When I got married just a few days shy of my 23rd birthday, the one thing that I was most excited about was changing my last name. Most wives I know take their sweet time heading to the Social Security office, and then later, to the DMV, as we call it here in the States, to submit the paperwork for the name change. Some wives choose to retain their original name.

Not me.

I filed the paperwork as soon as possible, probably within the next day or so after we got married. At the time, my primary reason for a quick name change was to happily rid myself of what I considered to be an unappealing, unmarketable, and too-indigenous surname in exchange for a more prominent and aesthetically-pleasing married one.

My new last name came with some merits. My husband’s family name carries a legacy within the community. I noticed a slight uptick in positive receptivity and response from others when I gave them my new name. I didn’t hesitate in the slightest when someone asked for my full name; I said it with confidence for the first time in my life. It was exactly what I wanted.

Or so I thought.

Little did I know at the time that my married name came with a role. An iron-clad one. My new name marked me as a good Christian wife and daughter-in-law, then later, a good Christian mother, always joyful, always giving, always available, and armed with enough strength and stamina to be the first one in and the last one out.

I lived this role for years, and to perfection.

Until one day at the age of 30, my body simply (and dramatically) said ‘no more’, and I entered a prolonged journey of deconditioning, healing, and transformation.

Fast forward to today.

My 37th birthday is approaching, and I am slowly but surely clawing out of the disorienting pit of self-discovery and renewal. I don’t know how much longer this phase will last or what other curveballs life is planning to throw, but I’ve been on this path long enough to know that trusting the process and allowing space for reality to unfurl itself is the best thing you can do. Even in your most trying times.

Today, I was doing some admin work for my passion project online business and felt a gentle nudge to make a small adjustment — to remove my last name from some of my socials.

What followed surprised me.

After changing the first handle, a deep wave of righteous relief flowed through my body. It was as if my nervous system, in a deep and long-awaited exhale, went “finally.”

I realized why.

Because I was just ‘Lianne’ again. Not the wife, mother, daughter-in-law, etcetera, etcetera woman.

Just ‘Lianne’.

And not even the ‘Lianne’ from childhood.

I was ‘Lianne’ in the present. Lianne the Human. Here and Now.

And I had completely forgotten about her.

For the record, I am not suggesting that women NOT change their last names when they marry. You do you. What I am saying is that if you are starting to feel off kilter, as if something is amiss, or resentful, helpless, and overwhelmed, then perhaps your nervous system is signaling for you to pause and examine where you may have left your real self behind, where you may have assumed a role that doesn’t quite align with your natural rhythms, and where you’ve masked your true identity with something else.

I don’t expect very many people to relate to this. There’s a small part of me that feels silly writing about this because I am aware of how much this can be construed as reading too much into things.

But for those who get it, I want you to know that I see you, and there are others like you out there. If this resonated with you, then maybe your nervous system is trying to give you a similar gentle nudge to remember who you were before you assumed all these roles that perhaps may be bogging you down.

Your Self misses you. It longs for the day when it can exhale “finally” too.

What Happened When I Removed My Married Name From My Socials was originally published in The Empowered Caretaker on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.