Why I changed my name when I always said I wouldn’t.

Almost two months after saying I do, I took the trip to the social security office and made it official. I retired Megan Stout and became Megan Stecker. I can’t say that I feel at home in the name. Stout will always have my heart and it patters just a bit every time I think about it (oh! nostalgia how you get me every time), but I’m growing into it more and more each day. Christian and I, we’re the Steckers, we’re partners, we’re in it together. And that, for me, is how it should be.

Day Dream Doodles.

I’d write it in varying formats – print, cursive, block letters, fancy, messy and in any combination, only to scribble it out so hard that my pen rapidly tore holes in the lined notebook paper. Even though the names were scribbled beyond any hope of recognition, it couldn’t be risked, and that same lined paper found its way into the trash can next to my desk. Shredded and torn to little pieces.

Who am I again?

But, there’s still one thing that lingers, one thing that I haven’t gotten done (beside mailing out my addressed and sealed thank you cards, oops), and that’s figuring out what to do with my last name. I signed my marriage certificate Megan Stecker. Let’s all just take a minute to really roll that around in our mouths. Megan. Stecker. It’s got the same first letters as Stout, but feels so absolutely foreign when paired with my name.