Of all the things I've got rid of - how important is my name?

I should warn you today's post has nothing to do with clothes, but don't worry - Friday's post will be back to normal.

Over the last few months I've been living with a lot less stuff as a result of the challenge. I've sold some items of clothing that I've loved and felt a real attachment to. This has led to loads of discussions about clothes and feminism with my friends. And it led to one really meaningful question - what was the most important thing I've ever lost?

And I have to say it's my name.

I have a real relationship with what people call me. I believe strongly in people claiming their own names and yet I took my husband's when I married. What does that mean for my sense of identity?

I was born Elizabeth Ruth Charlotte Pearce, the youngest of 5 girls. My mum strongly wanted us to be called by our given names: Karen, Vanessa, Nichola, Julya and Elizabeth - no shortenings no nicknames. And so I was Elizabeth, not Lizzy, Libby, Liz, Beth nor Betty all throughout my childhood.

But by the time I left school I was known as Ed Pearson.

Ed came from a love of the film My Fair Lady, and a close affinity with Eliza Dolittle. As a teenager I went to a school with a wide social intake, loads of the people in my classes came from private schools, and being around these people was a real eye opener. The girls allowances allowed them to buy clothes (lots of them); and the school trips were skiing, watersports and cruises and people actually went! It was madness. My parents had to scrimp and save to afford my bus fare to this hour away grammar school and then in my classroom were people whose lives were completely different from mine. And who thought their lives were normal.

As an adult I've spoken to a number of people whose families were in a similar situation to mine and we've all talked about how weird and alienating it felt to spend time with teenagers who weren't aware of how much the food in the cupboards cost, these people weren't super rich - no one had a boat, or a spare cottage in France but they were largely from families who would describe themselves as 'comfortable'. When they came round after school I'd watch them eat more than the allocated 2 biscuits from the tin and know the impact this would have for the rest of the month on my mums painstakingly budgeted larder. So I felt different - and like most teenagers I didn't want to. So I tried to 'pass', I used the money from my paper round to buy market rip offs of the Topshop clothes my friends wore, and I learned to adjust my accent to the people I was talking with.

I still do it now (unconsciously) my voice gets posher around posh friends and deeply northern when I'm in Sheffield. So Eliza Dolittle became my nickname and that became Ed, and now that's what everyone calls me. I could have dumped the nickname at any point. But I haven't, I took it with me to Sheffield and to China and to every job I've ever had. It doesn't speak to me of the insecure 13 year old who mimicked the clothing and accents of the people she wanted as friends. It speaks to me of the ambitious and socially confident person I've become, the person that is friends with both some frightfully posh people who went to excellent schools, and with loads of people whose families were more like mine. It speaks of the person who is now happy to admit that Die Hard is her favourite Christmas film, and that she'd rather play air hockey than go to the theatre. Someone who is actually really comfortable with herself. I'm not at all ashamed of where I've come from- I am happy that it doesn't define me, any more than it does any of my friends.

So the name Ed is mine in a way that Elizabeth is not. While I love the people I love calling me by my childhood name, Ed is the name that I recognise as who I am now.

So what about my surname?

When I was about 7 my mum met the man I've considered my father ever since. He and my Mum were both single parents, they were introduced by two of their older children, and began to spend time together because their youngest children (Me and Zoe) were the same age. Zoe was 6 months older than me and in many ways much more confident and social than I was, but we became friends quickly and one night in the back of Daddy's space cruiser hatched a plan to become sisters. 

Simply I would call her Dad "Daddy", and she'd call my Mum "Mummy" until they pulled their fingers out and got together. And somehow magically it worked, this summer they renewed their vows after over 25 years of marriage.

I'm incredibly grateful to have Dave in my life - I talk all the time with friends about the impact our relationships with our fathers have on our choices of life partner. I have a wonderful husband, and every man I've dated, slept with or had an unrequited crush on has been essentially decent and treated me well. Some of my very best friends are men, and I haven't got that suspicious attitude to them I see some women possess and largely that's because I expect them to be decent, and like me, and value my sense of humour because the man who raised me did all that, and it's what I'm used to.

So I'd informally taken Daddy's surname by the time I started secondary school, refusing to answer to Pearce when the register was called, and writing Pearson on the top of every paper I ever handed in. I was devastated when my teacher told me regardless of my wishes that my GCSE certificates would have the name Pearce on them. It felt like a death knell - would I really have to carry this name around - that I didn't want or feel any affinity to - for the rest of my life?

So I went home and cried and yelled, and told Mum I was sick of having a different name on my passport than the rest of my family, and basically had a big old paddy. And when I calmed down we had a proper conversation about how when I was 18 I could change my name to anything I liked. But I didn't want to wait, so despite the fact that my biological father had the right to make a case against me changing my name, we went to court. And in a surprisingly quick (and disappointingly undramatic) session, the court agreed I could change my name to Pearson at the age of 15, in plenty of time for my GCSE's and A-levels to have the name I chose on them.  

So the name Pearson meant (and means) a huge deal to me. So why did I 'take' my husband’s name when we married?

Traditionally that change of name is about ownership right? Like crossing someone else's name out of your biology textbook before writing your own in. And that - when you think about it is pretty grim. So why am I a mouthy outspoken feminist now using the name Archer?

I want to be clear now that this is not an article saying that people should or should not take one another's names when they marry. Personally I'm happy with the arrangement we have now - where every woman (and man) takes that decision for themselves, for whatever reason feels meaningful to them. This is just about why I did.

I got married at 24, and by that age had already proactively changed my whole name, what I was called felt relevant to choices I had made, and like it was in my gift. I'd chosen a father, a city, friends who made me happy, and now I was choosing a man who I really loved. 

A man to whom I wasn't promising any of the traditional weddingy things to, he wasn't going to get worshipped or obeyed. I wasn't intending to ask his permission or approval for any life choices I made. In fact the wedding was no more and no less than my stated intention to continue to be his best friend for the rest of our lives, and actually even that came with a caveat - because I believe the option of getting a divorce is a wonderful thing for women, and I am a strong advocate of unhappy marriages ending. I believe we live once and have a responsibility to be happy.

So I didn't 'take' Matt's name, I gave away my own as a gift. As a show of faith that actually I was happy to share a name, and tie my future and my career to this man, that I did believe this was a lifelong choice. As a demonstration that I was prepared to compromise, and to respect the traditions his family valued out of love for them and for him.

Do I regret it? No.

Archer is another choice I made. A choice to have the same name on my passport as my closest family (which he now is), and for me the right choice for this stage in my life.

Do I miss Pearson? Yes sometimes - but giving away something you don't value isn't much of a gift now is it?

Today's post is a bit different - but hopefully it's made you think about what you are prepared to go without for the people you love. Which means it is probably a good time to remind you that parents of disabled children go without new clothes to make sure their children's needs are met, they also go without heating. The counting the costs report is here and here is where you can donate.