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What does your last name mean to you? Does it invoke a sense of pride, disdain, indifference? When I was younger, the last of those was all I felt. “Jillian Sarver,” held no other meaning than being a title, six letters I wrote on a name tag. Now, that title bleeds iron on my tongue each time I utter it during another pointless ice breaker.
There has never been a moment in my life when I have felt my last name was my own, it always belonging to someone else. The longer I have thought on it, the more I have realized that most women in the world are forced to share their identity, specifically with a man. Either keep your father’s name or take your husband’s name, both scenarios requiring women to be confined inside a fence. Whether that fence be made of barbed wire or white wood, it is nonetheless crafted by the hands of a man, not the calloused hands of a woman.
This lack of feminine representation provides an impossible scenario. Time and time again, I have seen women viewed as a product owned by a man, a mere item on a shelf that can be bought. Isn’t that what a last name under a man is: ownership? Ever since my teenage years, when I finally became aware of the extent of the patriarchy we live in, my eye has twitched each time I witness “Mr. and Mrs. *man’s first and last name*” written or spoken.
So, the question is, what is to be done about it? I have been told to create my own last name if it “bothers me so much,” avoiding both the name I have now and the potential name I would take from a future husband. It is a seemingly perfect response, but do I not lose my sense of legacy when I make my own last name, separating myself from my family, my blood? How do I win -- survive even -- in a society that smothers women who attempt to speak up about such things? How do I claim my accomplishments with a last name that does not represent who I am, a last name I do not own? I feel as if I am fighting a self-waged war against myself, passionate about the subject, but also hopeless. Should I not be proud to wear my future husband’s, someone I will hopefully respect and admire, last name? Shouldn’t I want that?
I tell myself that my last name does not own me, but I can’t help but feel disdain every time I see “Sarver”on a certificate, every time my father gets to take credit for what I have achieved. I hate the taste of my last name in my mouth, but who would I be if I let six letters define who I am?
Jillian Sarver is a McConnell Scholar in the class of 2027. She is studying criminal justice, political science, and creative writing at the University of Louisville.