Three years ago (!), Zach proposed, and I was so, so happy. We started discussing Big Things almost immediately: Would we have kids, what would we teach them about religion, and who has to do the dishes?
Somewhere between a discussion of the virtues of poodles and Jack Russels, we discussed the name change.
Zach said he didn’t care, which I immensely appreciate. I believe (as a feminist, duh), that it should ultimately be something that a woman decides for herself, but if a man wants to have an opinion, that’s fine too. At the end of the day, though, it’s not his name, and not his choice. He’s awesome, so he agrees with me.
With the stress of the wedding weighing on me, along with a million other things, I just didn’t reserve enough mental space for making a decision. Suddenly, the wedding happened, and we were officially married.
The decision to change my name (or not!) was not quite so sudden. Some weekends I decide I’m going to do it, and I start gathering paperwork. Other weekends, I decided I’m not going to. Other days, still, I decided I was going to go the Beyonce route and just go by my first name.
After a little soul searching, I’ve finally, finally decided that I’m not going to officially change my name. It’s the name I first saw in print, and the name I’ve used my whole life. It’s just not the right decision for me to change that now.
If you want to call me Whitney Gibbs, I’m totally cool with that, though. I really couldn’t care less. I still LOVE “Gibbsi” as a couple name. It’s amazing, don’t ever change it. But, officially, Whitney Lee’s going to be it for me.
Much love to everyone!