I was freshly back from my honeymoon – and just about ready to trade Paros for Peckham – when I was greeted by a pile of letters on the doorstep: bills, pizza shop flyers and thank-you cards from the wedding. Unpacking could wait. I ripped open the first handwritten note of congratulations and was happily transported back to various moments from our wedding weekend. But the next envelope stopped me in my tracks before I’d even opened it – and the next one, and the next one. Why had so many people automatically given me my husband’s surname?

For as long as I can remember, and well before I was ever in a relationship, I was never going to change my surname. My reason for not changing my name is simple: it’s the main indicator of my family’s heritage, and I love it when people ask me where it’s from. It’s often my passport to conversations with other members of the Algerian diaspora. Having a name that ties my identity to the Middle East and North Africa is not just an important link to a much larger community, it’s fundamental to my sense of self.

When my partner and I got engaged, our surnames barely made it onto the long list of things to discuss. But between hand-painting name cards and hunting down a band via French Facebook groups, we did briefly talk about what our options could be. I half-heartedly offered my husband the chance to take my name, to no real fanfare. Even for a self-confessed feminist man, the look on his face said it all. As neither of us wanted to lose our surname, we thought about potentially double-barrelling it at some point in the future, while also acknowledging that the Walter-Haddad combo doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

“It felt like my identity was being wiped away”: 8 women on what they decided to do about changing their surnames after marriage