I get married next weekend.  With six months of preparation complete the only thing we have to do now, is to enjoy our day to celebrate our commitment to each other as man and wife and the start of our life’s journey.

People have started to ask I will be taking my husband-to-be’s surname.  My answer is, ‘no, I thought I’d just hang onto the one I’ve got’ and people respond by saying ‘fair enough, it’s a bit odd to change your name, isn’t it?’  Then we chat about the weather.

Except I could only wish for such a response.  Instead, I am asked why.

It’s obviously something I’ve given some thought to or I would blindly follow the crowd.  

My husband-2-be is keen that we share our name as a show of family unity and it’s tempting to change my name to please the man I love.

For me, it’s not as simple as that.  I am loyal to my family name.  Agreed, it’s the surname my mum took when she married my dad.  But they were different times.  Mum’s mail would have been addressed with dad’s name proceeded with ‘Mrs’.  Even as a child that didn’t seem reasonable.

The bottom line is that my name is part of my identity. I quite like having my own identity.

Changing my name feels subservient.  Laura Dover will no longer exist.  I will no longer have the name of the person who has National Tae Kwon Do titles, a Bachelor of Science degree and saved hard to buy and keep her own property.  Laura Appleby has no history.

My lovely H2B feels strongly, I said that he would be very welcome to take my name. By his response, I might as well have suggested that he chop his knob off.

I shouldn’t have, to but in case there is any doubt, I love Jamie and there is so much more to our relationship than a name.  We share so much more.