I hyphenated my last name when I got married. I regretted it for 25 years, so I'm finally letting go of the hyphen.

• I felt pressure to give up my last name when I got married, so I compromised and hyphenated.
• Rigid institutional policies and strict corporate safeguards make a hyphenated name a liability.
• Twenty-five years later, I know more about identity, and I'm letting go of the hyphen.

As I stood in the clerk's office applying for a marriage license, I faced three options: no name change (keep mine), name change (assume his), or hyphenate (enjoy both).

It seemed like a simple task; check one and move on. But as my pen hovered, I realized my decision held meaning.

Hadn't the women in my family always given up the name they'd carried since birth? I searched my memory for one rebel ancestor who'd kept her name. Minutes ticked by, but I recalled not one. I'd be the first.

Hesitation at the eleventh hour surprised me. Though we'd dated for five years and been engaged for eight months, I hadn't considered what it would mean to replace my Spanish name with a German one. Now, form in front of me and expectations echoing in my head, I was forced to choose. My refusal to quickly "Check one" sent my mind racing.

"His family expects it. Your family expects it. He expects it," I told myself, but I wondered what I expected of myself.

Aiming for a "win-win," I scribbled in the box for "Hyphenate." I thought this would be the perfect way to honor both families.

I didn't realize I was creating an unwieldy name that would mean jumping through extra hoops for decades.

Last names shape identity

My college roommate's Chinese last name was the basis for a large association that unified extended family, friends, and even strangers in a shared sense of community. I admired how a name could pull together so many people. And yet, I understood the power of connection to culture when you live in a vast melting pot.

Living with a name that reflected my heritage had opened doors for me, helped me form bonds, and challenged assumptions about what Latin people look like. It let others see me as a resource — someone who could help them navigate language barriers.

Looking back, it made life easier; people knew which box to put me in, even if I preferred those boxes didn't exist.

Institutions are challenged by hyphenated names

The difficulties began immediately. My legal name didn't fit on a driver's license. What appeared instead: first and middle initials followed by the long, hyphenated surname crammed onto one line. The result: lots of side-eye, questioning looks, requests for extra ID because "it just doesn't look right." Anytime I needed to prove my identity, I braced for confusion. A passport displaying my full name became a necessity to prove I was who I said I was.

In a society where women have historically been — and continue to be — expected to assume their spouse's last name, I wondered why this wasn't easier. Many institutions struggled with the hyphen. Some, like credit card companies, mashed the surnames together, creating a new, unrecognizable version. Others suggested I use his name for reliable recovery of information. Still others processed my information their own way, without discussion, leading to endless: "Can you try this name? How about this one?" I became an expert at reciting all the possible permutations.

At times, I struggled to access important documents — like graduate school transcripts, Social Security ID, tax filings, retirement accounts, and even basic medical care because my IDs didn't match.

Lessons I learned

Showing up with a German last name when you're a brown-skinned Latina confuses people. Latin-German last name? Even more so. I can predict the double-take and inevitable re-verification every time my name is called. I've heard "I thought you would be blonde" more times than I can count. And at Latin events, few people assume I speak Spanish when I use my German last name.

I've now been married for 26 years. I understand what my younger, about-to-be-married self was trying to protect when she selected the "Hyphenate" box, and yet I've grown in my understanding of identity.

I've learned a name doesn't define who I am, where I belong, or where I come from. I will always carry my heritage. More importantly, I've learned to advocate for myself.

Today, I'm deciding to change my name yet again. I'm losing the hyphen and assuming his German last name. To honor the life and beautiful partnership we've created — and, yes, to make navigating bureaucracy a little easier.

Ironically, after my son's DNA test revealed a higher-than-expected amount of German ancestry, I discovered I descend from German royalty. Never saw that one coming. But it does make the transition easier. Plus, it gives me a fascinating story to tell as I build the next chapter in an identity that, hyphen or not, is uniquely mine.