Worse than the people who didn’t ask, and just assumed that I had changed my name when I got married (that’s a choice, not an imperative)… worse than the people who addressed things to “Mr and Mrs His Name” (as if I didn’t have my own name anymore)… are the people who assumed that I would go back to my maiden name.

Changing something as big and as personal as my own name was something I decided to do for me

Not for my partner. Not in the name of tradition. Not for the patriarchy. It was a decision made with much thought and personal pride. And it hurt to find out that so many people did not… what’s the right word… believe(?) that Megan Finley is my “real” name. It was like they were telling me that they never felt my name change was a well-thought-out choice. As if my name — MY OWN FUCKING NAME — was just on loan to me via that guy I married.

I never FOR ONE MOMENT considered going back to my maiden name. Because if I had, for any reason, actually wanted to use my maiden name, I would have never changed it in the first place.

I’ve written about the fact that my birth name, Megan Tharpe, never felt like me. I’d even go so far as to say that feeling mis-named gave me some kind of insight, in the tiniest ittiest-bittiest, most privileged of ways, into how a transgender kid must feel — knowing that you were assigned to this identity at birth, and yet, never really feeling like it fit who you are.

“Megan Finley,” however, fit this bitch like a pair of Black Milk dragon scale leggings. The moment I became Megan Finley, I felt like I finally became my true self. Aaron and I even had this exchange: “You know, even if we divorce I’m keeping the name Finley.” To which he responded, “It is my gift to you.” And it truly truly was, and still is a wonderful gift.

Although, now that I am getting re-married, and starting a new family, I get to consider my name options again…

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