My Last Name
Our name tells our history — where we came from, who we are.
In Slavic culture, your last name tells whose family you belong to, followed by your given name, and then your father’s name to inform others of your lineage.
Mine is Shchiglinskaya, Yelizaveta, Yevgeniyevna.
I love it.
I was given this name in Belarus, and I brought it with me to the United States at the age of eight.
It has been with me as I learned English, made new friends, and experienced a new culture.
It has been with me through my grandpa’s cancer and middle school bullies.
It has seen me grow as I explored many paths of self-discovery.
It has traveled to many countries with me and read many books.
It has been with me as I fell in love.
It is my history, and I am tethered to it with every breath I have taken.
I love the tradition of taking on your partner’s name. I thought it would be an easy transition once I got married.
But it wasn’t for me.
I didn’t realize how difficult even the thought of taking on another last name would be.
Shchiglinskaya — it holds so many memories.
It holds my culture, my family, my history.
I love my husband, but Giles felt too unfamiliar — too new.
I felt the grief of losing myself — who I am, who I was.
Would I even remember where I came from?
Would I still be me?
I know this might sound silly, but the tension between wanting to create a new family with my husband — and not wanting to lose myself or my roots — wrestled within my soul.
We’ve been married a little over a year now, and I feel my tether to my last name slowly loosening.
Not intentionally or forcefully — but gently.
As my husband becomes my immediate family, and in a sadly beautiful way my family becomes my extended family, I feel my heart shifting — becoming more familiar with the name Giles.
Legally, I’m still Shchiglinskaya.
But Giles feels more like home now.
Written By: Liza Giles