girlfriends — who all happened to be married — their decisions to change their names. All but one had put no thought into their name change, saying that it was something they had looked forward to or hadn't questioned.

I felt like the outlier, and I'm still learning to be OK with that.

Changing my name for my husband feels antiquated

After the wedding, I simply viewed my name change as another to-do on my list and kept putting it off. But as time went by, I began to question why I had to change my name in the first place.

Growing up, I had never fully understood the tradition of changing your name to your husband's. In my gut, it felt more antiquated than romantic.

I decided to consider my husband's opinion and ask him how he felt about me not changing my name yet. I had no idea until I asked him that he had been wondering why I hadn't done so. When I asked him how he felt about the tradition growing up, he explained that it was something he had always imagined his wife doing. He liked the idea of his wife taking his last name.

The whole conversation made me feel like I was disappointing him by dragging my feet, which made me lean toward just going through with the name change.

I got increasingly annoyed at the idea of changing my name

Most people assumed I had changed my last name already. When they realized I hadn't, they wanted to know why. Their questions made me uncomfortable.

While most women seemed not to question the tradition, others felt free to question my decision. One person even blatantly said they could see how it would be easier for me not to change my name "if anything were to happen." I didn't like the implication that my marriage was viewed as temporary or less than because of simply not changing my last name.

The more I thought about how I felt, the more I began to view the adoption of my husband's name as removing my identity beyond my marriage. I thought taking my husband's name would negate the accomplishments I had made independently. Since I'm a teacher, my students address me by my last name, and as a writer, I have been published under that name.

Becoming someone else on paper felt like having to become someone else entirely. It also felt like I had to forget who I was before I was someone's wife.

Once I considered my feelings without considering everyone else's, I stood by my choice.

Changing my name just for other people doesn't feel right

I've considered surprising him with a name change when I feel terribly in love and want to make my husband happy. But the main problem with this is that he would know it was something I did for him and not something I really wanted to do.

While I know he'd prefer me just to change my name, I think my independence and strong will are qualities he finds attractive. Changing my name wouldn't represent my own values and, therefore, wouldn't yield the romantic result I've envisioned at times.

The pressure and judgment I feel from others reinforces that it should be my decision. Appeasing other people is not a good enough reason to do something I'm not sure I even believe in.