Being free to choose my husband's last name is at the heart of being a feminist

This First Person article is written by Melanie Berglund, a Saskatchewan-based songwriter. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

I'm a feminist. When I got married, I began using my husband Blake's last name.

When the subject first came up, it was a hard no. In retrospect, it was such a hard no that I regret not delivering it with more tact.

But change my name? What would that accomplish?

We had no children and no plans to conceive. My career is connected to my given name. I thought I was setting myself apart by not changing it.

Prior to our wedding, I found myself texting more often with my soon to be sister-in-law, Brittany. She's a natural at planning events, decorating and gift giving. She also asks a lot of questions.

"What kind of cakes are you thinking of?" she'd text.

"Oh, I'm not sure. I hate icing," I'd complain.

"A naked cake would be lovely," she'd respond.

I Googled "naked cake" and voila: the perfect solution.

I also told Brittany that we planned on having meat, cheese, pickles and whatnot laid out for guests in the hunting cabin where we were hosting the reception. I described it as the dream version of our pre-show rider — the list of requests before the artist performs on the day of the show. She called it a charcuterie board. A more elegant term by far.

While these conversations were happening over text, I found myself connecting with her during our in-person visits too.

"How was the drive?" she'd ask.

"The roads were good, but ugh, Blake does this thing where he pulses his foot against the accelerator. It makes me wanna puke."