Have you ever looked at someone you know and imagined them with a different name? Have you ever imagined your parent or best friend called something else? Have you ever looked in the mirror and imagined that instead of being you, with your name; you were called something entirely different. Hard isn’t it – our names make up a large aspect of who we are.

If you are a parent, you’ll know how long it can take to decide on what you’re going to name your baby – because it is something that will define them, and they will grow up with. A name, though fundamentally just a string of letters and sounds, has a lot of meaning. Names are chosen through tradition, or because we like them, or maybe they are picked because of their etymology. Personally, I know that my name was chosen because it is not difficult to spell, or pronounce (though my schooling experience begs to differ). My parents considered this, alongside other factors, when they decided what to call me. In the end, I was born with 3 names: Rohana, which means sandalwood in Sanskrit, was chosen by my mum, Aisha, the name my dad called me often as I grew up, and Dewfall, my dad’s surname.

I am Rohana Aisha Dewfall.

When people ask me who I am, I give them these names. Over the last 21 years, these names have become me, and I have become them. Essentially, my 3 names are an integral part of identity. Of course, I will argue that I am much more than my name, but my name is a grounding force for me now, and it how people think of me.

When choosing my son’s name, my partner and I discussed a lot of different ones, but if we knew someone with the same name, for example, we considered the name George, and immediately, our association to people who we know called George made us like or dislike the name. Names, are extremely powerful.

They always have been.

A woman’s name says a lot about her. Specifically her surname. I have my dads surname, so does my brother, and so does my mum. When my mum got married, she took my dad’s surname and swapped it out for her own. At the time, it was almost expected, and nobody really thought twice about it. She has created an identity based on her married name, and I couldn’t imagine her any other way.

Fast forward to my marriage, and thing are different now. I chose not to take my husband’s surname, and it is a choice that I in no way regret. I am a proud wife, and I love my husband, keeping my name does not diminish that. I am an independent person. I have created an identity around my name. The idea of changing my name is not one that I really entertained – of course we had the conversation, but H knew where I stood well before our marriage, and so it wouldn’t have come as much of a surprise when I said that unless he took my name, I would not take his.

Traditionally, when a woman took her husband’s name, it signaled to the world that she was no longer the property of her blood family (specifically her father), but was now the property of her husband. I am a feminist… and I am nobody’s property. Which is why I said that H should take my name too; that way we’d be equal. And for a while, we both toyed with the idea that we would do exactly that – he may be very traditionalist in some ways, but he married me, so he’s definitely someone who at least considers whats outside societal norms. In the end though, we decided it wasn’t a make or break thing; we were both happy to keep our own names and to give our son both of them too.

We may have different surnames, but we are no less a family that the one I grew up in – and even though it means I get stopped at the airport and asked for proof of relationship, or addressed incorrectly  from time to time, I am happy I kept my surname. It is something that I have questioned a little bit more recently, but writing this has been cathartic, because I know that I made the right choice. My gut was right – it usually is.

We are more than our names, in the same way that we are more than the labels society gives us. I am a mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend and much more – but most of all I am me; figuring out who ‘me’ is tends to be the most difficult part.

Identity can be elusive… so I pose the question to you – who are you? Are you your name, or are you more?